“That idea is kind of close to my heart living in Charleston, South Carolina. I struggle against the commercial developers all the time who want to come in to our city and make a quick buck with no regard for the history of what came before. I love that our city has progressed in so many ways. It’s considered a foodie capital now—fantastic restaurants, vibrant with students and a mix of old and new. Of course, there’s still lots of social progress to be made, and in my field it’s a fine balancing act between progress and preserving history and not only preserving the ‘right kind of history.’”

“Explain.”

“Well, there are parts of my city that have been underfunded for generations. Forgotten and ignored and systematically repressed. Of course, then crime flourishes. Now people want to come in and ‘clean it up,’ but that means moving people who’ve lived there for decades or longer. What needs to happen is those areas should get funding for parks and restoration and better schools and education, not moving people away, just so some developer can get rich.” I finished in a huff, not realizing how my blood pressure had spiked up. “We have a shameful history of owning slaves. But the descendants of those slaves have just as much right for their history to be saved as the white slave owner who built a mansion. Perhaps more so, in my opinion.”

“You’re passionate about this topic.”

I blew out a breath. “Yeah, I guess I am. And I’m not saying all development is evil. Capitalism can be good. I just … there needs to be balance.”

“And were you working toward that in your last job?”

I frowned. “No. I mean, I was trying. I got to work on some projects hand-in-hand with the various preservation societies. But my last project kind of broke my faith.” I told him about the hotel and the history of the land it was on and how the stupid nepotism and greed of my ex-boss and his nephew had thrown all my hard work and potentially that history out the window. “Not to mention,” I added with a grim edge, “that my boss implied he was only keeping me on because I was easy on the eyes. So what could I do but quit?”

Xavier hissed. “What is his name?” he growled the question, his body tense.

I glanced up at his troubled gaze. His eyes glittered darkly. “Are you going to avenge my honor?” I asked, amusement lacing my tone.

He grunted. “Maybe.”

I shifted, turning farther into him and walking my fingers across his taut belly. “Why such honor?”