Brent drew her keys from his pocket and, when she held out her hand, dropped them into it.
‘Thank you.’ Her fingers curled over the keys before she snagged her bag from the back of a chair and dropped them into it. ‘Please, let me at least…I don’t know…Can I buy you a drink or something? I feel awful, putting you out this way. We could go to the bar. I see a few spaces over there. Most people are on the dance floor right now, I think.’
The bar stretched across the entirety of the far wall beyond the dance area. It was further from the music than the tables here. Brent’s voice emerged as a low growl of sound. ‘A drink would be…nice.’
He’d led her halfway around the dance floor before he registered that his choice might not have been particularly smart.
When they reached the bar, they ordered drinks and Fiona watched Brent from the corner of her eye in the bar mirror and saw the way they looked together.
A dark head and a fair one. A lean, strong face and a soft womanly one. They looked right to her, side by side this way.
The image reached past her defences, left them in the dust, left her wanting deep silent things she couldn’t want, couldn’t let herself admit.
What did Brent want?
Nothing you can pin hopes on, Fiona. Remember that.
‘I hope chasing me down with my keys hasn’t interfered with other plans of yours.’ She didn’t quite meet his gaze. ‘That is…it’s none of my business of course…I simply didn’t want to take you away from—’
A girlfriend? A lover waiting for him somewhere? The thought stung, yet it wasn’t her business, was it?
‘You might have come here with someone—?’
He spoke almost when she did, and then stopped, and their gazes met and held and the atmosphere between them thickened into silently acknowledged curiosity and a certain comprehension.
‘I don’t…’
‘There’s no one.’ Fiona’s heart began to beat more heavily in her chest.
They both lowered their gazes to their drinks, sipped.
Brent’s face tightened as he looked up at her again. ‘This—’
‘I’ve been thinking about the Doolan project.’ Fiona rushed the words out and took another fortifying sip of her lemon mineral water. If she made it all about work they could forget those moments looking into each other’s eyes in a mirror.
Could forget the warmth and consciousness in their eyes, the desire that when they faced each other in reality, they both worked hard to hide.
A part of her wanted to see it again, even though following that path with him could only lead to hurt for her because he would do what every other man had done.
He would go cold on the idea of her sooner or later. He’d already shown the capacity for that.
So talk about work, Fiona, and ease through these moments and then let him go. ‘I know the couple are at loggerheads with each other in their personal lives, but I thought I might have an idea to keep both of them happy with our project plans.’
‘Go on. I’m interested in any contribution you want to make.’ It was clear he meant this.
And perhaps equally clear that he welcomed the change of topic to a work-related subject as much as she told herself she must take the conversation there.
The little sting of hurt was foolish and incidental, and she did her best to ignore its impact. ‘If we use either of the couple’s suggested overall ideas for the project, one of them is likely to resent the result.’
‘It will be one more thing for them to argue about, and our company might get caught in the middle of that altercation.’ His lashes formed thick crescents against his cheeks as he briefly dipped his gaze.
There was something almost vulnerable in that sight, and that made Fiona vulnerable as she softened towards him.
Maybe they needed to be at loggerheads so she could stop being so conscious of him as a man. Because, whether she wanted to be or not, she was, and, though she felt that same vibe back from him, he was her boss and he seemed determined not to notice her even if he was noticing her.
Oh, she had to stop this analysing!
Brent cast a wry smile her way. ‘So do you think you and I could agree on something that might satisfy both of them?’
Far too easily.
So much for her idea of being at loggerheads for her own salvation. Fiona straightened on the stool. ‘Yes. I think we could do it, for the sake of the project and for the company’s overall good. It’s simply a collaboration of minds, after all.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ His nod was pure professionalism. The warmth in his glance was not, but he masked that quickly and she told herself to stop noticing. They sipped their drinks in silence before she spoke again.
‘To answer your question from earlier, I caught a lift here with Stacey but I think she’ll end up at Caleb’s place later.’ The couple had been one of her ‘fix it’ projects and had got back together after not speaking to each other for three months. ‘I’ll head off myself soon. I don’t want a really late night.’
They’d finished their drinks. Somehow they were both on their feet.
‘Thanks again for bringing my keys to me, for taking the time to do that.’
‘Do you need a lift home?’ He asked it in such a level way, yet his gaze was not level. It was thoughtful and cautious, offering and…almost braced for her to say no?
As if Brent MacKay would care whether she rejected or accepted him in anything. He was a self-made, very wealthy, highly eligible and extremely talented man. If anything, he had the whole world at his feet.
Yet that’s not what you see in the backs of his eyes at times when he drops his guard a little. That’s not what you saw in those photos with his brothers.
Well, what Fiona looked for and believed she ‘saw’ in those around her were things she had to guard. Her family’s discomfort with that side of her had proved that. She tried to respond in kind. ‘I left my car at Stacey’s place. I just need to get a taxi that far.’
‘What suburb?’
Fiona told him.
Brent nodded. ‘I’ll drive you.’ Decision made. ‘It’s on the way. It would be silly for you to wait around for a taxi and have the expense of it when there’s no need.’
‘Thank you. I just feel guilty for bringing you out when you must have had far better things to do with your time than chase after a designer who can’t even keep track of her apartment keys.’
‘You’re an artist. It is okay for you to forget things sometimes, you know. Some people
