The heat of him so close at my side, the deep timbre of his voice in my ear, every brush of his hand against mine… I’m taut with need, breath shallow, hyper-aware of his every movement.
Aidan smiles as I step away from the drafting table, sketch complete. He mentions something about me taking a break and says he’ll get the design drawn up in Revit, but it’s a struggle to process his words with my heart thundering as I leave his office.
I’ve wanted Aidan since I laid eyes on him, but this is different. What I feel now is something else. He’s no longer my hot older boss, the guy who barely tolerates me. Now, he’s the man who values my ideas. The man who sees the real me, without judgment. The man who lets me push and doesn’t back down.
And that changeseverything.
I sink into my desk chair with a long, weighted sigh, dropping my head into my hands. How the hell am I supposed to turn these feelings off after that? How am I supposed tonotwant him?
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to catch my breath, when my gaze snags on something beside my keyboard. My heart stumbles in my chest.
He bought me a salad, too.
15
AIDAN
I’m halfway home when a text from Soph pops up on my phone.
Sophie: Didn’t get the show.
With a sigh, I change my route, swinging by our favorite Thai place, before heading to Sophie and Jada’s apartment in Greenpoint. Jada answers the buzzer when I ring, looking relieved to see me. At thirty-two, she’s five years younger than Sophie, with a wide smile, warm brown skin, and a soft halo of curls.
“Hi, Aid.” She pulls me into a tight hug. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.” I hold out the bags of Thai food, and Jada takes them, leading me into their railroad-style apartment with a view of the river, framed by Sophie’s canvases stacked on either side of the windows. I find my sister on the sofa, a blanket up to her chin, face lit by the flickering blue glow of the TV.
“Hey,” I murmur, sinking onto the end of the sofa.
“You didn’t have to come,” she mumbles, pulling herself up with great effort and folding her knees under her.
“I know.” I squeeze her shoulder. If there’s one thing my sister can’t stand, it’s pity. But I also know this setback will hither hard. Sometimes it can take her days to get out of bed if a show doesn’t work out, or she doesn’t sell as many paintings as she’d hoped. And while Jada is here to support her, I need to be, too.
Jada sets the bag of Thai food on the coffee table in front of us, along with two beers.
“Have some food, babe,” she urges gently.
Sophie sighs. “I’m not hungry.”
“Well, Iam,” I say, reaching for the pad Thai. I open the container, hoping the smell will tempt her, then I rummage in the takeout bag, finding the container of tofu pad Thai, and hand it to Jada. She’s been a vegetarian as long as I’ve known her, and I always bring something she can eat. She gives me a grateful look, hovers for a moment, then leaves us to it.
I load up a forkful of food, taking a bite. Sophie’s gaze strays to me, and she sighs again. I grin, handing over the pad Thai, pleased when she reluctantly takes it.
“You okay?” I ask, grabbing a beer from the coffee table.
“Not really.” She chews dejectedly for a moment. “I’m beginning to wonder if it’s time to quit. Time to get a grown-up job.”
There’s a tug in my chest, and I glance at Sophie’s paintings leaning against the exposed brick wall. Explosions of color, bold brush strokes, her personality—herheart—captured on the canvas. In spite of our father, her art instructors, critics, everyone who told her she wasn’t good enough. If I could buy all my sister’s paintings myself, I would, but I don’t have the wall space, and that’s not what she needs. What she needs is to find her own inner strength, her own reason to continue, regardless of setbacks.
“I hope you don’t,” I say gently, reaching for a spring roll. “You’re so talented, Soph.”
“Westhaven Gallery doesn’t think so,” she mutters, poking murderously at the pad Thai.
“Fuck them.” I snap a spring roll in half. “Then they don’t deserve you. They’re the ones who will kick themselves when you sell out somewhere else—which you’ve done several times,” I remind her.
She gives me a watery smile. “Thanks, Aid.”
“Besides,” I say, taking the pad Thai from her outstretched hand. “Do you really want to work in an office like me?” I give her a wry smile. “I can’t picture it.”
