I take a long sip of my gin and tonic as I listen, surprised I’m relaxing in their company. The gin is helping, sure, but it’s the people, too—genuine, kind, welcoming. Not only are they not judging me, they’re openly sharing their own experiences. They want to help. After a lifetime of other women being nice to my face and gossiping behind my back, or just being outright nasty—the girls from high school spring to mind—it’s strange to feel women gathering around me in support. Strange, but nice. So nice I wonder if we might even become friends.
“Thanks,” I murmur, voice catching. “This has helped a lot.”
Daisy pulls her phone from her bag. “What’s your number?”
I smile, telling her, and a second later there’s a buzz from Poppy’s phone on the counter, followed by Violet’s and mine. I pull it out to find a new group text chain.
“Now you can text us anytime you need,” Daisy adds, smiling.
My chest fills with warmth as I glance around the circle. Not only at how friendly they are, but at the tiny seed of hope beginning to sprout somewhere inside me.
I know Aidan feels what I do. I see it in the way he listens to me, hear it in the words he won’t let himself say,feelit every time his gaze meets mine. I understand why he won’t act on it in the office, and I won’t push that. I’ll focus on being professional, doing my job, showing him I’m invaluable. He’ll respect me more for it.
And while I don’t know how to get past what’s in our way, how to convince him to let something happen between us, after talking to Daisy, Poppy, and Violet, I do know one thing.
I’m not prepared to give up on him.
19
AIDAN
The next two weeks pass uneventfully, with work starting on the Bushwick site to keep me busy. Between paperwork, site visits, and finalizing minor design details, Iris is the epitome of professionalism. She doesn’t mention what happened between us in my office. Doesn’t push the boundaries like usual, and even manages to order lunch on time most days. It’s exactly what I need. What I wanted from the start.
And I can’t stand it.
My gaze drifts from my laptop, through the open door to where Iris sits at her desk, diligently answering emails. I’ve noticed she prefers to do that in batches rather than one on one as they come in. She seems to be better at most tasks this way, as if it’s easier when she can focus on one thing and block out the rest, like when she drafted the Bushwick studios at my table for four hours straight.
An array of Post-it notes still covers her desk, but I’ve learned there’s a system. Soph was right, it might not make sense to me, but it works for her. It’s the same with her notebook. She’s gotten better at using the online calendar, but she still writeseverything down in her notebook. I think it helps her to have it in black and white where she can see it easily.
My eyes map her face, taking in the concentrated little frown between her brows, the teeth digging into her full bottom lip as she types, those breathtakingly blue eyes. I can’t stop my gaze from straying along the loose neckline of her blouse, past the soft creamy skin of her collarbone, stealing a peek at her cleavage. God, she’s beautiful.
She wears the same few items of clothing to work, rotating them over the week, and when I picture her tiny apartment, it makes sense. She doesn’t have room for a huge closet—though I’m still intrigued by the closet near the front door she wouldn’t let me open—but I sense it’s also for financial reasons.
I think of John taking half her paycheck, and scowl. It’s such a shitty thing to do, and I’m struck by the sudden urge to do the complete opposite and get her a bigger apartment, take her shopping, buy her everything she could possibly want. I make good money, and I’m sitting on a sizable nest egg left by my father when he died. Once I make partner, I’ll make more than I need for my lifestyle, and the thought of spending it on Iris is too tempting.
With great effort, I wrench my gaze away. Because I won’t fuckingmakepartner if I continue this line of thought, will I? There’s no way I can have both.
A notification from John pops up on my screen, almost as if he knows what I’ve been thinking, and I inhale slowly. He wants me in his office, now.
Pushing away from the desk, I exit the room. Iris glances up as I pass, gaze locked on mine, then slowly slipping down the length of my body. I feel it everywhere, and it’s an effort not to turn back, not to pull her into my office and touch her everywhere in return.
Focus, Brooks. For fuck’s sake.
I nod at Tash as I pass her desk, then knock lightly on John’s door, stepping inside.
“There you are,” John mutters, not looking up from his screen. “I need you to head out to East Hampton tomorrow to check out a potential project.”
I frown. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
John’s sharp gaze meets mine. “And?”
I flex my fingers at my side, biting my tongue. While I normally work weekends by choice, and it’s expected we’ll work overtime when necessary to meet deadlines for clients, John’s never directly assigned me work on a weekend like this. I’m not sure I like it.
“Who’s the client?”
“Waterman.” John’s gaze returns to his laptop, typing as he speaks. “You met him last week. He’s an old friend. Wants us to look at a decommissioned lighthouse out that way in Wetherly Cove.”
Wetherly Cove? Never heard of it. More importantly, a lighthouse? That’s so far beyond the scope of my work it’s almost laughable. First the Bushwick studios, now this?
