Chapter 9 Aidan #2
My throat dries as the memory hits; Iris on her knees in that restroom, the heat of her mouth, the feel of her silky hair in my fist…
Christ.
Her gaze snaps to mine, eyes widening as she realizes what she’s said, and color floods her face.
“Everything okay, Iris?” David asks, watching her curiously.
“She’s fine,” I cut in before she can answer, my voice rougher than it should be. “We’ll be in touch.” I steer Iris to the door. She goes rigid under my hand, walking stiffly down the stairs and out onto the snowy street.
“You don’t need to speak for me,” she mutters, pulling her coat tighter around her.
I ignore her as I bring up the Uber app to order a ride. We need to get back to the office so I can draw up some preliminary plans for this studio project and see if I can perform the miracles Iris has promised. Usually I’d have my Mercedes, but it’s at the shop today, getting detailed.
“Hello?” she says, waving a hand in my face, and I grind my teeth as I slide my phone away.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” I say in a low voice.
“Said what?” she asks, with a look of such innocence that I curl my fists at my side. She might get away with this shit with John, but it won’t work on me.
“You shouldn’t have made promises to the client we might not be able to deliver.”
“But we can deliver them,” she says, suddenly fierce. “Didn’t you see the potential in there?”
“No.”
She snorts. “Then that’s your problem. You need to think outside the box, come up with unique solutions. Did you ever consider a Murphy bed? What about a loft? The spaces are narrow, sure, but if the ceilings are high enough, we could—”
“It’s not your job to figure that out,” I remind her. “And it’s definitely not your job to make the client believe we can bend the laws of physics.”
“Excuse me?” Her brows rise. “I was trying to fix everything after he overheard you say his project wasn’t worth your time.”
Our ride sidles up to the curb, and I yank the door open for Iris, waiting for her to enter. Instead, she juts out her chin, walking around the car to get in the other side. I lift my gaze skyward in exasperation.
“Let me remind you I wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for you,” I say, sliding onto the back seat and closing the door behind me.
“Jesus.” She shakes her head. “How many times do I have to apologize? I made one tiny mistake…”
“One?” I splutter in disbelief.
She huffs. “You’re impossible.”
“No, I’m trying to do my damn job, and you keep getting in the way.”
Her jaw hardens, and she leans in closer.
Close enough for me to see the way her blue eyes have a hint of turquoise in them.
Her orange blossom scent washes over me, and despite that performance back there, she smells so fucking edible that my pants tighten, and all I can think about is dragging my lips over her neck, pulling her on top of me in the back of this car to do what we never got to do at Marco’s.
Iris might be a brat, but my dick doesn’t care.
So, I say the only thing I can think of to give me the upper hand.
“I could fire you, Iris.”
Panic flashes in her eyes, but it doesn’t give me the sense of satisfaction it should. She quickly schools her expression.
“But you wouldn’t, would you?” she says, a little too smug for my liking. “Because then you’d have to tell my father why. You’d have to tell him what you did.”
I frown. “Don’t say it like that. You make it sound gross, like I forced myself on you, when we both know the reality was quite different.”
She gazes up at me, eyes wide. “Whatever do you mean?” Her voice comes out low and breathy, and despite myself, heat curls through me.
Somehow, I’m both angry and turned on by this innocent little act, and all I can think about is throwing her across my knees to spank her perfect ass.
To show her she can’t get away with talking to me like that.
“I mean,”—I lean in close, speaking through gritted teeth—“you were begging for it, Cupcake, and you were on your knees before I could stop you.”
Her breath rushes out hard. My pulse thrums as we stare at each other for a long beat, the air between us crackling with tension. I can’t stop my gaze from falling to her mouth, remembering how soft those lips felt on mine. Wondering what she’d do if I kissed her.
Then I catch myself, wrenching my gaze away. Reminding myself she’s John’s daughter. That my career is on the line.
“You think I want to be working with you?” she hisses.
“For me,” I say, feeling the need to remind both her and myself who’s really in charge here. When I glance back, her jaw tightens even more.
“Trust me,” she spits, “you’re the last person I want to be working for. You’re nothing like—” she cuts herself off abruptly and, with a shake of her head, turns to look out the window.
My heart thumps as I stare at the back of her head.
Nothing like what? I want to ask. Like the person she met at Marco’s?
Because I’ve been having the same thought about her.
She was so different at that bar. A little lost, sure, but sweet.
Not at all like the brat she’s been since she stepped into my office; storming off to her father, refusing to use the calendar, throwing my coffee in the trash in a huff.
“So, quit,” I challenge her. “If you don’t want to work for me, tell your father you’ll find another job.”
When her eyes return to mine, something sad swims in their depths. “I can’t.”
“Why on earth not?”
“It’s…” A long breath gusts out of her. “It’s not that simple.”
I shake my head. Why is she doing this? If she hates this situation as much as I do, why won’t she do something about it? Save us both the trouble?
She folds her arms and looks away, chin lifted in that stubborn little tilt that makes me want to shake her. Or kiss her.
Frustration rises hot inside me. I should be thinking about a way to get this studio project over and done with, not arguing with Iris.
Not imagining what my handprint would look like on her ass.
“Most women your age are out there making things happen for themselves,” I mutter. “Not leaning on Daddy to fix their problems.”
Her mouth pops open, color draining from her face before rushing back in a fierce flush. It sounded harsher than I intended, but maybe it’s for the best. Maybe it’s what she needs to hear.
“I don’t need this,” she mutters, leaning forward to ask the driver to pull over. “I can walk back to the office from here, thanks.”
And with that, she steps from the car and slams the door.