Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,33

so tasty. With a little help from Chloe and our pal Massimo. And it only took four hours. Definitely a weekend activity. We should attempt a recipe together every weekend. I stop myself; that’s too much time together. Boundaries. Which is exactly why I let her think I was with someone last night. It was easier than explaining my real reason—I’d only hold her back. Besides, now she’ll do her part in keeping boundaries too. I know she wants me. She kissed me first back in Villroy. And it’s in her eyes, in her breathy voice sometimes, in her flushed cheeks. My gaze catches on the bow in her top lip that I want to trace with my tongue.

I tear my gaze away and take a sip of water. “How’s your internship going?”

She rocks her head side to side. “Could be better. I’m doing grunt work basically. I know everyone has to start somewhere, but it’s so soul sucking. I’m going to talk to the research director on Monday and broach the topic. I have some credentials to my name. I could be doing so much more.”

“Hope it goes well. It can be a touchy thing dealing with bosses.” My oldest brother, Dylan, is my boss, and we tangled a bit over my need to take a bigger role in our company once our uncle retired. I was the first of my brothers to speak up, and I play a pivotal role now scouting out development projects. We’ve got two under our belt with awards for social responsibility and improving neighborhoods. My most recent find didn’t work out though. Sucks big time.

“How’s your work going?” she asks.

I exhale sharply. “Not great. The property I had my eye on—a lot with low-level warehouses by the waterfront—we lost to a higher bidder looking to make high-rise apartments. My brothers and I don’t want to be in that business. We want neighborhoods like the kind we grew up in.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. It sucks because we already had a property there that we developed into cool loft space with a waterfront park. So the plan was to demolish the nearby warehouses and put in upscale co-op apartments with connecting green space and some art installations from our design tenants. It was all gonna be LEED certified environmentally friendly, energy efficient, with reclaimed materials from the area. You know, like wood joists from the old warehouses. Now they’re putting in two seventy-story high-rise buildings.”

“Seventy stories! That’s going to block the view, block out the sun!”

“Right? You lose the neighborhood feel when you’re walking between giant skyscrapers. Might as well move to Manhattan for that.”

We go back to eating. It’s too good to leave it for long.

I finish my plate and go for a second helping. “Anyway, my brothers and I decided we’ll be the historic restoration and neighborhood-friendly developer. That’ll be our niche.”

She shakes her head. “I hope Brooklyn doesn’t get overrun by high-rises.”

“Right?” I take my seat and dig in. Still fantastic.

“You know, there’s an old department store downtown, Finerman’s, near where I grew up. I used to like to window-shop there. Anyway, it’s been closed for a while now, and I noticed last weekend there’s a sale sign on it. Maybe you could turn it into something cool.”

“I wonder what they’re asking.”

“You could look it up online.”

“Definitely. Right after this.” My pulse thrums through me. This could be something, an old department store. Maybe we could convert it to loft apartments with a rooftop garden. I hadn’t realized it was on the market. It must be newly listed. Maybe another transaction fell through behind the scenes.

“Thanks, Chloe. I’ve got that excited feeling like I’m onto something.”

“All atingle? Are you sure it’s not crabs?”

I bark out a laugh. She’s getting comfortable with me, teasing. “Gross. And no. I’ve got standards and condoms.”

She waves a hand airily. “I don’t want to hear about your women.”

“Likewise.”

She takes a mouthful of tortellini and speaks around it. “I’ve decided celibacy is the way to go.”

“Right.”

She chews and swallows. “Seriously.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts.”

She pins me with a hard look. “You a betting man?”

I jerk my chin. “One hundred dollars says you hook up with a guy by the Fourth of July weekend. You’ll have off from work, get a little bored, and BAM.” She jumps at my BAM, and I stifle a laugh. “Suddenly wimpy lab guy is looking pretty good.”

“You’re on,” she says, offering me her pinky finger.

I wrap my pinky finger around hers, the touch zinging awareness