Chapter 10 Iris #2
I hesitate, then decide to get Aidan a coffee.
It’s the least he deserves after what he said to me in the Uber, but even after his harsh words, I can’t deny the guilt tugging at me.
It’s my fault he’s working on the Bushwick project.
He’d be remodeling a museum right now if it weren’t for me, and while I can’t understand why he’d rather do that than something down to earth like the studios, I still feel bad.
“There you go,” Daisy says, handing me the coffee with a smile. “I forgot to ask, what’s your name?”
“Iris,” I say.
“Like the flower?”
I nod, realizing for the first time we’re both named after flowers. And her friend who makes the cupcakes. Poppy. How funny.
Daisy chuffs a quiet, knowing laugh, smiling to herself. “Of course,” she murmurs. “See you again soon, Iris.”
I’m surprised to find I’m smiling as I leave Joe’s. I feel lighter after talking to Daisy, and I can’t stop thinking about what she said, about working on the project anyway.
By the time I get back to the office, I’m brimming with ideas.
I climb the stairs to our floor, shrugging out of my coat, then turn to Aidan’s office.
He’s standing at his drafting table, lost in the work, and I pause, watching him.
Why does he use that old-fashioned drafting table instead of a modern tablet, like Dad?
I lean against the doorframe, taking in the crease of concentration on his brow, his large hand splayed out across the tracing paper.
He’s left-handed, I notice for the first time, and there’s something incredibly endearing about that.
It somehow makes him a little more human.
I listen to the soft, satisfying scrape of his pencil across the paper, and something shifts in my chest. I forgot how much I love that sound, how much I actually like drafting by hand, seeing my vision come to life on the page.
So much of our work at school revolved around technology, but it’s not the same on a screen.
I inch into the room, trying to see his plan.
It’s a rough sketch, but already I can see he’s added a floating wall to separate the sleeping area.
While architecturally impressive, it’ll block light and make the space feel claustrophobic.
A low, twelve-inch platform would work better to define the space without cutting it off, and it could double as hidden storage.
My chest fizzes with anticipation as I imagine the space, the potential.
Aidan glances up, sensing my presence, and I whip my gaze away from his work, holding my breath as his stormy-gray eyes land on me.
They move over my face for a moment, and there’s a flicker of something I can’t quite read there.
Remorse, maybe. Then he notices the cup in my hand and his brows crash together, as if remembering he’s angry at me.
I sigh, wondering if bringing him coffee again was a mistake.
The argument in the car has left me confused and exhausted.
Honestly, it’s been a roller coaster since I arrived at the firm.
Maybe Aidan’s right, and I should quit. I’m only here to placate my father, but it’s hardly worth it.
The fallout with Dad wouldn’t be nearly as unpleasant as arguing with a man who seems to want me one moment and hate me the next.
But when I imagine walking into my father’s office to tell him I can’t do it, my stomach churns.
I’ve already flunked out of college. Already proven to him on multiple levels that I’m a failure.
This studio project is something I could actually be good at.
Is it too much to want to do well at something? Just one little thing?
Maybe instead, this is my chance to show Dad college wasn’t a complete waste.
My life might not look how he wants it to, but I can prove I have good ideas.
That I have something valuable to contribute beyond getting coffee.
Then I won’t only get him off my back financially, he might trust me to make some decisions for myself, for once.
Perhaps the more important question is, what do I have to lose by trying? For the first time in ages, I’m excited about something. I’ve missed this feeling. Honestly, part of me wondered if it would ever return.
And the thing is, once I’m interested in something, I find it kind of impossible not to pursue it. It’s like an itch in my brain I have to scratch. I can already feel the urge to dive into this, despite what Aidan said, and I want to explore that.
Besides, it’s the least I can do after putting him in this situation, right? If I can help in any way, I probably owe it to him.
I waver, deciding it’s better if I don’t say anything yet. After the way we left things in the Uber, who knows what he’s thinking? But I know one thing, he won’t accept my help on this project unless I show him what I can do.
I set the coffee down on his desk, give him a tight smile, and turn to go.
“Iris…” he says quietly, stopping me in my tracks.
I glance back, and he hesitates. For a second I think he’s going to apologize, but he looks down at his hands.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he murmurs.
It’s not an apology, but it feels like a step forward.
“You’re welcome.”
He holds my gaze for a moment, then picks up the coffee, turning back to his drafting table.
And I head back to my desk, excited to get to work.