Ah. Interiors. This beautiful specimen is a dab hand at amazing interiors. “Yes.” My smile is natural. Not forced. I just love how she’s struggling to look me in the eye. She keeps taking a timeout, looking away, gathering herself, before facing me again. It’s . . . fascinating. I know I affect women, but none of them try to hide their attraction. Perhaps, maybe—definitely—because all the women I encounter are members of my fine establishment. Inhibitions are lost. Beating around the bush is just a waste of time, when you could simply spell out your desires and get-fucking-on with it. Which everyone does at The Manor, including me. But this woman . . . that’s not in her. Boldness isn’t the way forward here.

But it’s all I know.

I feel my forehead wrinkle again. The way forward to what exactly, Ward?

“So, may I ask why?”

“You may.” I inch forward on the couch and rid my hands of my water, keeping my arse on the edge, my forearms on my knees.

“Okay. Why?” she asks, unsure.

“I’ve heard great things about you.” Is she blushing? It’s cute. And something else I’m not familiar with.

“Thank you. So why am I here?”

“Well, to design.” I laugh to myself, my thoughts filthy. My answer could be very different.

“Design what, exactly? From what I’ve seen, everything is pretty perfect.”

She’s right, but as of now I’d have her redesign the entire place if it meant keeping her here for longer. Just to look at her. Admire her. Feel these odd tingles and be rid of the never-ending cycle of self-annihilation that is my life. “Thank you,” I say. “Do you have your portfolio with you?” I’m dragging this out. I don’t need to see her previous work. I’ve seen everything I need to see at Lusso to know she’s the woman for the job. But, shit, I’m getting far more than I bargained for.

“Of course.” She pulls it from her bag and sets it on the table, and I rise without thought and move to her couch, lowering beside her. She shifts subtly.

“You’re very young to be such an accomplished designer.” I start browsing the file.

“How old are you?” she blurts out, and my hand pauses turning the page. Jesus, and I thought my brain-to-mouth filter was dodgy. Hers is completely knackered. But, God love her, she’s totally exposed her state of mind right now. Confirmed my thoughts. She’s attracted to me.

Yet that question . . .

It tells me age matters. It tells me she’s wondering. Fuck. How old do I look? My confidence in that department has been dented for the first time in forever. Maybe because I’m on unfamiliar ground with an obviously younger woman.