Part 21 (1/2)
The car ahead of them began to move again. ”See that you don't.” He eased into first gear.
She sat back. At times, his rigid responses caught her off guard. She'd seen the softer side of him with his brother, interacting with Thompson, with Mrs. Fuhrman, even Suzy-Q. But she knew better than to think that was the real him. Connor's spine was made of steel, and it seemed he never bent.
All too soon, they arrived at the parking garage.
He grabbed her bag from the trunk. Instead of waiting for him to come around to her side of the car, she climbed out, headed for the trash can to discard her empty cup then met him at the elevator.
The car had already arrived, and he was holding it open, waiting for her.
Everything he did spoke of control. She realized that, even if he was angry, he wouldn't show it. He was a difficult man to read.
She moved past him and stood at the back of the elevator. When the doors closed, she said, ”I'll choose my words with more care in the future.”
”It's over. Forgotten.”
”Is that it?” She searched his features. ”Are you that able to compartmentalize?”
”Yes. I rarely take anything personally. When it comes to you, doubly so. We'll get along much better through the years if we don't harbor resentment. Do you agree?”
”That's a great theory,” she replied. ”I'm afraid I'm a little more likely to hold onto things, though. It can take me a while to think things through and move on. I should probably try to be more like you.”
He swept his gaze over her. ”Don't change a single thing.”
In response to his perusal, his words, her thought process slowed.
The elevator dinged, signaling that they'd reached his floor. The ride had been less than a minute, and in just that small amount of time, he'd managed to take an awkward-feeling situation and turn it around in a way that made her feel really good about herself.
She reminded herself that she'd never had much luck in the love area, and when she did commit, it would be to a man who was more spontaneous, less emotionally distant, a man capable of giving as much as she was.
Once they were inside his loft, he said, ”Feel free to make yourself comfortable. The built-in drawers on your side of the closet are empty. You'll find empty drawers and cupboards in the bathroom for your toiletries. We'll take the weekend to figure out whose house we'll live in. Can I pour you a gla.s.s of wine?”
”Please.” She hesitated. ”Back to my mother for a minute.”
He gave her his attention.
”I'd prefer just to tell her myself.”
”I said I was willing to meet her.”
In frustration, she sighed. ”Do you ever relent?”
”I already have.”
He probably believed that.
”Originally,” he reminded her, ”I said you couldn't talk about it to anyone. I'm willing to consider that perhaps that's unreasonable. So I need more information.”
”I still don't like it.”
”I don't like letting anyone else know.”
”Fine. I'll message her and set up a time to see her. Is there anything on your schedule I need to know about?”
”I'll rearrange things if I need to in order to make time. I'll also have Thompson add you as an administrator on my calendar so you'll always know where I am.”
Every step made the whole thing seem more real. ”I...uhm...I'll put my things away if that's okay?”
He nodded. While he went to the kitchen, she sent her mother a message then walked toward his bedroom. If he had his way, it would be their room.
The place was so masculine, from the forest-green bedspread to the dark furnis.h.i.+ngs. Being in his closet was even more disquieting.
Everything was organized. On the far left were his suits, ranging in color from black to charcoal to light gray. His dress s.h.i.+rts were hung next to them. All were starched, all were white. Even from a distance she saw they were monogramed.
In the center of the closet, a few blazers divided the casual clothes from the business ones. His chinos were either khaki or navy. He'd hung the polo s.h.i.+rts together, grouped by color. Golf s.h.i.+rts were next. Off to the side were a handful of long-sleeved, soft-looking T-s.h.i.+rts. She noticed that every garment and hanger faced the same direction.
Connor joined her. She'd been so fixated on his level of order and precision that she hadn't started to unpack her bag. ”Did you have a professional help you organize the closet?”
He shook his head. ”Judging me to be too regimental?”
”I wouldn't say that out loud.”
”Which means I read your mind.”
She flushed, but she shrugged. ”I've honestly never seen anything like it.”
”I found ways to cope in the last few years.”
”Since your father pa.s.sed?”
His gaze shuttered, but surprisingly, he didn't close her out. ”That's part of it, certainly.”
”And the rest?”
”Ask again over dinner.”
He offered the wine and she accepted, taking a small sip. She put the gla.s.s on top of the dresser and unpacked her things. She hung a dress on a rail. ”It looks a little odd.”
”For now.”
”Are you sure you're okay with me cluttering your s.p.a.ce like this?”
”It won't bother me in the least.”
Next she went into the bathroom to put away her personal items. ”I've never done anything like this,” she said when she saw his reflection in one of the mirrors.
He lazed against the doorjamb, at ease. ”What part?”
”Putting my stuff away at a man's house. I hadn't thought about it until now, but I rarely sleep over with a man. And I've never lived with anyone.”
”It'll take some adjustment, but we'll figure it out.”