Chapter 15 Aidan
AIDAN
I’m halfway home when a text from Soph pops up on my phone.
Sophie: Didn’t get the show.
With a sigh, I change my route, swinging by our favorite Thai place, before heading to Sophie and Jada’s apartment in Greenpoint.
Jada answers the buzzer when I ring, looking relieved to see me.
At thirty-two, she’s five years younger than Sophie, with a wide smile, warm brown skin, and a soft halo of curls.
“Hi, Aid.” She pulls me into a tight hug. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.” I hold out the bags of Thai food, and Jada takes them, leading me into their railroad-style apartment with a view of the river, framed by Sophie’s canvases stacked on either side of the windows.
I find my sister on the sofa, a blanket up to her chin, face lit by the flickering blue glow of the TV.
“Hey,” I murmur, sinking onto the end of the sofa.
“You didn’t have to come,” she mumbles, pulling herself up with great effort and folding her knees under her.
“I know.” I squeeze her shoulder. If there’s one thing my sister can’t stand, it’s pity.
But I also know this setback will hit her hard.
Sometimes it can take her days to get out of bed if a show doesn’t work out, or she doesn’t sell as many paintings as she’d hoped.
And while Jada is here to support her, I need to be, too.
Jada sets the bag of Thai food on the coffee table in front of us, along with two beers.
“Have some food, babe,” she urges gently.
Sophie sighs. “I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I am,” I say, reaching for the pad Thai.
I open the container, hoping the smell will tempt her, then I rummage in the takeout bag, finding the container of tofu pad Thai, and hand it to Jada.
She’s been a vegetarian as long as I’ve known her, and I always bring something she can eat.
She gives me a grateful look, hovers for a moment, then leaves us to it.
I load up a forkful of food, taking a bite. Sophie’s gaze strays to me, and she sighs again. I grin, handing over the pad Thai, pleased when she reluctantly takes it.
“You okay?” I ask, grabbing a beer from the coffee table.
“Not really.” She chews dejectedly for a moment. “I’m beginning to wonder if it’s time to quit. Time to get a grown-up job.”
There’s a tug in my chest, and I glance at Sophie’s paintings leaning against the exposed brick wall.
Explosions of color, bold brush strokes, her personality—her heart—captured on the canvas.
In spite of our father, her art instructors, critics, everyone who told her she wasn’t good enough.
If I could buy all my sister’s paintings myself, I would, but I don’t have the wall space, and that’s not what she needs.
What she needs is to find her own inner strength, her own reason to continue, regardless of setbacks.
“I hope you don’t,” I say gently, reaching for a spring roll. “You’re so talented, Soph.”
“Westhaven Gallery doesn’t think so,” she mutters, poking murderously at the pad Thai.
“Fuck them.” I snap a spring roll in half. “Then they don’t deserve you. They’re the ones who will kick themselves when you sell out somewhere else—which you’ve done several times,” I remind her.
She gives me a watery smile. “Thanks, Aid.”
“Besides,” I say, taking the pad Thai from her outstretched hand. “Do you really want to work in an office like me?” I give her a wry smile. “I can’t picture it.”
Sophie wrinkles her nose. “You’re right. I’d hate it.” She swigs from her bottle. “Speaking of, how’s the new assistant?”
The image of Iris standing at my drafting table flashes into my head, and despite myself, I smile.
She spent hours working on her design today, lost in the process of creating.
I’ve never seen her so focused. She might not be great at scheduling or answering emails, might occasionally say the wrong thing to a client or forget to order lunch, but the sketch she produced was excellent.
Detailed, accurate, not to mention a clever use of space.
It makes so much sense now that I know she’s had training, even if she didn’t complete it.
I think of her face when I asked how her Revit skills were, and something in me softens.
I prefer drafting by hand too, so I get it, but clients want to see things digitally, and that shouldn’t be what keeps her from sharing her ideas.
It only took me a couple of hours to mock it up in Revit, anyway.
We can go over it together tomorrow before I polish it for David next week.
“She’s good,” I say, opening the drunken noodles.
Sophie eyes me as I shovel a forkful into my mouth. “Not giving you any more trouble?”
I contemplate this as I chew. She’s definitely still giving me trouble, but it was different today.
Instead of pushing back as a way to regain power, to defend herself when feeling threatened, she did it to test boundaries.
I could tell by the way she looked at me, watching for my reaction.
And instead of getting angry, like I would have in the past, I could see it for what it was.
Almost like she was trying to play with me, to see if I would play too.
And God, I wanted to. The way she called me Sir in that breathy voice makes my pants tighten, even now as I remember it.
An image appears in my head of me bending her over my desk to remind her who’s in charge, but it’s chased by shame.
I’ve never been told I’m too rough in bed, but I’ve seen the way women recoil.
I’ve felt the need to keep myself in check.
With Iris… it’s like I channeled my attraction to her into anger. I think of all the times I lashed out at her, all the fantasies I had of spanking her, punishing her, and hang my head. I didn’t understand her, but now I know better.
And I’d never lay a finger on her unless I was certain she wanted it.
“You like her,” Sophie murmurs, and when I glance up, I find her studying me with a curious smile.
I frown, even though it’s true. I do like Iris, more than I want to.
More than I should. After hearing the emotion in her voice last night, after seeing her face light up when I asked her to work on the Bushwick project with me…
It’s impossible to deny the urge I feel to care for her.
It’s been this way since day one. I might have been able to run from it before, but not anymore.
The thought scares the shit out of me.
“She’s John’s daughter,” I say, as much a reminder to myself as it is to my sister.
Amusement dances in Sophie’s eyes. “How old is she?”
Jesus, don’t ask that.
“Not old enough,” I mutter, poking at the noodles. At Sophie’s concerned look, I add, “Twenty-six.”
“Oh.” Soph breathes a relieved laugh, then tilts her head, contemplating this. “Still young, though. For an old man like you,” she adds, elbowing me with a grin.
I nod in agreement. I’m forty-four, for Christ’s sake. Almost twenty years her senior. Far too old to even be looking at her, let alone touching her.
I get a flashback of her on her knees in that restroom, and guilt echoes inside me. John would fucking kill me if he knew.
Would he, though?
I take a long pull of my beer as I ponder this.
I’d assumed Iris’s wellbeing would be front and center of his mind, like any father, but maybe I’m wrong.
After she told me he’s forcing her to be at the firm, I couldn’t help but see things differently today.
The way he spoke about her seemed more dismissive, more irritated.
Like she was an inconvenience, not his daughter.
But maybe I’m imagining it. It’s difficult to reconcile the man I thought I knew with the man who’s forcing Iris to work for him. The two versions of him won’t line up in my head.
Either way, I knew that telling him Iris is working on the Bushwick project wouldn’t be a good move.
This is Iris’s first foray into the professional world of architecture, and after seeing the effect John’s words had on her yesterday, I couldn’t risk that again.
Not when she has the chance to succeed at something. It’s a win I know she needs.
“Age isn’t everything,” Sophie says thoughtfully, bringing me back to our conversation. “Jada is five years younger than me.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I don’t know,” Soph murmurs. “Love never quite looks the way you imagine it will.”
“Love?” I echo. When did we start talking about love? This is getting out of hand.
Soph nudges me teasingly. “Yes, Aid, love. Some people think it’s the only thing that makes life worthwhile.”
I snort into my beer. “We grew up in the same house, right? You saw how that ended?”
“I did.” My sister gives me a melancholy smile. “But it’s not the only way things can go. Look at Jada and me.”
I soften, pulling my sister to my side. She’s lucky to have Jada, but not everyone can make it work. Not that I’ve seen.
And it’s the reminder I need.
I finish my beer, pushing any romantic thoughts of Iris from my mind. She might be beautiful, and I might be sorely tempted by her, but it’s not like I’m in love with her. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love with anyone. Sophie’s right. I’m married to my career.
And I have no intention of straying.
But I can help Iris in other ways. She needs guidance, boundaries, encouragement. I can give her that. Today I felt like her mentor, helping her tweak her plans, and that’s as it should be. That’s what I will offer her.
Even if it kills me to do it.