He blinks as though coming back to himself. “Your word choice just struck a nerve. It’s not the first time I’ve been told I’m failing to meet expectations.”

“Law school again?”

“Among other things.”

I cock my head. “If you didn’t go into law, what do you do for work? Other than Pemberley, I mean.”

“You—” His forehead creases. “You don’t know?”

“I’m comfortable with ‘Will Darcy: Man of Business,’ but I’d imagine you have a more accurate job title.”

Darcy huffs a small laugh. He still looks surprised. “I’m just used to people Googling me.”

“Sorry to disappoint?”

“Not at all. It’s refreshing. I’m a private wealth manager.”

“And are private wealth managers typically Google-worthy?”

He smirks. “Hardly. Basically, I tell very rich people how and where to spend their money and occasionally help them work around estate taxes.”

I wrinkle my nose. “That sounds morally questionable.”

“It feels that way sometimes. But the estate taxes are usually avoided through establishing charitable foundations, so morally, it’s more of a wash.”

“Is it . . .” I think back to our last conversation. “Fulfilling?”

His mind must go to the same place, because his responding look is shrewd. “Is what you do?”

“I asked first.”

“I’m pretty sure I asked first. But no.” He says it plainly. “My work is not fulfilling. But I’m good at it. I majored in business, interned in college, established a client base. It isn’t a dream job, but in some cases, I’ve been able to help other people achieve their dreams, so . . .”

“Another wash?”

“I guess.” His dull tone suggests otherwise.

“Then what would be fulfilling?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

“Probably more, in your case.”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “That’s the tone I got from your emails, by the way.”

“You said cheeky. That bordered on insolent.”

Another huff. Will I ever get a proper laugh out of this guy?

“What would be fulfilling?” He asks it more to himself than me, eyes on the window. “I really would love to see something done with this place. Pemberley could be so much more. It deserves to be more. I just haven’t found the inspiration.”

I smile despite myself; I’ve been feeling the same way. I’ve played with several Meryton ideas here, and while it’s all quality work, they lack something. Some element is missing. Even though I’m sketching it all out for my own benefit, it feels like I’m failing the building somehow by not presenting her best self.

Darcy clears his throat. “Bennet, when we spoke in Bushwick, I—”

“Showed your ass?”

“Did I?” His face scrunches, voice high with cartoonish skepticism. It’s adorable.

“Yeah. Y’did.”

He turns to rest his weight against the table. “I’m still getting used to the whole burlesque . . . scene. It’s a lot to take in.”