Those violet eyes searched his face. “What made you get into real estate?”
He blinked. He still wasn’t used to it, the way she changed subjects so smoothly. She was obviously quite skilled at it. Ruefully, he realized she’d probably be pretty damn good in a business negotiation.
As she waited for an answer, Cole thought about her question, then chuckled. “When an interviewer asks me that, I say it’s because I like beautiful buildings and creating homes for people.”
She raised one auburn eyebrow. “And the real reason?”
He grinned. “I wanted to spite my father.”
“Interesting.” She leaned forward to put down her mug. “I want to know more.”
“My father made his living buying up companies and tearing them down.” Cole set his jaw. “So I decided I’d make my living doing the opposite.”
“Is it true you gave away all of his money when he died?”
“Every last penny.”
And now he was even richer than his father had been, ironic as that was. When he’d closed his first nine-figure deal, he’d been tempted to look up at the sky—or perhaps down at the ground—and say to his father, What do you think of that, old man? Edward Donovan had spent his life chipping away at his son’s confidence, constantly taunting Cole that he would never amount to anything.
Proving the old bastard wrong was the greatest triumph of Cole’s life.
“Yet you managed to build something better from scratch,” Jamie said, sounding impressed. “You should be proud.”
“I am proud,” he admitted. “It was tough, starting out. I had to beg for bank loans and I did it all on my own. Those first dozen buildings I put up, that was my sweat, blood and tears.”
“You worked on the crew?”
“Oh yeah. I couldn’t demand those kinds of deadlines from my guys and not join in to meet them.”
“Do you still do it now?”
“Not so much anymore, someone needs to run the business, after all. But I did build the house we’re sitting in.”
She smiled, and something shifted in his chest. For some reason, he liked making this woman smile. Liked seeing that little twinkle of pleasure in her eyes.
“It’s a great house.” Then she shook her head. “But I still can’t believe you gave away your inheritance. I bet your mother wasn’t happy with that decision.”
“She was too drunk to notice.” The confession popped out before he could stop it.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jamie said quietly.
He gave a small shrug. “She’s sober now, has been ever since my father died. Once he was gone, Mom had no reason to drink herself into oblivion.”
“Your father was that bad, huh?”
“Worse,” he said grimly. “He wasn’t abusive, physically anyway, but he was a tyrant. He wanted a trophy wife and a child who was seen and not heard. He treated us like business associates. If I’m being honest, I don’t think he felt a drop of emotion for either one of us. It was all business for him, all the time.”
There was no bitterness in his voice—he’d stopped being bitter a long time ago. But it surprised him that he was sharing his life story with her. He didn’t talk about his childhood with anyone. Not even Teresa. But there was just something about Jamie’s perceptive lavender eyes and soothing aura that made him want to confide in her.
He fell silent, listening to the howl of the wind and the loud shuddering of the roof as the relentless rain battered against it. The large bay window overlooking the front yard revealed nothing but black, with the occasional burst of silver each time another bolt of lightning exploded from the sky. He didn’t worry about the roof collapsing, though. He’d built this house with his own two hands and knew it could withstand anything Mother Nature threw at it.
Turning away from the window, he glanced back at Jamie and asked, “What about you? Bad parents, or good ones?”
“Parent, singular,” she corrected. “And good, for the most part. My dad ran out on us before I was born, and my mom struggled to make ends meet.” She flashed him a self-deprecating smile. “No wealthy upbringing for me.”
“Wealth is overrated.”
“Yeah, you really don’t seem concerned with it. I mean, you live in this gorgeous house, but other than that, I get the feeling you’re down-to-earth, unbothered by material things.”
“You don’t seem bothered by those either.”
“I’m not.” She tilted her head in a thoughtful pose. “I guess when you grow up in a trailer park, you learn not to take things for granted.”
Somehow he couldn’t picture this beautiful, refined woman hailing from a trailer park.
She must have seen the doubt in his eyes, because she let out a laugh. “Seriously, trailer park. My mom had the big, bleached-blond hair and everything. She only went back to her natural color when I graduated from the academy.”