Chapter 8 Iris #2
“Exactly.” Tash smiles encouragingly. “It’s the senior architects discussing current projects, and Mr. Prescott will assign new projects during this meeting too, so take notes of anything Mr. Brooks might need to know.
Speaking of…” she trails off, glancing over my shoulder.
“He should be here. Do you know why he’s held up? ”
I twist my lips to one side, nerves rippling through me. Why do I get the sense that I’ve somehow messed this up?
We file into the conference room on the first floor, taking seats around the large oak table. Aidan is still nowhere to be seen, and my stomach gives a lurch.
“Where the hell is Brooks?” Dad barks as he enters the room, his gaze finding me.
Shit.
“I’m… not sure.”
Irritation flickers across my father’s features. “Well, find him.”
“Right. Yes.”
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 mention yesterday.
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.
So this is 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 is his mistake, 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 says Daisy.
“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 can feel it.
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.
Before I can stop it, my gaze strays to the hard line of his jaw, shadowed by his beard. To the slight wave in his hair, the suit jacket straining over his broad shoulders, the chest that felt so warm and solid under my hands.
God, he’s handsome.
“Um,” I say softly, forgetting why I’m even here.
My father chooses that moment to pop his head in. “Oh, look. Brooks has deigned to grace us with his presence.”
Aidan tears his eyes from mine, pink creeping under his beard. His hand balls into a fist at his side, and I wait for him to tell Dad about the calendar. For some reason, he doesn’t.
“Since you skipped out on our meeting this morning,” Dad continues, “you’ll now be heading up the Bushwick studios.”
Aidan’s jaw turns to granite, and he directs a glower at me. I shrink, glancing at Dad with trepidation. I told him it was my fault Aidan’s late. Any second now he’s going to launch into a tirade about my poor time management, about how I need to try harder.
But it doesn’t come. The relief that washes through me is overwhelming.
Dad turns on his heel, and Aidan huffs in disbelief. I wince, turning back to him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I tried to tell him…” The words stick in my throat, and I hold out the coffee, as if that might somehow make up for it. “I, uh, got you this…”
But Aidan doesn’t take it. Instead, he tugs off his jacket with stiff, jerky movements, throwing it over the back of his chair. “Do you know what you’ve cost me, Cupcake?” His voice is low with barely restrained fury. “The Whitmore Museum expansion was mine. And now…”
I should probably apologize again, but something else rears up inside me. Something angry. One minute he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me, the next he’s fuming.
But that’s not the worst part. I spent all morning trying to do things right, waking before dawn, rushing here from Queens, going back and forth to Joe’s. Trying so fucking hard, and for what?
And when Aidan waves his hand, indicating he doesn’t even want the coffee I’ve so painstakingly acquired for him—not once, but twice—defiance streaks through me.
“Fine,” I snap. Then I dump the coffee into his wastepaper bin with an indignant huff and stalk from his office.
But my righteous anger doesn’t last long. I slump at my desk, massaging my temples as Aidan’s words from yesterday ring through my head.
I’m not sure she’s up to the job.
All I’ve done is prove him right, haven’t I?
I glance up to find Dani watching me with a smirk. “Everything okay?” she asks, in a voice that suggests she’s not in the least concerned.
Hot tears press at my eyes, and I push away from my desk, needing a moment. The last thing I want is for anyone to see me cry.
In the privacy of the bathroom, I splash water on my face, exhaling slowly.
I’m so annoyed with myself. Not only for messing up this morning’s meeting, but for caring.
I don’t even want this job—I’m here against my will.
And Aidan has been such a jerk, which is shitty enough on its own, but combined with the moment we shared in Marco’s, it’s both upsetting and confusing.
And yet… I do care. Maybe not about what he thinks so much, but about doing this right. About doing something right in my life.
For once.
I dry my face, not wanting Aidan to know I’ve been crying.
Or worse, Dani. As I gaze at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I get a flashback to high school, to those nasty girls who made every day hell, how I’d hide in the bathroom sometimes to avoid them.
I never let them see me cry, never let them see how they hurt me.
On days when it got really bad, I faked a migraine and stayed home.
But I can’t do that now.
Squaring my shoulders, I pin on a smile and stride from the bathroom.
Aidan might be pissed about this new project, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.
Once my father makes up his mind about something, there’s no changing it.
I’ll apologize to Aidan again, and if he refuses to forgive me, then so be it.
But he’s not going to stop me from trying.