He leaned against the hard wooden backrest of his chair, his coffee in hand. As he tried to get comfortable, he realized the stiffness of the chair mimicked that of his interviewer. How can a woman this beautiful be so uptight? “Okay. Where do we begin?”
Her hazel eyes locked on him, she said, “First of all, I need to let you know that I’m recording our interview with an app on my smartphone. I find it helps me with my article if I revisit the recordings later during my writing process.”
“I understand.” He drank from his ceramic mug, letting the rich warmth of the coffee wash down his throat.
“Good. Then let’s begin with the basics. Who is Ken Yamada?”
He snorted. The sound came out before he could stop it.
Her brow hitched, lips thinning as her expression went sour. “Is there something amusing about my question, Mr. Yamada?”
“Call me Ken, please. No need to be so formal.”
“Fine. What’s so funny, Ken?” She watched him, her brow furrowed as if she were honestly confused by his amusement.
“It’s a little cliché, don’t you think? I mean, you’re opening our interview with some existential query?” He took another drink of coffee.
She rolled her eyes, then took a breath. Her professional demeanor returned to replace the coolness that had been rolling off her only seconds before. “Ken, I’m sure you already know this, but the contract you just won from the city is unprecedented in terms of scope and money.”
He set his mug down, rubbed his hands together. “Yes, that’s true.” But what she didn’t know was how long and hard he’d worked to win the contract. I deserve that contract. Hell, I earned it.
“I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you, Ken. I know the people of Charlotte are curious about the phenom behind the Grand Pearl project, and I simply want to give them the most complete, accurate portrait of you that I can.”
He sensed the truth in her words right away. It was obvious that Nona was a consummate journalist, determined to deliver her very best work to her readers. He supposed he could respect that, since as an artist, he wanted the same thing for every one of his projects. “I get it.”
“I’m glad you understand. Now, what can you tell me about your early days? Tell me about your upbringing. Did you always know you wanted to be an architect?”
He bristled at the mention of his upbringing. “I don’t really want to talk about my childhood.”
“Is there any particular reason?”
He sensed her probing. “Yes. It isn’t relevant. I didn’t decide to pursue architecture until my second year in college.”
She pursed her lips. “Okay. Let me ask you this. Are you any relation to Hiro Yamada, who was formerly Mecklenburg County commissioner?”
A slow nod was the only answer he gave.
She watched him closely. “I’m going to guess you don’t want to elaborate on your relationship to Mr. Yamada?”
“No, and as I understood it, he was not the subject of the interview.” He fought down the irritation that usually arose when he felt someone getting too close. He didn’t mind answering her questions—as long as she stuck to the topic at hand.
“Maybe we’ll revisit that at another time, then.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “No, we won’t.”
She took a slow breath, tapped the tips of her French-manicured nails on the table. “You know, we aren’t making much progress with this, Ken.”
“Are you suggesting that’s my fault?”
“You don’t seem willing to share much about your life. In order to really nail this article, I have to get to know you on a deeper level.”
He leaned forward in his chair, holding eye contact with her. “Look, I’ll answer any questions you have that pertain to my work. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? About the Grand Pearl project and how I operate my business?”
She held his gaze, letting him know she wasn’t intimidated. “Yes, that is the basis of the article. But there has to be information about who you are as a person, because that informs your art.”
He could feel his jaw tighten. “I’m not interested in rehashing my entire past for the entertainment of the faceless populace.”
This time she dropped her gaze and sighed. “Fine. But I’m telling you, the piece will read as shallow and empty if you insist on leaving out your past.”
He shrugged. “I can’t say I care. I already locked down the project, and I’m not trying to win a popularity contest.”
She looked at him quizzically, blinked a few times, as if she didn’t believe what she’d just heard him say. “That was a very arrogant statement.”
“You say arrogant. I say confident.”
She picked up her phone and began swiping the screen. “I’m going to stop recording now. We obviously aren’t going to get anywhere today.”
“We could have, if you had adjusted your line of questioning.”
Irritation flashed in her eyes. “I don’t tell you how to design a building, so don’t tell me how to go about my writing process.”
He drained the rest of his coffee, watching her as she gathered her things.
“Congratulations. You just guaranteed that the interview process is going to take longer.” She tucked her phone into her purse and stood from her seat.
“I’ll wait to hear from you, then.”
Standing next to the table, with a frown marring her beautiful face, she asked, “Will you actually answer my questions the next time? I don’t like having my time wasted.”
“Neither do I. So yes, I will.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she turned and walked away.
As he watched her retreat, Ken smiled to himself. Even in the throes of annoyance, Nona was still beautiful and sexy as hell. He knew she probably thought he was an arrogant jerk, but in reality, he was just protecting his past. In order to keep the people he loved safe, he didn’t have any other choice.
Watching her hips sway as she strode out of the coffee shop brightened his smile.
He couldn’t wait to see what their next encounter would bring.
Stifling a yawn, Nona dragged herself into the kitchen for a cup of tea. It was early enough that she’d beat the sun out of bed, and mornings like this, she seriously wondered why she’d pursued journalism.
She fiddled around in the dark for a few moments before locating the switch. Her bleary eyes protested as the room flooded with bright light. Padding to the cabinet, she took down her mug and went to get her tea bags.
On cue, Sheba trotted into the kitchen. The two-year-old black lab immediately came to where Nona stood and nuzzled her bare calf with her cool, wet nose.
As always, Sheba’s presence brought a smile to Nona’s face. “Good morning, girl.” Leaving her tea supplies on the counter, she squatted down to give her sweet pup a few snuggles. Back on her feet, she washed her hands and started the teakettle. Then she fixed Sheba bowls of fresh kibble and water before grabbing her own breakfast ingredients from the white French-door refrigerator.
Twenty minutes