in, too.
Meanwhile he was leading her into the electronics store, pointing out the new windows and the old oak paneling, the new built-in oak cabinets and the old tin ceilings now restored. It was an artful blend of the best of both, and it showed off the latest electronic devices spectacularly well. After a quick tour there, he took her into the stationer’s shop, and the same was true there, as well.
The exquisite paper products looked appealing against the same oak cabinetry. The displays of calligraphic pens and multicolored inks and artists’ tools were equally appealing.
Against the tall narrow windows Alex had created window seats which the proprietor had set up as inviting nooks for one or two people to sit and try out the various products. They were all full—and many of the customers were as young and hip as those in the electronics store across the vestibule.
“I’ll show you photos of how it was before when we go upstairs,” he said. “In the meantime, shoot whatever you want. Den and Caroline—the owners of the stores—have given their permission.”
“Great. Thanks. You don’t have to hang around,” she said when he made no move to go. “I’ll shoot down here. Then I can come to your office.”
“I’ve cleared my calendar.” He set her bag down, then propped his shoulders against the wall and watched every move she made.
Daisy was used to going about her work single-mindedly forgetting everything and everyone else but the focus of her shots. She was, this time, aware every second of Alex’s eyes on her. She tried to tell herself he was just being polite. But he didn’t simply watch while she took photos in the stationer’s shop and in the electronics store. He followed her outside so she could shoot a couple from down the block.
Daisy shot him a hard look. He smiled back blandly.
“Fine,” she muttered, “if you’re going to tag along …” Then she raised her voice loud enough for him to hear and motioned him to stand in front of one of the heavy oak and etched glass doors. “Stand there and look ‘lord of the manor-ish.’”
He was Greek. What did he know about lords of the manor?
But apparently some things were universal, and he understood perfectly, leaning casually against one of the walls by the front door, a proprietorial air about him that said exactly what she wanted it to—that this was his domain. He owned the place.
“Got it,” she said, clicking off half a dozen so she could have her pick.
“Come on upstairs, then.” He led the way back inside.
The elevator was utilitarian, so she wasn’t sure what to expect when the doors opened—a hallway and doors to offices, she would have guessed. But that wasn’t what she got.
The elevator opened into one big room facing north. There were expanses of gleaming oak flooring broken up by areas covered with dove-gray carpet. In one of the carpeted areas, a woman sat at a desk making some notes while she talked on the phone. Not far away, on another carpet there was soft furniture—sofas and armchairs that invited you to sit and peruse books from floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
Where the floor was wood, she saw several large tables with projects on display, detailed architectural models in place. Around the sides of the room, in their own spaces but accessible to everyone, there were drafting tables, a couple of which had people working at them. They had glanced up when the elevator doors opened, but seeing Alex, they’d nodded and gone back to work.
Daisy’s gaze swiveled to take in the whole room. “Wow,” she said, impressed. “Very nice.”
“I like it. Let me show you around.” He introduced her to Alison, his middle-aged office manager. Then he took her to meet the two at the drafting tables. A young dark-haired woman, Naomi, was deeply involved in whatever she’d been assigned and barely glanced up to smile. But the other, an intern named Steve, had some questions about his project, so Daisy was able to take some shots of Alex and Steve, leaning over one of the drafting tables, studying blue prints.
Then, while Alex answered Steve’s questions, she wandered around, taking other shots of the room, of Alex on the job.
It was just the way she’d imagined him—in his element, his easy competence apparent. He drew her gaze as he bent over the table, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he pointed out something to Steve. She snapped off a couple of shots. But even when she lowered the camera, she couldn’t seem to look away.
“Sorry,” he said, coming back to her. “I didn’t mean to spend so long with him.”
“No problem. I got some good shots. Which is your table?” She nodded toward the vacant drafting tables.
“Upstairs. I’ll show you.”
He led her to a spiral staircase that ascended in one corner of the room. “We could use the elevator, but this is faster.”
It was also a treat. It had caught her eye earlier, a bit of wrought-iron frivolity in stark utilitarian surroundings. And yet it belonged.
“Was it original to the building?” It was a little added lagniappe, and she had already taken a number of shots of it.
“No. But I wanted something to catch the eye,” Alex said. “Something that was from the original period. I went to every salvage place in the boroughs, looking. I knew it when I saw it.”
“It’s perfect.” She motioned him to precede her up the steps. “Turn around,” she said when he was halfway up. She took several shots of him on the steps, and was seriously tempted to take one of his backside when, afterward, she followed him up. But she didn’t need any more reminders of how tempting Alex Antonides was.
His office was out of the mainstream, but connected to it. “I don’t let them up here,” he said frankly. “I need my space.”
“A perk of being the boss,” Daisy acknowledged. But she had to admit she liked his private aerie, too. The room in which he had created his office wasn’t large. Like the bigger room downstairs, it had tall, narrow, gothic arched windows and polished oak flooring. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves held vast arrays of architectural titles, books about design, and a lot of history, art and photography books. Daisy studied the titles.
It was disconcerting to find many of the same titles she had on her own shelves. So, whatever it was, it wasn’t just physical.
She wished it were. He would be so much easier to resist. Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, she gave a little wave of her camera, asking permission to take photos. “May I?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“I’ve heard that there’s a movement to minimize windows for energy conservation,” she said as she pointed the camera in his direction. “You obviously don’t believe that.”
“There’s a place for that. But light is good, too. And while you can conserve energy by building dark, I like light. So I try to make sure the windows are doing their job, too.” He stopped. “Sorry. Boring.”
Daisy lowered the camera. “It’s not, actually. And I’m a photographer. I like light, too.”
“Come on,” he said suddenly. “I’ll show you
