She knocked and waited at the partially open door of his office. He opened the door with a phone to his ear and gestured for her to come inside.
He sat down behind his desk, his eyes moving speculatively to the package in her hand.
Her belly tightened and she turned away, inspecting the modern paintings hanging on the French Grey walls, failing to convince herself that his deep, authoritative and decisive voice had no effect on her. She tried not to listen to his conversation but was intrigued by the way he was able to quickly fire out the pros and cons of purchasing an office block in Rio de Janeiro. He ended the call with an order to proceed with the sale.
Her chest swelled with admiration. She wanted to be like that. Certain and unwavering in her decision-making.
His office was incredibly neat. The desk contained four different monitors, a keyboard, a ream of paperwork neatly stacked into a pile and nothing else. No empty cups, pens askew, or sticky notes scattered with random thoughts like on her own desk. No wonder he thought her messy. The guy was a perfectionist. Perhaps, to achieve what he had, he'd had to be.
'Take a seat.' He gestured over to two silver-green velvet-upholstered sofas that sat before the fireplace. He replaced the handset in its cradle before he moved over to sit on one himself.
She sat, and placed the parcel on her lap. For a moment she stared down at it, the shoe-lover in her reluctant to give it up. But then she placed it on the coffee table between them and pushed it towards him.
'Thank you for the shoes but I can't accept them.'
To that he simply raised an eyebrow.
A knot of tension grew in her belly.
'Giving me accommodation and a place to work for a month, flying me to Paris... You've been more than generous. I can't accept anything else from you-it wouldn't be right.'
'They're just a token from Mustard and Mayo.'
She couldn't help but say in amusement, 'Dogs who internet-shop? Now, that's clever.'
For a moment he looked as if he was going to insist, but then he leant towards her. 'Why don't you tell me why you can't accept them?' When she smiled, he held his hands up in admission and said, 'See? I do listen to you. This time I'm going to try and understand why before I try to persuade you otherwise.'
'It's not that I don't like them...they're beautiful...or that I'm not grateful.' She came to a stop and her heart was beating so wildly she felt light-headed.
She bent her head and inhaled deeply, clasping her hands. She squeezed her fingers extra-hard.
'I think I should explain...'
Was she crazy, telling him this? But she wanted him to know. So that he would stop ruining all her plans to be independent by giving her so much.
She glanced at him quickly, and then looked away from his frown and stared out of his office window, seeing the tips of the trees blowing in the light breeze.
'After I lost my business I swore I would never be dependent on or beholden to another person again.'
'What do you mean by "beholden"?' His tone was sharp.
She struggled to find the right words to explain what she meant. 'I mean...not indebted to another person. I don't want to feel that I always have to be grateful-that I owe someone else. That I have no right to voice my opinions. But it's not just that... I have to prove to myself that I'm not a failure. And accepting all your help feels like I'm cheating, somehow.'
He looked taken aback, and then he argued, 'You're not a failure if a business deal goes wrong. It happens to a lot of people. At least you had the guts to risk everything in creating a business in the first place. Not everyone could do that. And accepting the help of a neighbour is not cheating.'
He stood and paced the room, his jaw working.
'And I certainly will never-and I mean never-make you feel obliged or indebted. I am not that type of person.'
She flinched at the annoyance in his voice. She was making a mess of this. She needed to tell him everything. Then maybe he would understand.
'I'm trying to be honest with you. I want you to understand and I'm sorry if I'm offending you. Let me try and explain...then you might understand. My business partner... Ed. He was my boyfriend, too.'
Heat rose in her cheeks and she stopped as humiliation gripped her throat. She bit the inside of her cheek.
'Not only did he manoeuvre it so that I had no option but to walk away from the business, but he was also having an affair with our finance director.'
She jumped when she heard him utter a low expletive, and was taken aback by the dark anger that flared in his eyes.
'What an idiot.'
'I know. Him...and me.'
'No! The guy's despicable. Don't for one second think you were in anyway responsible.'
'But that's the problem. I was. I shouldn't have agreed to him owning a higher percentage share in the business. I shouldn't have believed all the lies he told me. I honestly can't believe I was so stupid. That's what I hate most-I'm now so wary of others. It's one of the reasons why I can't even accept the shoes. It's not just that they're way too expensive, but I keep wondering why you're being so kind and generous.'
He stopped pacing and looked at her with breath-stealing intensity. 'Because just maybe we are not all jerks. Some of us might actually have a heart and want to do the right thing.'
'I'm finding that hard to believe.'
'Don't let him have the power to change you, to make you unhappy.'
'I know... In my heart I know all that. But I can't stop these feelings.'
Across from her he folded his arms on his chest. A look of frustration joined his anger. 'You don't trust me, do you?'
Completely taken aback she gabbled nonsensically. 'No! Yes... I'm not sure... We don't really know one another. Oh, God, I'm sounding really rude. I didn't come here to insult you, and I'm sorry if I have. I just want you to understand why I can't accept anything else from you. It's not that I'm not grateful...call it pride, self-respect... I just can't. I hope you can understand?'
With a raised eyebrow and a quick shrug he said, 'I'm trying to.'
Part of her wanted to turn and run. This conversation had not been a success by any stretch of the imagination. She had insulted him and annoyed him and possibly even hurt him. She needed to try to make amends. Starting with showing some trust in him.
She inhaled a deep breath and began to talk. 'I'm sorry. I honestly didn't come here to insult you. I wanted to explain about the shoes. But I also came in the hope of some advice.'
His brow had creased with doubt but she forced herself not to stop.
'I'll keep it short. You said I should think about my business strategy. Well, there's an area of my business that brings guaranteed revenue, but it's time-intensive work and it's in an area I don't particularly want to specialise in. I'm thinking of not submitting work in that area again, but I'm worried about the revenue.'
'What's the worst-case scenario?'
'I lose revenue for a few months.'
With a quick nod he fired another question at her. 'Can you absorb that loss?'
'Just about.'
'And if the drop in revenue continues for longer?'
'I can always re-enter that market... It will take time to build my portfolio back up, but it's doable.'
He didn't ask any more questions, but instead walked back to his desk. After a while she realised he was waiting for her to speak. And she also realised she had her answer.
With a light shrug, she smiled. 'I think I know what I should do.'
He nodded. 'I think you do.'
As she went to leave the room he called after her.
'Are you certain about the shoes?'
Her hand on the door, she paused, and it was a while before she could turn around. After all she had said he was still being kind. But maybe he was also indirectly asking if she still didn't trust him.
Her heart turning over, she faced him. 'Maybe some time in the future?'
His eyes narrowed at that, and she fled down the corridor before either of them had a chance to say anything further.
* * *
Standing at his office window later that evening, Patrick spoke to his chief financial officer while staring out at yet another incredible dusk sky. This evening it was a riot of pink, lilac and lavender, with faint wisps of cloud to the forefront.
A movement on the terrace caught his attention. Aideen was out there, photographing the sunset. Wearing jeans and a silver and grey top, she had her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, exposing the delicate angles of her face, her full lips, the smooth jawline and long, slim neck.
Too distracted to concentrate, he ended the call early and stood watching her.
Their earlier conversation had been difficult. The shoes had been his way of saying he was sorry about everything she had lost in the flood...and for being so tetchy in recent days.
After their walk in the park the other night he had opted to keep his distance from her. He had revealed too much of himself. And he didn't like how good it had felt to be in her company. Her comment about being a good brother to Orla had only reminded him of how he had failed, and of all the reasons why he needed to keep his distance from Aideen.