Chapter 18 Iris
IRIS
It’s a relief when the workday is over. I’m tempted to scurry out without saying a word, but that wouldn’t be professional. Aidan was clear: we need to keep things strictly above board now. And he’s right. As much as it stings.
I gather my things, then poke my head into his office. Aidan glances up from his laptop, softening when he sees me, but I pretend not to notice. Every time he looks at me like that, my heart melts a little more. I hate that it does. It shouldn’t. It can’t.
“I’m, uh, heading out,” I mumble, looking down at my nails. “Do you need anything before I go?”
Aidan sighs. “No.”
I turn to leave, but he calls out to me again, and I pause, turning back.
“Are… are you okay?”
I consider this. I don’t feel very okay, but I also don’t regret the moment we shared in his office this afternoon. Seeing him so raw and undone, the way he lost his careful composure and spoke to me in that dirty voice, the way he got himself off while he watched me…
The way he didn’t yell at me for what I was doing. Didn’t threaten to tell my father. Didn’t make me feel like shit.
Instead, he stood right there, letting me do what I needed. He didn’t just let me, he joined me. He took what he needed too. It wasn’t only hot as hell, it was validating. Somehow, in the space of a week, he’s gone from being insufferable Work Aidan to… I don’t know.
Kind Aidan. Sweet Aidan. Daddy Aidan.
The only person who’s ever made me feel grounded and safe. Seen and heard. Understood.
And it’s so fucking hard not to want more of it.
“I’m…” I clear the tightness from my throat. “I’ll be okay.”
He runs his gaze across my face for a moment longer, then nods. He looks like he wants to say more, but holds his tongue. “Have a good night,” he murmurs at last, a somber note to his voice I haven’t heard before. Like he’s letting go of something he doesn’t want to.
Me?
I brush the thought off as soon as it appears, pushing my mouth into a smile. I have to work with this man. For this man. No point in making things awkward.
“You too,” I say, and head out the door before he can say anything more.
Fruit Street is quiet and dark when I step out, snow falling softly between the brownstones, sparkling as it lands under pools of orange light from the street lamps. My breath mists in the air as I crunch along the sidewalk, coat tight against the cold.
I’m surprised to see Joe’s Coffee is open when I pass, and I pop inside, hoping they might have a few cupcakes left. But the cabinet is empty, the shop quiet, and I glance back to notice the “Open” sign on the door flipped around. Shit, they’re not open at all. Whoops.
Disappointment trickles through me, and I head back to the door when a voice calls my name.
“Iris?” I turn to find Daisy coming out from the back room, folding her apron. “I thought that was you. Hi.”
“Hi.” I huff an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were closed. Should have read the sign.”
Daisy shrugs. “That’s okay.”
“I was hoping to grab a few of those delicious cupcakes, but I’ll come back tomorrow.”
She twists her lips to one side in thought. “What are you doing right now? Because I know where to find more.”
I lift my brows, intrigued. “I could stick around…”
Daisy grins. She pulls her phone from her pocket, fingers flying across the screen, then grabs her bag from under the counter, flicking off the light. The shop plunges into darkness, and I follow her back to the glow of the street, waiting as she locks up.
It occurs to me that she probably wants to go home to whoever gave her that gorgeous ring—not track down cupcakes for some random stranger.
“I, uh, this isn’t urgent,” I mumble, glancing along the street in the direction of the subway. “I didn’t mean to put you out…”
She waves a hand. “Don’t be silly. I offered. Besides, you can meet Poppy.”
Apprehension tugs at me as I follow Daisy along Fruit Street.
Meeting new people isn’t my favorite thing, and I don’t do well in groups.
One-on-one is fine, but the more people present, the harder it is to focus, to read what everyone’s not saying, to keep a smile on my face.
I’m already feeling a little fragile after today, so maybe I shouldn’t push it.
“How was your day?” Daisy asks casually as we walk.
I nearly say, good, then remember our previous conversation. The one where we both agreed that small talk is overrated.
“It was… intense.” I consider telling her about Aidan, given we spoke about him last time, but hold back.
Daisy picks up on it anyway. “Trouble with the hot older guy again?”
“Something like that,” I mutter. “I could use a gin and tonic, if I’m honest.”
She laughs, stopping outside a building with light spilling from the basement.
I notice a small sign hanging by the basement door that reads Poppy’s Pantry, and above rises a beautiful Italianate brownstone, just like the ones at the firm.
The windows glow with warm, inviting light.
Poppy must work downstairs and live above.
I cringe, glancing at Daisy. This poor woman won’t want to be accosted by me after hours.
I’m about to tell Daisy I should go when she looks at me with a warm smile.
It’s so kind that I can’t get the words out.
She’s going out of her way for me. I should be grateful.
I’ll just pop in, grab the cupcakes, and go.
I follow Daisy down the steps to the basement entrance. She knocks lightly on the door, then opens it, stepping inside. She’s obviously close to this Poppy person.
“Come on,” she says, motioning for me to follow her inside. Taking a deep breath, I do.
Warmth envelops me as the door shuts behind us, the scent of cinnamon and sugar hitting my nose.
I blink in the bright lights, taking in the wall of refrigerators and ovens.
A tray of cookies cools on the expansive gleaming chrome countertop, and a woman with shoulder-length copper-red hair glances up from where she’s icing cupcakes.
“Hey, Daisy,” she says, grinning. Her grin moves to me. “Hi. Iris, right?”
My brows spring up in surprise. Daisy told her about me?
“Uh, yes. Hi.”
She sets her icing down, wiping her hands on her apron as she crosses to me. She’s younger than I expected—probably about my age—but that makes sense. I’d put Daisy in her mid-to-late twenties too.
“Sorry to intrude,” I say, glancing at the work I’m so clearly interrupting. Beside me, Daisy grabs a cookie off the tray and bites into it, like she’s done it a thousand times.
But Poppy shakes her head. “It’s no trouble. I’m not supposed to be working, anyway.”
She glances at Daisy, whose gaze falls to Poppy’s belly, then back to her face, eyebrows lifting hopefully.
“No,” Poppy says, issuing a small laugh. “But Wyatt is already acting like I am.” She looks back at me to explain, “We’re trying for a baby, and…” Her breath trickles out. “Not having much luck.”
“Oh,” I murmur, pressing a hand to my heart. What do you say to that? I can’t imagine wanting to be pregnant at this age, but then I don’t have my shit together like she seems to. A successful business, a huge house, and, I imagine, a wonderful husband.
My gaze moves to the massive ruby gleaming on her finger, and envy snakes through me. For the briefest moment I allow myself to imagine the same care and support Aidan has shown me over the past week, but for a lifetime. How it might feel to have that warmth and encouragement every day.
And as for the man himself…
Heat rolls through me as I remember the way he kissed me so hungrily, the low scrape of his voice as he leaned over his desk, cock in hand, eyes dark and desperate like he wanted so much more than what we were doing. Like he wanted something he couldn’t even admit to himself.
But his words afterward echo through my mind, and I sigh.
I didn’t know he wanted to become a partner with Dad, but it makes sense, and explains a little more about his annoyance at losing out on the museum project.
The problem is, he doesn’t know my father like I do.
He doesn’t know how rarely Dad rewards people, regardless of how hard they work.
That he could wait a lifetime for my father’s approval.
And then there’s what he said after that, about me being young, him needing to set boundaries.
The words make irritation fizzle in my belly, like when he balked at learning I was only twenty-six that first day in the office.
Yes, I’m young, and yes, I have things to learn.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t know myself.
I want to make my own choices, mistakes and all, and I don’t need him to decide what’s best for me. That’s exactly what my father does.
Only… it’s not the same, is it? Dad’s control feels cold, about power, not protection. Aidan’s feels… different. Protective. Maybe even tender.
The word Daddy flashes into my head again, and I think of the way heat flared in Aidan’s eyes when I confessed it’s not my father I associate with that word.
He had to know I meant him, right? Because he looked as though he wouldn’t mind all that much if I called him that.
He looked as though he might fucking love it.
There’s a sound at the door, and I push the thoughts away. None of it matters if he won’t let himself touch me. Even if he didn’t want to be Dad’s partner, I’ll always be eighteen years younger than him.
I glance over to see a blond woman, around our age, let herself into the basement with a smile. A ripple of unease moves through me at the way this unexpected social gathering seems to be snowballing, but I force myself to keep smiling.
Daisy looks at me. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says quietly, “I invited my friend Violet, too.”
Violet. Another flower name. How strange.
Violet grins, hopping casually onto the stainless steel counter, kicking her feet in front of her. “Hey! Iris, right? Nice to meet you, finally.”
I blink. Finally? Daisy told Violet about me as well?