I rise from the chair and step onto the stairs, my hands shaking as I pull out my phone. Behind me, I hear Dad say something to the others about the Whitmore Museum expansion, something I’m sure I heard Aidan mentionyesterday. I hastily punch in the number for Aidan’s cell from the list in my notebook, then hold my breath as it rings. He won’t answer, not when he sees it’s me, but surprisingly, he does.
“Iris.” That’s it. That’s all he says.
“Uh, hi, Aid— Um, Mr. Brooks.” I swallow nervously. God, what has happened to me? Two days ago I was on my knees in front of this man feeling more powerful than ever, now I can barely get my words out. “I think you’re supposed to be here? For a meeting?”
Silence. I consider repeating myself, but he finally says, “What meeting? My schedule is clear. That’s why I’m working from home this morning.”
Crap.
Sothisis why I need to use the online calendar. Tash tried to explain it to me yesterday, but technology has never really been my thing—see my spectacular failure with Revit—and the office was so noisy and I’d missed lunch and couldn’t focus, especially not with Aidan in the kitchenette making coffee and studiously avoiding eye contact, so the whole thing went right over my head.
But it’s not like I’m completely irresponsible. When Tash mentioned this morning’s meeting, I wrote it down in my notebook. Only Aidan doesn’t have access to that, does he? Not when he’s at home.
Goddammit. Only my second day and I’ve already fucked up big time.
“Sorry, that’s…” I press my eyes shut, hating how pathetic I feel. “That’s my mistake. There’s a 9 a.m. meeting that I wrote in my notebook, and I assumed you’d be here, so…” I trail off.
More silence.
“So… you might want to come in?”
A heavy sigh, then, “Fine.” And the line goes dead.
I stare down at my phone, taking a deep, calming breath. I can hear Dad’s voice from the conference room, loud and commanding, and grimace at the lecture I’ll receive for this later.
But there’s no time to worry about that now.
I head back into the conference room on wobbly legs, sliding into a chair and flipping my notebook open. Aidan might miss it, but I’ll take the most thorough notes I can. It will be like he was there himself.
“Well?” Dad asks, gaze boring into me.
“Mr. Brooks is running late,” I say, then realize that makes it look as though this ishismistake, not mine. And while I’d really love to let my father believe that—and I’m sure it wouldn’t cost Aidan anything like it’s going to cost me—I can’t do that. “It’s my fault,” I add, feeling my cheeks heat, and refusing to meet the gaze of anyone else at the table. “Won’t happen again.”
Dad stares at me for a beat longer, expression warped with disapproval, then turns to the room. “Since Brooks has once again decided he’s got better things to do, he can take the Bushwick studios.”
I’m not sure what this means, but I note it down, sensing it can’t be good. Whatever it is, I’ll make sure Aidan gets the message.
The meeting passes quickly as I focus on taking notes, and the moment it ends, I go straight to Tash.
“Hey,” I whisper, not wanting Dad to overhear. “Do you have a minute? I was wondering if you could show me how to use the online calendar again?”
I half expect her to roll her eyes, given she spent thirty minutes explaining it to me yesterday, but she smiles kindly.
“Of course. I just have some emails to send for Mr. Prescott, then I can help.”
“Thanks. And…” I glance furtively over my shoulder, face burning. “Could you, uh, not tell my father, please?”
She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze. “No problem.”
Relief trickles through me as Tash heads back to her desk. I catch Dani watching us with undisguised amusement and pretend not to notice as I grab my bag. Aidan still isn’t here, but I should have just enough time to dash out and grab him another coffee before he arrives. I race the five blocks to Joe’s, making a mental note to bring sneakers in my bag tomorrow. At least the coffee shop is much quieter now.
“Hi, again,” the pretty brunette barista says, and I chuff an embarrassed laugh.
“Same again, please,” I mumble. I watch her make the coffee, her long dark braid snaking over one shoulder, freckles dusting her alabaster skin. When she hands me Aidan’s coffee, I notice her nametag saysDaisy.
“Thanks, Daisy,” I say in a rush, then hurry back along Fruit Street, hoping Aidan will see the coffee for the apology it is.
I’m breathless by the time I return. My gut twists when I notice Aidan in his office, setting his briefcase down. I enter the room clutching the coffee, and his gaze locks with mine, making my heart crash against my ribs. He stares at me for a long moment, jaw tight, as if fighting some internal battle. Then his gaze slides over me from head to toe, and I swear, I canfeelit. I shift on my heels, swallowing hard, and when his eyes come back to mine, they’re burning. At first I think it’s irritation, but then I realize… it’s something else. Something that takes me entirely by surprise.
