Gin and tonic spilled from my cup as it shook in my hand. “It’s my fault. I asked what you were like to work with, and they said you were pretty great. Then they said you might be leaving them to work on a low-income housing project. Was it a secret?” The last thing I wanted was to rat out his staff.

He scraped a hand up his jaw. “Sorry. It’s not a secret. You just caught me off guard.”

“I was surprised too. Andrew Hanes doesn’t strike me as someone who cares about the less fortunate. I imagined you building billion-dollar homes for people who could afford it, not volunteering to build houses for people who can’t.”

Finn narrowed his eyes. “Once again, what do you have against my boss?” He relaxed his shoulders. “Fine. Building lower-income housing comes with a government tax credit, so it’s not completely altruistic.” He pointed at me. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s not a bad guy.”

I smirked. “So, tell me about the passion project.”

He sat back down. “I never wanted to be involved in luxury real estate, but it was his condition I get The Hollows up and running before he’d let me do what he hired me for, which is to help develop permanently affordable housing in low-income communities.”

“It’s an interesting passion.”

“I was homeless.”

“You were…wow…” Realizing I had no idea how to respond, I clamped my mouth shut. What was the proper reply to a disclosure of this magnitude? It was so unexpected and frankly shocking. “I’m so sorry.” I’m sorry? Really? It was just, living day-to-day not knowing where I’d find shelter for the night was a reality so foreign to my own. It was a privilege I’d taken for granted until I was today years old. My heart ached for Finn, who hadn’t been as fortunate. His time with Habitat for Humanity made a lot of sense now.

He lowered his gaze. “It was a long time ago. After my mom died, my dad, older sister, and I lived in his car and from shelter to shelter for almost a year. Making sure others have a roof over their heads is important to me. It’s a part of my past I don’t like to talk about.” His eyes met mine again with a silent plea to drop the subject.

I could take a hint. “Your boss reminds me of my editor, with his conditions. The full-time position can be mine only if this story does well.” I stopped rocking and tapped a foot along the wood floor. “I can’t really blame him. Why pay me a regular salary and health benefits if my freelance story tanks?”

“It won’t tank.”