Dad makes a low, angry sound in his throat. “So help me God, if you fuck this up—”
“She won’t,” Aidan cuts in sharply. Sharp enough for Dad to look at him in surprise. He stares at Aidan for a beat, then storms from the room, slamming the door behind him.
I’m shaking as I turn to Aidan. “God, I’m so sorry. He’s furious.”
Aidan throws his hands up. “Let him be furious. He’ll be singing a different tune when Waterman loves your designs.” I wait for Aidan to smile, maybe kiss me, but he just rakes a hand through his hair in agitation.
“Should I…” I motion vaguely to the drafting table, and he nods, but as I settle in to work, it’s hard to focus. It’s amazing to have Aidan’s support, but the more he stands up for me, the more irritated my father gets with him, and the less likely Dad is to make him partner.
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. God, how did I not see it?
I knew that if I wanted success like my father’s, it required sacrifice.
He believes he can only have one—love or success—and in this case, he might actually be right. Only, he’s not sacrificingme, he’s sacrificing his career.
And as I sketch ideas for the lighthouse, I wonder… What if being with me costs him too much?
26
AIDAN
For the rest of the day, I ignore Iris. Not because Iwantto, but because I don’t. Because if I let myself do what I want to do to her, not only will we not get any work done, John will fire us both.
I was so impressed by the way she stood up to him today. I know it wasn’t easy for her, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to tell her how freaking proud I was. Instead, I watched her translate her ideas for the lighthouse into rough sketches, knowing I’d made the right call by putting her on this project. I’m pretty sure Thomas Waterman and the people of Wetherly Cove will think so too. John will just have to damn well get used to it.
I knew you could handle it.
His patronizing words from this morning haunt me. I can’t tell if he’s treating me differently because I’m defending Iris, or if he’s always been that condescending and I’m only just noticing, but either way, I don’t like it. Yes, he’s my boss, but that doesn’t give him carte blanche to be a jerk. To make promises he has no intention of keeping. He’s been holding partnership over mefor almost a decade, and I’m starting to wonder if he has any intention of giving it to me. If he ever did.
Iris is quiet as she finally steps away from her drafting table at 3 p.m. She’s been sketching all day, breaking only for lunch because I reminded her, and I’m eager to see what she’s produced, but more than that, I want to check in with her. Make sure she’s okay after the altercation with John this morning. I’ve got another meeting with David Lancaster at the Bushwick site to check on progress with the studios before heading home, and I wasn’t planning to take Iris with me when she was so in the zone, but now I’m desperate for a moment alone with her.
“Want to finish up?” I ask, pulling on my coat.
She nods, stretching. “Yeah, sorry. You probably want your office back.”
I frown. That’s the last thing I want.
“I’m heading out to the Bushwick site to check on progress. You should come.”
Her brows pop up. “Oh. Sure.”
Not quite the enthusiastic response I was hoping for.
“If you’d rather stay here…”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ll come. Let me grab my things.”
I scratch my chin as I watch her gather her bag and coat from her desk. Something’s off with her, but I’m not sure what. Is she having second thoughts about us? It seems unlikely, given how much she pushed for it, but maybe the reality of things has hit now that we’re back in the office, especially with her father watching her every move. There’s a twist in my chest as I think about having to step back from this. No longer kissing her, touching her. All the things that could have been. If that’s what she wants, I’ll do it, of course.
But it would fucking crush me.
She gives me a faint smile as we head outside to my car. I decide not to ask, not yet. Maybe she just needs to get out of the office. Away from John. I’m sure she’ll perk up when we get to the studios.
But as we climb the stairs in the Bushwick building, her usual sparkle is still AWOL. I expect her to be excited about seeing her design come to life, but she can barely muster a smile as we meet with David.I’mthe one who steps forward with an enthusiastic handshake.
“Looking good, isn’t it?” I ask, and he nods. The kitchens are in—cabinetry fitted, countertops gleaming in the afternoon light—so we can finally see how the studios will come together. They’re small, but with Iris’s smart design, they’ll make great places to live.
I walk the floor with David, iPad in hand, checking that the installations match the plans; cabinet heights, appliance clearances, counter overhangs. It’s common for builders to cut corners on projects like this, so I take a moment to look closely. Are the joints tight, the lines clean, the finishes consistent? I take photos for my records as I do, and Iris quietly scrawls details in her notebook.
