CHAPTER FIVE
ISLA
She went to the site every Monday.
She had a reason for every Monday — the structural consultation, the lighting review, the materials delivery — but the real reason was simpler.
She needed to be in the space. She needed to understand it from inside before she could understand it from outside.
That was how she worked and had always worked, and it had nothing to do with him.
Except that he was there on the third Monday.
Not hovering. Just — present. He came through on a project walkthrough with two board-level executives and a structural consultant, the kind of site visit that was entirely legitimate and entirely about the building.
He nodded at her when their paths crossed.
She nodded back.
He didn’t stop.
She watched him move through the space — the way he looked at the structural elements, the way he talked to the consultant, the quality of his attention.
He’d always been very good at knowing what something was worth.
She’d admired that about him when she’d been in the position of admiring things about him.
She went back to her measurements.
Josie texted from the studio: Materials board proofs are in. Come look when you’re done.
She typed back: An hour.
An hour later she was almost to the elevator when she heard him behind her.
“The east corner,” he said. “Third bedroom. You’re moving the closet configuration.”
She turned.
He was six feet away, carrying a rolled-up site plan.
“Yes,” she said. “The original configuration cuts off the morning light. Moving it south creates a better entry sequence and retrieves about forty square feet of effective living space.”
“I saw that in the schematics.” He paused. “I wanted to say — I think it’s right. The way you’ve thought about it.”
She held her portfolio.
“Rachel’s team approved it,” she said.
“I know.” He held her gaze. “I’m not commenting professionally. I’m just—” He stopped. “I’m saying it because I think it’s a good decision and I wanted to say so.”
She looked at him.
This was the specific quality of him she’d always found most difficult to argue with. Not the charm — she’d never been moved by charm — but the directness. When he said something, he meant it. When he told her a decision was right, he’d examined it and reached a conclusion. He wasn’t managing her.
That was the thing that had made it so devastating when he’d managed her.
“Thank you,” she said.
She got in the elevator.
She watched the numbers descend and thought about I think it’s right and how it had landed in her chest in the specific place where things he said still landed and she was determined to keep reinforcing.
She went back to the studio.
She looked at the materials boards.
She went back to work.
Josie brought dinner at seven because Josie always brought dinner when Isla was working late and couldn’t be trusted to feed herself.
Thai food. Exactly right.
They ate at the worktable with the Hudson Yards schematics spread between the takeout containers, which was the only way they ever ate dinner at the studio.
“He was at the site,” Josie said.
“Site walkthrough. Legitimate.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He said the east corner closet reconfiguration was right.”
Josie looked at her over the pad thai.
“That’s specific,” Josie said.
“He read the schematics.”
“He read the schematics.” Josie set down her fork. “Isla. He’s reading your schematics.”
“He approved the commission. He should be familiar with the—”
“He doesn’t have to read the schematics. The division handles that. He’s reading them because he wants to understand what you’re making.” Josie paused. “That’s not a man who’s indifferent.”
Isla looked at the east corner on the plan.
She thought about the email she’d received two weeks ago. I’d like to talk to you outside of it when you’re ready. She’d read it four times before she replied. She’d thought about the word owe — what I owe you — and the specific quality of a man who knew exactly what debt he was carrying.
She’d said not yet and she’d meant it.
“He emailed me,” she said.
Josie stilled.
“He said he wanted to talk to me when I was ready. Outside the professional context.” Isla kept her voice even. “He said there was no agenda.”
“When was this?”
“First week.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I needed to sit with it alone first.”
Josie put down her pad thai. She looked at Isla with the specific expression that meant she was organizing several things at once and deciding which one to say first.
“What did you say back?” she said.
“I said I’m not ready yet.”
“Yet,” Josie said.
Isla looked at the schematic.
“Yet,” she said.
Josie was quiet for a moment.
“Is that true?” she asked. “That it’s a yet rather than a no?”
Isla thought about her answer.
She thought about the penthouse and what she was building in it. She thought about the warmth she’d found in the sketches — the unexpected warmth, the thing she hadn’t been making for eighteen months, the design that surprised her.
She thought about him reading her schematics.
She thought: this is going to be complicated.
She thought: I knew that when I took the commission.
“It’s a yet,” she said.
Josie nodded. She picked up her food again.
“Okay,” she said.
“Josie.”
“What.”
“I need you to let me go at my own pace with this.”
“When have I ever—”
“Several times,” Isla said.
Josie smiled. “Fair.”
They ate.
Outside the studio windows, the New York evening made its ordinary way through Thursday.
Isla thought: yet.
She thought about what came after yet.
She thought: I don’t know. But I’m willing to find out.