his price tag. Just a pity she wasn’t planning to charge Nathaniel for this commission. No, this would be a gift from her mother to the man she’d loved.
‘Your foyer light is perfect for glasswork,’ she opened, speaking to Nathaniel. ‘Well oriented for winter light and high enough for something cascading. Something substantial.’
Aiden’s left brow peaked. ‘We’ve gone from a pair of vases to “something substantial” very quickly.’
She turned her eyes to him. ‘The space determines the piece.’
‘I would have thought I’d determine the piece,’ he pointed out, ‘being the commissioner.’
She flicked her chin up. ‘Commissioners always think that.’
Nathaniel laughed. ‘It may be your commission, Aiden, and your creative offspring, Natasha, but it’s my building. So it seems we’re equal stakeholders.’
She turned her head back to him, quite liking the idea of being partners in something with Nathaniel Moore. Even if it also meant tolerating his son. ‘You own the whole building?’
She hadn’t realised quite how wealthy the Moores were. Entire buildings in the heart of the central business district didn’t come cheap.
‘Did your price just go up?’ Aiden asked.
‘Aiden—’ Disapproving brown eyes snapped his way.
‘I’m interested because that means you don’t need to get the buy-in of the other tenants. That will save a lot of time and hassle.’
Nathaniel nodded. Satisfied and even pleased with her answer. ‘So, shall we talk design?’
* * *
In Tash’s experience, the number of times a man glanced at his watch during a business meeting was directly proportional to how important he believed he was. A man like Aiden should have been flicking his eyes down to his wrist on the minute.
But he never did. Or if he did, she never caught him at it. He gave her one hundred and ten per cent of his attention.
Nathaniel was similarly absorbed and entirely uncaring about the passing of time, it seemed. But at the back of her mind, she knew what ninety minutes of a company’s two top personnel must be worth.
‘I think I have enough to get started with,’ she said. ‘I can email you some early designs next week.’
‘Bring them in,’ Nathaniel volunteered and Aiden’s eyes narrowed. ‘We can have lunch next time. It’s a bit late to have it now.’
Not if you asked her gurgling stomach. She’d been too nervous to eat beforehand. Still, there were more than a dozen cafés between here and the railway station. Hopefully, their kitchens would still be open. ‘Okay. That sounds lovely.’
Aiden frowned again. If he kept that up, he was going to mar that spectacular forehead perpetually.
Their goodbyes were brief; she could hardly give Nathaniel the open-armed hug she wanted to in an office full of eyes—even if his all-seeing son weren’t standing right there—and so she left him standing as she’d found him, on the landing to MooreCo’s floor. Aiden summoned the elevator for her and then held the door as it opened. As if to make sure she actually got in it. When she did, he stepped in as well.
‘You must have somewhere better to be,’ she hinted. Somewhere other than stalking her.
‘I’ll call you a cab,’ he murmured.
‘I’m taking the train.’
He stayed on her heels as she stepped out into the foyer. ‘I’ll walk you to the station.’
‘I’m stopping for something to eat.’
‘Great. I’m starving.’
She slid her glance sideways at him. Subtle. Most men at least feigned some reason to hang around her long enough to hit her up. Aiden Moore didn’t even bother with excuses. She slammed the brakes on his galloping moves.
‘I’m not going to go out with you, Aiden.’
He turned. ‘I don’t recall offering.’
‘No. You just assumed. Our relationship is professional.’
Speaking of excuses...
His pale eyes narrowed. ‘It’s just lunch, Natasha. I’m hardly going to proposition you over a toasted sandwich.’
She straightened her shoulders. ‘In my experience that’s exactly how it goes.’
The assumption. The entitlement.
His head tipped. Something flickered across his expression. ‘Then you’ve had the wrong experiences.’
She laughed. ‘Hard to disagree.’
She spent the last four years of high school disappointing the raging hormones of boys who thought her hippy clothing reflected her values. Being disappointed by them in turn. Waiting for the one that was different. The one who liked her for who she was, not for what they thought she might do for them. To them.
And then, after graduation, the men who wanted an unconventional arty sort on their trophy wall. And then Kyle...
‘Lunch. That’s it.’ He peered down on her, a twist to his lips. ‘Until you tell me otherwise.’
Ugh. Such a delicate line between confidence and conceit. One she couldn’t help being drawn to, the other sent her running. She’d had her fill of supercilious men. She fired him her most withering stare and turned for the exit. In the polished glass of the building’s front, she saw the reflection of his smile. Easy. Genuine.
And her gut twisted just a hint.
Nice smile for a schmuck.
They stopped outside a café called Reveille two blocks down, probably better for breakfast but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Aiden chose a table at the back.
‘So how do my father and your mother know each other?’
The question took her aback. She’d not expected him to ask outright.
‘Did.’ She cleared her throat. ‘She died last year.’
He frowned. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
‘No reason you should.’
‘How did they originally know each other?’
‘They went to the same university.’
True. And yet not complete. The whole truth wasn’t something she could share if he hadn’t already done the maths. It wasn’t her place.
‘That means your mother and mine may have known each other, too. That’s where my parents met. Although she dropped out before graduating so perhaps not.’
Tash
