How To Pleasure A Playboy(7)

"Offices, right? Just another boring, modern office tower."

"Not boring. Beautiful. My brother designed it. Offices on the upper  floors, but the first three floors will be shops and restaurants, with  my biggest-ever nightclub in the basement." He stirred the onions and  garlic, letting them sizzle. "After dinner, I'll show you the plans."

"You won't change my mind."

"I'll show you anyway."

He splashed in a little sherry he found in a cupboard and let it bubble  before realizing she'd been quiet for a while. When he turned, she was  staring at him with a thoughtful expression. Not just a furrowed brow,  but creases around her eyes, her lips pulled to one side, and her nose  slightly scrunched. He'd never met anyone who thought with their entire  face before. It was pretty cute.         

     



 

"Contemplating something serious?" he asked.

"What? Oh." She shook her head. "You surprised me, that's all. I didn't expect you'd know how to cook."

"I get the impression that's a compliment." He tipped the meat into the pan.

"Don't get used to it." She bent to get a large pot from one of the  cupboards, then filled it with water, added a spoonful of something from  a bag in the pantry, and put it on the stove.

He raised his eyebrows. "That was salt, not arsenic, right?"

"Want me to take the first bite?"

"Just checking." He couldn't help but grin. "I've got a feeling you've planned a few unpleasant surprises for the coming week."

She flushed, pushing her glasses up her nose. He was coming to  appreciate that gesture. So far, she'd only done it when she was caught  off guard.

"Well, I'm thinking of it as the Baxter Games," she said. "You know, like the Hunger Games?"

"We have to kill each other?"

"I'll be the last one standing." She said it with a confidence that gave  him pause. How could she be so sure? What did she know that he didn't?





Six





Dinner was surprisingly tasty, but on principle Lacey tried not to enjoy it.

A pampered playboy shouldn't even know what garlic looked like, let  alone how to chop it. And how dare he have such a cute grin? If there  were any justice in the world, Bronson would look like the monster he  was.

But what irritated her most was the fact he wasn't wearing anything  warmer than a shirt when it was so damn cold in here. He had to be dong  it just to annoy her. Especially because the shirt clung to his body,  molding to his muscles and showing off his physique. However firmly she  told herself not to look, her gaze kept lingering on his biceps and  chest. Couldn't he at least have the decency to shiver?

"You still haven't told me how you learned to cook," she said as she finished her spaghetti.

"I learned when I was a student. It was that or starve. And to answer  the question you asked before, I've never gone hungry. But when I was  studying I struggled to pay my rent and buy food, so for three years I  filled up on cheap meals I cooked myself. Like spaghetti."

"So your family wasn't rich? When I Googled you, there were a ton of  party and night club pictures, but nothing from your early years."

He shrugged. "When I'm interviewed I focus on the clubs, not my childhood."

"Because you have something to hide?"

"Because it's not very interesting. My father was a builder, and my mother a teacher. Money was tight, but we got by okay."

Lacey pushed her empty plate away. They were eating at the small dining  table in the kitchen, and she'd got rid of her pretty tablecloths to  leave just the worn laminate surface.

"Your brother's an architect?" she asked. "He's missing isn't he? I read  a story speculating he'd changed his name and moved to Colombia. Either  that, or they thought he could be living rough on the streets of New  York."

"I don't know where he is. He left three years ago." Bronson's  expression didn't change, but something did. Maybe it was the way he was  sitting, or a tightness in his tone. Whatever it was, Lacey got the  sense it was a painful subject for him.

"You haven't heard anything from him?" she asked more gently.

Bronson shook his head. "He'd intended to pull down the Baxter and build  on this site himself. Now I'm going to construct the building he  designed."

"If you want to find him, can't you hire a private detective, or put an ad on the internet?"

"I've tried everything."

The certainty in his voice made her suspect he'd spent a ton of time and  money searching for his brother. But that didn't mean she'd let herself  feel bad for him. Well, maybe a little. Not that she wanted to admit  it.

"I'm sorry about your brother," she said. "But you'll have to build his building somewhere else."

"He designed it for this site. If it's not here, it won't be the  building he wanted. Besides, I could have gone a different way, and  fought those ancient tenancy agreements in the courts. Instead I'm  paying people to leave. I'm doing them a favor."

"Not me. I can't leave."

"I've offered to give you more than enough to get another apartment for you and your father. You just don't want to."

She snorted. Easy for him to say. The thought of having to tell her  father that she'd given in to Bronson and was letting him tear down his  home …  well, it didn't bear thinking about. Next to that betrayal,  selling his beloved books would be nothing.         

     



 

"Why do the rich think they can solve every problem with money?" she asked.

"Experience."

"Or arrogance."

He smiled as though he were enjoying their back-and-forth. Dammit, he  was supposed to be suffering. "I'm starting to think you don't like  wealthy people," he mused. "All this time, I assumed it was just me you  objected to."

"It's everything about you," she said honestly. "Especially your  reputation, and the way you live. With your money, you could do  something really good for this city. Help people by giving something  back. Instead you open more nightclubs, so you can keep making more  money. Your whole selfish life is one never-ending party."

He cocked his head, that irritatingly cute smile still playing over his  lips. "No need to hold back, Lacey. You can tell me what you really  think."

Before she could let him have it, the light above them flickered. They both jerked their heads up.

"Dodgy wiring?" asked Bronson. "That's a serious fire risk."

"Sometimes we lose power completely." She'd been so busy making sure her  apartment was as depressing as possible, she'd hadn't yet asked the  electrician who lived downstairs to cut off her power. Add no lights or  hot water to the winter chill, and it wouldn't be much better than  sleeping on the street. There was no way Bronson would stick it out.

Maybe the electricity would go out on its own anyway. It often did.

"I'll have someone check it tomorrow." He stood up. "In the meantime, I'll show you the plans for the new building."

"I'd rather see renovation plans for the Baxter." She wrinkled her nose.  "Glebe is the last inner-city suburb that still has its original  character. Why do people like you want to ruin it by pulling down the  most beautiful buildings?"

"If by ‘original character' you mean run-down student flats, drug  houses, and shops selling bohemian crap, then Glebe is full of it." He  got his laptop out of his bag and set it up on the table. "Improving the  area is called progress, and there's no point fighting against it. Land  values are rising too fast for it to be left to fall to pieces."

"Have you even spent time here, or just driven through in a limo? I've  lived here all my life, and it's the best part of Sydney."

"It'll be even better with my brother's new building." He pulled up a  video that showed a 3-D simulation of a boring office tower. Glass and  steel, and not one bit of personality.

She frowned. "You think that will change my mind?"

"Look here," he paused the playback. "See that?"

She pushed her glasses up her nose, squinting. "What?"

"The top of the structure is a giant glass prism. Colored light will  cascade into the building, making the walls look like glittering  waterfalls."

"I still prefer the Baxter."

"The elevators on this side are made entirely of glass. Even the floor."

"Sucks for you if you're afraid of heights."

"My brother added quirky, individual touches to the entire building. It's his masterpiece."

"There's already a masterpiece here. Can't you imagine how great the  Baxter could look if you'd only spend a little money to bring her back  to her prime?"

"A little money? It needs a total rebuild."

"Not as expensive as constructing that." She gestured at the screen.

Bronson's jaw tightened. "My brother invested a lot of time into  designing this building. If he's alive and well, he'll come back to  Sydney to see it built."