“True. You’re married to your career.”
I snort into the chicken. That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. The truth is, I don’t think about marriage. Relationships. Love. I’m working toward something bigger than that, and I don’t need a woman getting in my way.
Sophie softens, touching my arm. “You know Dad would be proud of you, right?”
My throat tightens, making the chicken stick as I swallow. Would he? I doubt it. I should be a partner by now. Working on projects that really leave their mark on New York, like the Whitmore Museum expansion.
Andnotgetting distracted by the boss’s daughter.
“Thanks, Soph,” I mumble, reaching for my beer bottle. “Let’s hope my new assistant doesn’t ruin everything.”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
With a sigh, I take a long pull of my beer. I know Sophie means well, but she doesn’t know the whole story. She doesn’t know what happened between Iris and me, about what a mess the situation really is. That Iris is pretty much invincible. Her father won’t take the job from her unless I tell him what happened between us, and I’m sure as shit not doing that. Hell, he’d probably fireme. I’m fucking trapped in this situation, and Iris knows it.
And it makes me furious.
Furious that I’ve worked my ass off for years in this job, while she can step in without a lick of experience and threaten everything I’m building.
Furious that she’s in my office, taunting me with those blue eyes, that long hair, and those full lips.
My eyes stray to the clock hanging in the kitchen, reminding me I have less than twelve hours before I have to be back in the office. Back around her. I tug my phone from my pocket, checking my schedule. My morning is clear, and relief washes through me. I’ll work from home until my afternoon meeting.
The less time I have to spend around Iris, the better.
8
IRIS
For the first time in my life, I wake before my alarm. Well,alarms. I set three, in fear that I’ll somehow sleep through the first two.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
But today, the nervous energy of my new job wakes me before dawn. I’m out of bed before the first alarm has gone off, which gives me plenty of time for a long hot shower. I step under the steam with a sigh, anxiety needling my chest at the thought of going back into that office, at having to face Aidan again.
Yesterday continued much the same way as it started. Aidan barely grunted in my direction, forcing me to figure things out on my own. Thankfully, Dad’s assistant Tash is really friendly, and she showed me the ropes. I wrote everything down, and left Post-it notes on my desk for all the important stuff I’d need to refer to often. I still have a lot to learn, but it felt like a good start. If only I could get Aidan to stop glowering at me every time he steps out of his office.
Anyway, that’s why I’m up at this God-awful hour. Tash told me Aidan arrives at the office at seven-thirty sharp, so that means I need to as well. And while I’m not known as a morningperson, I’m determined to do things right. To prove Icando this, regardless of what anyone else thinks.
But I overshoot my time in the shower. What felt like loads of time to get ready at a leisurely pace has somehow turned into a tiny sliver of a moment, and panic zips through me as I hastily apply my makeup and pull my hair into a high bun. Stepping from the bathroom, I realize I don’t have enough time to scarf down a bowl of cereal, and quickly tug on my coat and shove my feet into my heels, feeling around in my coat pocket. I have four minutes if I want to make the next train, but… Shit. Where the hell are my keys? I frantically dump the contents of my bag out onto the armchair to paw through the items, knowing they have to be there somewhere. I had them last night, so—
Oh, here are those files Aidan asked me to deal with yesterday. Crap, I don’t think I was supposed to bring those home. I make a mental note to file them as soon as I get to the office, then decide I should probably make anactualnote, because I’ll no doubt forget. I grab my notebook and head up a new page with today’s date, adding the reminder, then stuff it back into my bag with the rest of my belongings. My fingers graze my keys, jammed down the side of the chair, and relief floods me.
Great. Time to get going.
It’s a fifty-minute journey and two trains to get from Queens to Brooklyn Heights, and I nearly doze off on the train three times. Eventually, I step from the subway into the frosty air on Clark Street, high on the knowledge that I’m on time for once in my life. That I’m not fucking things up.
Until I get to the coffee shop. The line is longer than expected, and I only have ten minutes before I’m due at the office. Which would be fine, except that Joe’s Coffee is at one end of Fruit Street, and the office is at the other end. At the rate this line is moving, I won’t make it. I contemplate finding somewherecloser to the office, but Tash said this is the best coffee in the neighborhood, and it’s where Mandy, Aidan’s previous assistant, got his coffee. I can only hope he cares enough about his coffee to overlook me being a few minutes late.
I cast my gaze around the cute shop as I wait, taking in the large bay windows, exposed wooden floors, white-painted brick walls, and pressed tin on the ceiling. It’s warm, the smell of espresso and baked goods wafting through the air. I spy a row of cupcakes nestled in the cabinet near the counter, and contemplate getting one for Aidan. An olive branch and a reminder of the fun we had, but I can’t see him taking that well.
Finally, the coffee is ready, and I check the time on my phone with a knot in my stomach. Three minutes to walk five blocks. Fuck.
Securing the lid on Aidan’s coffee, I tear out the store and along the street, power walking as quickly as I can in my heels on the icy sidewalk, while miraculously keeping most of the coffee inside the cup. My blouse is damp with sweat by the time I arrive, breath coming as a puff of white steam in the frigid air. I’m five minutes late, but given my track record, that’s a fucking miracle. Five minutes is nothing. He can’t be mad about that.
But it turns out the stress was for nothing. Aidan isn’t there when I arrive, his office empty and dark, as are the rest of the offices. I waver in the doorway, thrown. Adrenaline courses through me from the rush down the street. I was amped up to explain myself to Aidan. Exhaling slowly, I enter the office and set his coffee on his desk, then open his blinds, letting the cool morning light spill into the room. He’ll no doubt be here any second, and it won’t hurt to ready the place for him to start his day.
But there isn’t much to get ready. His desk is immaculate, his drafting table clear. Every book on his shelves lines up perfectly. Even the yellow pencils in the jar on his desk are all sharpened.
