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Even if she came for a completely different reason—and I can’t fathom what that would be—she is still here. Raking her gaze over my pecs.

“Aren’t you?”

“That’s preposterous. Why would I call your office if I wanted to fuck you? Why did you agree to the meeting in the first place?”

Okay, I don’t know what the game is, but I’m half-entertained and half-annoyed now. “Because you’re very attractive.” I smile, and she flinches. She fucking flinches.

“I told your assistant I want to talk about your Hudson River property.” She throws her arms up.

I guess said assistant just lost his bonus.

“I’ll be right back,” I snap and return to the bedroom, shutting the doors with such force that they bounce back.

What the fuck? She wants to talk business? Why? What’s the significance of the Hudson River property?

That building is prime real estate, but it cost me only a headache.

A headache that started when I lost the designer, courtesy of Finn van den Linden, Saar’s brother. He threw a tantrum when I wanted to hire his girlfriend.

Whatever that was about, I don’t know. Dude hates me for some reason. But how does it tie up with the supermodel in the next room?

I yank a shirt from a hanger, find my underwear, and almost grab my jeans. Fuck that, she came to talk business, she will get a businessman. Why am I even so upset about it?

I put on a three-piece suit with a tie and return to the room.

She hasn’t moved from her spot by the window, and I’m struck for the second time by her presence.

Physical beauty aside, the air of fragility around her doesn’t quite match the determination in her eyes.

A pretend determination. Based on her fist clenching, the sheen of perspiration around her hairline, and her labored breath—that she’s trying to hide—she is even more nervous than before.

And for some outlandish reason, that intrigues me.

“Well, Saar, have a seat, and tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I flick my wrist and glance at my watch. “You have five minutes.”

Glaring, she takes a seat by the fireplace. The seat is softer than she expected—I’ve sunk there myself before—but she somehow manages to fold her legs with grace.

I don’t sit. Instead, I put my hands into my pockets and glare at her down my nose.

She fidgets, adjusting her skirt.

“Anytime this century, Saar. Preferably in the next minute, though,” I say, not trying to cover the impatience in my voice.

I’m growing not only impatient but also upset with myself. Or just annoyed because of the misunderstanding. The reason for her visit feels like a rejection. I’m not used to those.

“I’d like you to sell the building to my brother Finn,” she blurts out in one breath, avoiding my eyes.

Her request takes me by surprise. I tilt my head, observing her with a mix of curiosity and irritation. Her brother sent her?

He might hate my guts, but he is a good businessman. Why would he send his little sister to close a deal like this?

“I thought you were a model,” I muse.

She frowns, like she doesn’t follow.

“What made you believe you can close a real estate deal?” I elaborate.

I’m being unfair. I know nothing about her, and for all I know—or rather don’t know—she could be a real estate genius.