Chapter 6 Iris
IRIS
It’s him. Oh. My. God.
I blink, gazing at the man towering above me as I sit in one of the hard acrylic Ghost Chairs opposite my father’s desk.
He’s here. Aidan.
How?
His eyes lock with mine, and we stare at each other, both of us frozen in surprise. What is he doing here?
I woke early this morning, too agitated to sleep, knowing today was the day I had to begin working for my father and dreading it with all my being. But as I drink in the sight of the man I kissed yesterday—the man I wanted nothing more than to see again—my heart leaps.
I stand from the chair to shake his hand, a laugh rising to my lips.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I joke, the same thing he said to me in the corridor outside the restroom before I pulled him inside with me.
What strange synchronicity. We did something deliciously impulsive, thinking we’d never see each other again, and now the universe throws us together. You have to laugh at that.
But Aidan isn’t laughing. His brows slash together into a scowl as he stiffly shakes my hand, stormy eyes piercing mine. Eyes communicating, in no uncertain terms, that we will not be informing my father of our prior meeting.
Well, I guess I can understand that.
“Nice to meet you, Iris,” he grates out, emphasis landing heavily on my name. I suppose he can’t very well call me Cupcake, can he?
I’m about to reply with his name, but my father’s words from a moment ago finally register, and confusion swirls through me.
He called him Brooks, not Aidan. Is Aidan not his real name?
Did he lie to me? I know I have no reason to be hurt by this—I didn’t even give him my name, for God’s sake—but it tarnishes the memory of what we did, just a little.
“You too… Brooks,” I reply uncertainly, studying his face for a reaction. But all he does is look away.
It’s then that the rest of my father’s words land.
Shit. I’m going to be his assistant. This is the man I’m working for? Aidan. Or Brooks. Whatever his name is.
The man I blew in the restroom at Marco’s. Gah!
His frown deepens as he seems to realize the same thing, glancing past me to my father. “John, can we have a word?”
But Dad is engrossed in something on his computer, and he waves his request away. “Let’s catch up later. Use the morning to get Iris settled.” And with that, he picks up his phone and begins to make a call.
Right. Okay.
I glance back at Aidan—Brooks?—shrugging.
It’s not the end of the world, really. In fact, I realize, as he turns and strides from the room and I scramble to keep up with him in my heels, maybe this is a good thing.
We got along well at Marco’s, and he was a great listener, not to mention kind.
My father could have assigned me to some douche who ogles me, or barks orders at me, or talks down to me, but Aidan’s not like that. Not from what I can recall, anyway.
And that’s before we even get to the fact that this man is sheer eye candy. I don’t mind getting paid to look at him all day, even if my father is taking half my paycheck. For the first time since Dad forced me into this job, I feel a tiny spasm of relief. Maybe working here won’t be so bad.
I follow him into what I assume is his office, smiling hopefully, and he turns to shove his office door closed behind me.
While I’m sure this isn’t his intention, I get an image of him swiping his desk clear to bend me over it, and bite back a naughty smile.
I would most definitely be on board with that.
But when he turns back to me, the color draining from his face, my smile falters.
“How old are you?” he asks in a low voice.
I cringe. “I’m, uh, twenty-six.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He wipes a hand down his face, exhaling roughly. “You said you were in your thirties.”
“Actually, you said that. I just didn’t correct you.”
“It’s the same thing,” he grates out, and I lift a shoulder.
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
His eyes meet mine, incredulous. “How could it not matter?”
“Well…” I shift my weight. I mean, yes, I lied, but it’s not as if I’d planned to pull him into the restroom. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.
Besides, it’s not like I’m underage. Not even close.
A muscle tics in his jaw. “I’m assuming you’re not a student at Columbia,” he mutters, and I cringe again, glancing away.
“It’s… complicated.”
“It’s not complicated,” he says in a low, angry voice. “You lied.”
My jaw falls open. He’s not wrong, but it’s not like it was intentional. I didn’t set out to fool him—I lied to hide my shame. My humiliation at fucking up yet another thing in my life.
“What about you?” I retort. “Your name isn’t even Aidan.”
“Of course it is,” he replies, voice infuriatingly calm. “There are two Aidans here, so everyone at work calls me by my last name, Brooks.”
Oh.
That makes me feel momentarily better.
Until he says, “You can’t be my assistant. There’s no way this can work.”
And even though ten minutes ago I didn’t want this damn job, indignation darts through me. Why does he get to be the one who’s annoyed?
“You’ll have to take that up with my father,” I reply crisply.
He grimaces, and I feel the power shift, feel myself gain the upper hand, because no way will he tell my father what happened between us.
Fooling around with the boss’s daughter—regardless of whether you knew who she was—is a big no-no.
Especially when you’re, ooh, I’d guess around eighteen years older than her?
He stares at me as this sinks in, and I contemplate my next move.
I could tell Dad what happened and use it as my ticket out of here.
It would cause problems for Aidan, that’s for sure, but let’s face it, I don’t even know the guy.
Not to mention he’s being a complete jerk right now.
But most importantly, it would set me free.
Dad would never allow me to work under—ahem—a man I’d had a thing with, especially not at his firm.
Admittedly, it wouldn’t make me look very good either—typical Iris, finding yet another way to make a mess of things—but I’d be far enough away from this place not to care.
Goddammit. How the hell did I end up here? I wanted to do something wild and reckless, something to take back control of my life. One thing just for myself, and I can’t even have that.
My gaze drifts around Aidan’s office, taking in the decor for the first time: exposed brick walls, double windows overlooking the quiet street below, and a threadbare Persian rug covering the pine floorboards.
In the center squats a large, solid oak desk, facing the door.
Chunky wooden bookshelves line one wall, an antique drafting table against the other, laid out neatly with papers and a triangular scale ruler, framed blueprints hanging above.
An old Chesterfield sofa sits against the wall behind me, the whiskey-colored leather cracked and worn bare in places.
The entire space is immaculate, but the warm, cozy feeling of the decor fits the old brownstone perfectly, and is the polar opposite of the modern elements in my father’s office; the large, matte-black executive desk, integrated LED shelving that highlights his awards, and the state-of-the-art drafting tablet in place of a traditional drafting table.
My father’s space is efficient, no-nonsense, and intentionally cool in tone.
Much like the man himself.
And I realize, as I glance back at Aidan, that I don’t have the upper hand at all.
It’s one thing to imagine walking into my father’s office and telling him I can’t work with Aidan because we have a sexual history, and another thing altogether to actually do it.
Even if I could summon the courage, I still owe my father thousands of dollars, and I’m still at a loss for what I’d do next.
But it’s not only that. I’ve taken a beating over the past couple days, what with being kicked out of school and having my father rub salt in the wound by accusing me of not even trying. I’m not sure I could take much more from him.
Aidan regards me through narrowed eyes, hands still firmly on his hips, and irritation fizzles inside me.
One minute he’s Mr. Nice Guy at Marco’s, all too happy to chat to me and accept my blowjob, and now he acts like I’m a major inconvenience, someone he’d hoped never to see again.
It’s bad enough I’m stuck in this job against my will, but I don’t know how I’ll tolerate it if Aidan turns out to be an asshole, too.
I can’t resign myself to complete misery for the foreseeable future.
I need to have some modicum of control in my life, somehow, even if I have to take it for myself.
I pull a strand of hair over one shoulder, examining the ends with a sigh. “Maybe I should tell Dad what happened,” I suggest casually. “I’m sure he’ll understand why we can’t work together once I explain.” Then I turn and grasp the door handle, as if to head from the room.
Aidan’s hand lands above my head, shoving the door closed again. I turn to glance up at him from under my lashes, his scent wafting over me. A warm, spicy cologne with notes of cedarwood and a hint of pencil shavings. I remember it from Marco’s.
“You’re not going to do that, Cupcake.” The word seems to slip from his mouth by accident, because he scowls, replacing it with, “Iris.”
“No?” I ask innocently.
He looms over me, one hand still on the door above my head.
My heart stumbles as his gaze maps my face, lingering on my lips.
I watch him swallow, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down his throat, and I want nothing more than to drag my lips over it.
Doesn’t he see we could have fun working together?
His gaze bores into mine, and for a second, I think he’s imagining the same thing, but he leans away, shaking his head.
And then completely calls my bluff.
“I’ll speak to him myself,” Aidan mutters, pushing past me through the door. My pulse scrambles as I hurry after him, wondering what, exactly, he’s planning to tell my father. He wouldn’t really tell him about the restroom at Marco’s, would he?
But the minute we get to Dad’s office door, Aidan holds up a hand. “Wait here.”
“What?” I ask, incredulous. “I’m not—”
“Wait here, Iris.” Then he steps into Dad’s office, closing the door firmly behind him.
I scoff in disbelief. It’s one thing for my father to speak to me like that, but him? Who the hell does he think he is?
Pressing my ear to the door, I listen to the low rumble of Aidan’s voice through the wood.
“I can’t work with her, John.”
“And why’s that?” my father responds. I hold my breath, wondering if I should go in there myself to put an end to this, to stop him from telling Dad the truth, but my feet are rooted to the spot.
You know what? Fuck it. Let Aidan tell him. He’ll only incriminate himself. Besides, my life is already in the toilet. I have nothing left to lose at this point.
But Aidan doesn’t elaborate any further. “I just… don’t think we’re a good fit.”
Dad sighs. “What’s she done now?”
I clench my hands into fists. I’ve only been here for ten minutes, but my father’s first assumption is that I’ve done something wrong. Of course.
“Nothing,” Aidan admits. “Not yet, but…” He lowers his voice, and I have to press my ear harder to the wood. “I’m not sure she’s up to the job.”
That’s it. I’ve had enough.
I burst through the door, scowling at him.
“Iris!” Dad says, irritation pinching his brow at the intrusion.
But I’m glaring at Aidan. How dare he say that? He at least has the decency to look a little shamefaced.
“What’s going on?” Dad demands.
I turn my palms up. “He’s being completely unreasonable.”
Dad nods. “I agree.”
I choke on a disbelieving laugh. That might be the first time my father and I have ever agreed on anything.
Dad’s gaze swings to Aidan, impatient. “Unless you can give me a good reason why she can’t be your assistant, Brooks, I expect you to make it work.”
Aidan’s mouth opens and closes for a moment, then he rakes an agitated hand through his hair. “Fine,” he bites out.
“Good.” My father motions to the door, signaling the end of the conversation, and I trail after Aidan as he walks stiffly from the room.
Back in his office, he sinks into his desk chair with a dejected sigh. “Well, I guess I’m stuck with you,” he mutters, more to himself than to me, but it stings. Everything about the way he’s responded to seeing me today stings.
Chin up, Cupcake.
His words from Marco’s come back to me, and I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat.
It’s not only the way he seems irritated by my presence, or that any attraction he might have felt toward me has obviously vanished.
It’s that for a few minutes while Aidan listened to me in that bar, it felt like someone was on my side. Like he was on my side.
I sigh bitterly, turning away. It’s my fault I’m in this damn situation. As usual, my impulsiveness has ended in disaster.
Shit, maybe my father’s right. I am a mess.
The thought stirs a sort of angry defiance inside me, because I don’t want Dad to be right. I don’t want Aidan to think I can’t do this. I shouldn’t give two shits about this guy after the way he’s acted today, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to be a walking disaster.
I look back at Aidan, determination galvanizing my spine. They can think what they like, but I’m going to do everything in my power to prove them wrong.