Free Knave of Broken Hearts by Tara Lain

I’m just joking. I know my man here is bright as hell. No offense.”
    Ian’s cheeks turned pink. “Sure. That’s good. I figured.”
    Jim smiled. It was kind that his brother leaped to his defense, but maybe the kid protested too much?
    They swung into work, and Ian pitched in. By a little after nine, the trash had been removed and the suite was an empty shell waiting for building to begin. Jim stared at the drawings. Like some cue in a bad movie, the plastic flew back and in swept Constance Murch. She saw Jim and made a beeline. “Oh good, you’re here. I need to speak to you right away.”
    Jim caught his breath. “Yes, ma’am.”
    She slipped her arm through his, pressing one perky boob against his bicep. “Ma’am? Please, you don’t want to make me feel old.”
    He smiled down at her. “No, ma’—uh, no Mrs. Murch, because that wouldn’t be true.”
    “It’s Ms . Murch. And you should call me Constance.”
    “Yes, ma—yes, Constance.”
    She snuggled her arm more solidly against his body. “So we have moved tenants. The company that was going into this suite has requested the new vacancy on the eighth floor. We have a new tenant for this space.”
    Small heart attack. Do not show it. “Okay, good. We’re ready to do whatever your tenants need.”
    “Excellent. So come with me to the eighth floor and look at the space so you can determine if the plan for this suite will work there as well.”
    Would he be able to tell?
    She stared past Jim and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is this a new plan?” She let go of his arm and stepped over to where Ian had left his drawing.
    Jim glanced over her back at his brother, who was lurking at the rear of the suite pretending to be working. Ian gave him wide eyes. “That’s just a concept one of my, uh, consultants doodled for us. He felt this space could be—” What had Ian said? “—more open, and the light from the windows could penetrate into the interior of the suite.” He swallowed hard.
    “Very interesting. Quite original. Not just the same old same old. How much more would it cost to build this?”
    “Uh, we haven’t priced it out, ma—uh, Constance, because it’s just a doodle, as I said.”
    “Do a breakdown and give me a more formal plan. I suspect one or the other of the tenants will buy this—and extend their lease term to do it.” She smiled widely. “Very good thinking, Jim.” She took hold of his arm again. “So shall we go to the eighth floor?”
    “Uh, is there a chance I could get a key and slip in later when I can take my consultant? He’d know better if his idea will work in the space.” He held his breath.
    Her eyebrows drew together slightly, then smoothed. “All right, it’s suite 807. Go as soon as you can. And in exchange, you must agree to have lunch with me to discuss other potential assignments.”
    This was business, right? Still, did he really want to go to lunch with the building owner? What if he blew it for Billy? Shit, based on the smile he was getting from Constance Murch, if he said no, he’d blow the whole fucking deal anyway. “That sounds wonderful.”
    “Today?” She wet her lips.
    “Uh, I’m meeting with the architect today. About your project, actually.”
    “Tomorrow, then.”
    “Okay, tomorrow.”
    She handed him a key. “Check the suite soon. I’ll be back to pick up the key before lunch. I need to let in the new tenant.”
    “Okay.” He felt light-headed.

C HAPTER S EVEN
     
     
    K EN SAT in the chair beside the planter in the lobby and stared at the plastic sheeting covering the suite where Jim Carney said he was working. He glanced at his watch. How weird was it that he was here early? He of the “keep ’em panting” philosophy. Of course, this was just business. Umm, what kind of business would that be exactly? What the hell do I care about architecture and tenant improvements? He breathed. I’m keeping my patient alive by reducing his stress. There, that’s an excellent