or whatever, but all I needed were some muscular forearms. I cleared my throat and tried to focus on something safe, something mundane and completely non-sexual, so I wouldn’t be so tempted by the glint of trouble in his hazel eyes. “The, uh... cat. Does he live here? Is the job for him?”
“The cat?” The big dude snorted and shook his head, leaning a bit around me so he could glare at the cat – sitting contentedly in a pile of feathers that he’d kneaded out of some battered pillows. “Cricket has the run of the house and gardens. He doesn’t need anything else.”
“Oh.” I fished for any other topic and came up empty. Asking about his tattoos probably wasn’t a good idea, just in case he offered to show me more, so I just stood there and frowned at him. I suddenly regretted not wearing something a little lower-cut. I tried to present the most professional demeanor during an initial consultation, which translated to conservative suits and blouses, minimal jewelry. I clutched the folio like a shield as I caught his attention drifting down to my pearls and cleavage.
Luckily, heavy footsteps came down the stairs before the big dude had a chance to speak, and I turned to confront... yet another enormous man. This one’s attitude screamed entitlement and business, so he was obviously the homeowner and client. He eyed me from head to toe before shaking his head and brushing his light hair back off his forehead. “I hired the architect, not an assistant. Tell Lawson to come himself if he expects to get the job.”
A familiar and unfortunately necessary mask of cool disinterest settled over me. I squared my shoulders as I faced him and offered my hand to shake. “I’m Lawson.”
“You’re Percy Lawson?” He snorted and ignored my hand, though he shared a look with the other guy. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t waste my time.”
“You’re wasting your own time,” I said calmly. “I’m Persephone Lawson, and I charge by the hour. Yours started promptly at ten, when our appointment was scheduled. You’ll be charged the full hour whether you want to talk to me or not. Your choice, Mr. Evershaw.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied me, but I refused to react. Most guys his type respected a forthright attitude and a bit of challenge. They wanted to know they weren’t hiring a pushover. Unless I’d grossly misjudged his issues and he just hated pushy women. Seemed possible, if he surrounded himself with men’s men like Mr. Tattoos.
Who also watched me in silence. The back of my neck prickled but I refused to speak first. The ball was in Evershaw’s court.
Evershaw folded his massive arms over his chest. “Persephone. That’s quite a name.”
“My parents were classics professors,” I said. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to explain the weird name they’d stuck me with.
“Interesting,” Mr. Tattoo said, and from his tone, I almost believed him. “They must have figured you’d end up a hippie or something.”
“Well, joke’s on them,” I said, fixing him with a withering look. A hippie? Hardly the most insulting response I’d heard, but certainly the least creative. “I became an engineer and architect. Now, Mr. Evershaw. What kind of habitat are you interested in, precisely, and where will it be located?”
The two men continued to frown at me, clearly trying to figure out how I fit in their world and what to do about the inconvenient fact that I was a Persephone instead of the Percival they wanted. I didn’t care, or at least tried to pretend like I didn’t. I needed the work and a hell of a recommendation, and the kind of money this guy would need to hire me for a single job meant he had to have the kinds of friends who also had a shitload of disposable income for equally lucrative projects. Every job I took could be the one that made my name in the city and set up my career for the next thirty years.
Evershaw finally grunted and pointed at one of the chairs in the living room behind me. “Fine. We’ll see what you come up with, Lawson.”
I nodded and made my way to the loveseat next to the cat, who purred and rolled onto his back to show off his plump belly. I couldn’t picture Evershaw as the cat’s owner, so perhaps there was someone else inside who loved the beast. I opened my folio and laid out a series of designs on