while the Ryans’ heated discussion amped up, she continued to watch Brady and his reaction to his friends. He seemed completely at ease with their argument, and since the brothers were Irish, she was willing to bet their differences of opinion happened frequently. The mystery for her was why he separated himself from the disagreement. Did he simply not care one way or the other about the artist’s work or was it an inborn remoteness that drove him?
“Jenny’s good, I keep telling you.” Sean shrugged. “You haven’t even looked at the mock-ups she’s done of the stuff Peter was supposed to have finished five months ago.”
“It’s Peter’s job, not hers,” Mike reminded his brother. “Why would I look at what she’s doing?”
“So you could appreciate just how good she is?” Sean asked.
Mike scowled at his younger brother. “Why are you so anxious to push Jenny off on us?”
“He just told you why,” a voice said as the door opened to admit a petite, curvy woman with short, curly blond hair. Her blue eyes narrowed on Mike Ryan briefly before she looked at Sean and smiled. Crossing the room, she handed him a large black portfolio. “Sorry this took longer than I thought, but I wanted to finalize a few details this morning before bringing them to you.”
“No problem, Jenny, thanks.”
While sunlight slanted through the wide windows, Jenny and Mike faced each other across the conference table. Aine watched the byplay between the tiny blonde and the older of the Ryan brothers. There was a near visible tension humming in the room as the two of them glared at each other. And yet, she thought, neither of the other men in the room seemed to notice.
In fact, Brady and Sean were so fixed on the portfolio, they never saw the blonde sneer at Mike Ryan before slipping from the room and closing the door quietly behind her. Clearly, Jenny Marshall wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself, and though Aine didn’t know the woman at all, she felt a kinship with her.
“What the hell, Sean,” Mike muttered when she was gone. “You could have told me she was coming in this morning.”
“Why? So we could argue about it?” Sean shook his head and spread the series of drawings across the table. “This way was easier. Just take a look, will you?”
Aine was already looking, coming to her feet so she could see every one of the drawings Jenny had brought in. Sean was right about the woman being a wonderful artist. There was real imagination and brilliance in the artwork, whether Aine liked the subject matter or not. She recognized Castle Butler, of course, but the images she was looking at were so different from the place she’d left only a day or two before, it was hard to reconcile them.
“Okay, yeah, they’re good,” Mike said shortly.
“Wow,” Sean said. “Quite the concession.”
“Shut up,” his brother retorted. “This still doesn’t say she should be doing Peter’s job.”
“It really does,” Brady put in, using his index finger to drag a rendering of the castle’s main hall closer toward him. “I haven’t seen Peter do work like this in, well...ever.”
“There you go!” Sean slapped Brady on the back and gave an I-told-you-so look to his brother. “We promote Jenny to lead artist and we’ll get back on track and stay there.”
“I don’t know...” Mike shook his head.
“What do you need to be convinced?” Sean asked.
“Why don’t you guys take this argument somewhere else?” Brady suggested. Both men turned to look at him as if they’d forgotten he and Aine were there.
Shrugging, Sean said, “Good idea. Aine, nice to meet you.”
“Thank you,” she said, tearing her gaze from the images spilled across the gleaming oak table.
“Right,” Mike said. “We’ll be seeing you again soon, I know.”
“I’m sure,” she murmured, lost in the pen-and-ink sketches that were made more vivid by the bright splashes of color added sparingly, as if to draw the viewer’s attention to the tiny details of the art itself.
When she and Brady were alone in the conference room, Aine laid her fingertip on the drawing of the great hall. She knew the room well, of course—it was a place the castle rented out for wedding receptions and the occasional corporate function. But this... There were medieval banners on the walls, tapestries that were colorful and in keeping with the era of the building itself. There were torches and candelabra and several long tables that would easily seat fifty each. The fireplace that hadn’t been used in years looked as it should, trimmed with fresh stone and a wide mantel that displayed pewter jugs and goblets.
“What do you think?”
Truthfully, she didn’t know what to think. Aine had been prepared to be appalled. Instead, she found herself intrigued by the artist’s vision for the great hall and couldn’t help wondering what else might surprise her. “This is—” she paused and lifted her gaze to his “—lovely.”
A flicker of pleasure danced in his eyes and she responded to it.
“Your artist, Jenny, is it? She’s very talented. The great hall looks as it might have when the castle was new and Lord Butler and his lady entertained.”
“High praise from a woman afraid to see zombies and cobwebs all over her castle.”
Hearing her own words tossed back at her only underscored her need to watch what she said in future. But for now, she lifted her chin and nodded in acceptance. “True enough, and I can admit when I’m wrong. Although I haven’t seen all of your plans, have I?”
“So you’re withholding praise until you’re sure?”
“Seems wise, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” he agreed, then drew a few other images toward him. “So let me show you a few more.”
For the next hour, Aine and Brady went over his plans for the castle. Though some of it sounded wonderful, there were other points she wasn’t as fond of. “Gaming systems in all the bedrooms?” She shook her head. “That hardly seems in keeping with the castle’s lineage.”
He leaned back in his chair, reached for the cup of soda in front of him and took a drink. Then he leisurely polished off the last of his French fries. They’d had lunch sent in and Aine had hardly touched her club sandwich. How could she eat when her very future hung in the balance?
He had said he didn’t want a yes man, someone to just agree with his pronouncements. But surely he would have a breaking point where he would resent having her argue with him over what was, to him and his partners, a very big deal.
“Even the people in the Middle Ages played games,” he pointed out.
“Not on gigantic flat-screen televisions and built-in gaming systems.”
Brady shook his head. “They would have if the tech had been around. And the televisions will be camouflaged in crafted cabinets to look period correct.”
“That’s something, I
