Breaking the Greek's Rules (5 page)

The building was tall and narrow, a four story redbrick like others in the neighborhood, but, unlike the rest of them, it seemed somehow to draw in the light.

She studied it more closely, trying to understand what she was seeing. The ground floor housed an electronics store which seemed an odd tenant for an old building. But somehow it fit the space easily and looked as if it belonged. Studying it, she began to realize why. The windows were taller than those in other buildings on the block and she remembered Alex saying he had changed the windows. But they still fit the period; they belonged. But he’d made the proportions just that little bit more generous.

Now they fit twenty-first century people. It made all the difference.

The second floor echoed the look with a series of gothic-arched windows and cream-colored facings that contrasted with the dark red brick. Stenciled just above waist height across the central largest window in black sans serif was Antonides Architectural Design. Simple, spare, elegant.

She could see possibilities forming as she moved quickly along the sidewalk. She would shoot Alex standing in that window, looking out, master of his kingdom. And another at his drafting table. She could envision him in her mind’s eye bending over a drawing, black hair drifting across his forehead as he studied his work intently.

There would doubtless be plenty of other possibilities inside; an open staircase perhaps or a period elevator or maybe a
skylight and, she grinned delightedly—enough light to make it happen.

Suddenly enthused and feeling like a real competent professional photographer for the first time since Alex had asked her to do it, Daisy turned—and came up hard against a solid male chest.

“I
SAW
you wandering back and forth across the street. I thought you might be lost.” Alex had caught hold of her when she’d turned and crashed into him. He was still holding on now. Their bodies were touching.

Daisy’s heart was going a mile a minute. Hastily she pulled away from his hard chest. “I wasn’t lost,” she said, hating her sudden breathlessness. “I was studying the building. Looking at all the angles.”

She squinted up at him, trying not to be bowled over by the casual magnetism of the man. What was it about Alexandros Antonides that drew her like a moth to a flame?

Well, he was still gorgeous, there was that. Tall, whip-cord lean, broad-shouldered. Masculinity defined. Alex didn’t have to flaunt the testosterone. It wasn’t a veneer he put on. It was clearly bedrock in him.

“Well, if you’re done assessing all the angles, let me show you around.” He gave her one of those smiles, too, the one that had, from the beginning, undermined her common sense.

But she was older now, Daisy reminded herself. Made of sterner stuff. And she knew what he was made of, too.

“Fine,” she said briskly. “Lead on.”

He did just that, but not before he plucked her camera bag and one of the tripods out of her hands, leaving her with only her purse and the smaller tripod. “You could have left that in
the building while you were looking around,” he said over his shoulder as he crossed the street.

“I suppose.”

“How’d you get here?”

“Subway.”

He turned as he stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of his building. “With all this stuff? For God’s sake, Daisy! They have cabs in Manhattan!”

“It’s more efficient to take the subway.”

“I’d have paid the cab fare.”

“I don’t need your cab fare. It’s a business expense. When I want to take a taxi, I take one. I prefer the subway when I’m coming to Brooklyn. No bridge tie-ups. Now can we get going?”

She didn’t want him fussing over her. He had no right. She didn’t need him—of all people—thinking he knew best what was good for her.

Alex grunted, but still he shook his head as if despairing of her as he pushed open the door to the building. The electronics store she’d already spotted had its entrance off this interior vestibule on one side of the building. On the other was a stationer’s shop—all fine paper and cards and pens.

“The old and the new,” Daisy remarked, looking from the stationer’s to the electronics store, nodding. She’d work that in, too.

Meanwhile he was leading her into the electronics store, pointing out the new windows and the old oak paneling, the new built-in oak cabinets and the old tin ceilings now restored. It was an artful blend of the best of both, and it showed off the latest electronic devices spectacularly well. After a quick tour there, he took her into the stationer’s shop, and the same was true there, as well.

The exquisite paper products looked appealing against the same oak cabinetry. The displays of calligraphic pens and multicolored inks and artists’ tools were equally appealing.

Against the tall narrow windows Alex had created window
seats which the proprietor had set up as inviting nooks for one or two people to sit and try out the various products. They were all full—and many of the customers were as young and hip as those in the electronics store across the vestibule.

“I’ll show you photos of how it was before when we go upstairs,” he said. “In the meantime, shoot whatever you want. Den and Caroline—the owners of the stores—have given their permission.”

“Great. Thanks. You don’t have to hang around,” she said when he made no move to go. “I’ll shoot down here. Then I can come to your office.”

“I’ve cleared my calendar.” He set her bag down, then propped his shoulders against the wall and watched every move she made.

Daisy was used to going about her work single-mindedly forgetting everything and everyone else but the focus of her shots. She was, this time, aware every second of Alex’s eyes on her. She tried to tell herself he was just being polite. But he didn’t simply watch while she took photos in the stationer’s shop and in the electronics store. He followed her outside so she could shoot a couple from down the block.

Daisy shot him a hard look. He smiled back blandly.

“Fine,” she muttered, “if you’re going to tag along …” Then she raised her voice loud enough for him to hear and motioned him to stand in front of one of the heavy oak and etched glass doors. “Stand there and look ‘lord of the manor-ish.’”

He was Greek. What did he know about lords of the manor?

But apparently some things were universal, and he understood perfectly, leaning casually against one of the walls by the front door, a proprietorial air about him that said exactly what she wanted it to—that this was his domain. He owned the place.

“Got it,” she said, clicking off half a dozen so she could have her pick.

“Come on upstairs, then.” He led the way back inside.

The elevator was utilitarian, so she wasn’t sure what to
expect when the doors opened—a hallway and doors to offices, she would have guessed. But that wasn’t what she got.

The elevator opened into one big room facing north. There were expanses of gleaming oak flooring broken up by areas covered with dove-gray carpet. In one of the carpeted areas, a woman sat at a desk making some notes while she talked on the phone. Not far away, on another carpet there was soft furniture—sofas and armchairs that invited you to sit and peruse books from floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

Where the floor was wood, she saw several large tables with projects on display, detailed architectural models in place. Around the sides of the room, in their own spaces but accessible to everyone, there were drafting tables, a couple of which had people working at them. They had glanced up when the elevator doors opened, but seeing Alex, they’d nodded and gone back to work.

Daisy’s gaze swiveled to take in the whole room. “Wow,” she said, impressed. “Very nice.”

“I like it. Let me show you around.” He introduced her to Alison, his middle-aged office manager. Then he took her to meet the two at the drafting tables. A young dark-haired woman, Naomi, was deeply involved in whatever she’d been assigned and barely glanced up to smile. But the other, an intern named Steve, had some questions about his project, so Daisy was able to take some shots of Alex and Steve, leaning over one of the drafting tables, studying blue prints.

Then, while Alex answered Steve’s questions, she wandered around, taking other shots of the room, of Alex on the job.

It was just the way she’d imagined him—in his element, his easy competence apparent. He drew her gaze as he bent over the table, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he pointed out something to Steve. She snapped off a couple of shots. But even when she lowered the camera, she couldn’t seem to look away.

“Sorry,” he said, coming back to her. “I didn’t mean to spend so long with him.”

“No problem. I got some good shots. Which is your table?” She nodded toward the vacant drafting tables.

“Upstairs. I’ll show you.”

He led her to a spiral staircase that ascended in one corner of the room. “We could use the elevator, but this is faster.”

It was also a treat. It had caught her eye earlier, a bit of wrought-iron frivolity in stark utilitarian surroundings. And yet it belonged.

“Was it original to the building?” It was a little added lagniappe, and she had already taken a number of shots of it.

“No. But I wanted something to catch the eye,” Alex said. “Something that was from the original period. I went to every salvage place in the boroughs, looking. I knew it when I saw it.”

“It’s perfect.” She motioned him to precede her up the steps. “Turn around,” she said when he was halfway up. She took several shots of him on the steps, and was seriously tempted to take one of his backside when, afterward, she followed him up. But she didn’t need any more reminders of how tempting Alex Antonides was.

His office was out of the mainstream, but connected to it. “I don’t let them up here,” he said frankly. “I need my space.”

“A perk of being the boss,” Daisy acknowledged. But she had to admit she liked his private aerie, too. The room in which he had created his office wasn’t large. Like the bigger room downstairs, it had tall, narrow, gothic arched windows and polished oak flooring. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves held vast arrays of architectural titles, books about design, and a lot of history, art and photography books. Daisy studied the titles.

It was disconcerting to find many of the same titles she had on her own shelves. So, whatever it was, it wasn’t just physical.

She wished it were. He would be so much easier to resist. Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, she gave a
little wave of her camera, asking permission to take photos. “May I?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ve heard that there’s a movement to minimize windows for energy conservation,” she said as she pointed the camera in his direction. “You obviously don’t believe that.”

“There’s a place for that. But light is good, too. And while you can conserve energy by building dark, I like light. So I try to make sure the windows are doing their job, too.” He stopped. “Sorry. Boring.”

Daisy lowered the camera. “It’s not, actually. And I’m a photographer. I like light, too.”

“Come on,” he said suddenly. “I’ll show you the best light of all.”

Without looking to see if she followed, he started up to the next level on the same spiral staircase. Daisy followed, expecting more office space. But when he reached the landing and unlocked the door, she knew better.

This was where Alex lived.

If he hadn’t said, “Welcome to my place,” she would have known it anyway. The light walls, the earth tones, the casual modern but not stark furniture, the plush dark rust and blue and gold oriental rug centered on the polished oak floor created a visual backdrop for the man she had known. Even if he weren’t standing there watching her take it all in, she would have known this was where he belonged.

There were, in the furnishings, in the books and papers on the coffee table, in the framed architectural drawings on the walls, signs of Alex everywhere. She was shaken by how instantly she felt at home, as if she, too, belonged here.

No. No, she didn’t.

She took a breath, steeled herself and tossed his words back at him, “So show me the best light of all.”

He smiled. “Right this way.”

Wouldn’t you just bloody know that it would be the skylight in his bedroom!

Daisy stopped dead at the door, realizing a split second before she crossed the threshold exactly where they were going. “I didn’t mean—”

Alex turned, flashing her a grin. “You asked for it.”

Daisy read the challenge in it—the very challenge she’d told Cal she could handle. And she could, damn it. So, deliberately, she stepped in and looked around. The skylight was above the bed. The bed looked to be the size of, perhaps, the Sahara Desert—but vastly more comfortable with its buff-colored duvet and a quartet of dark brown pillows.

“Very nice,” she said, doing her best to keep her gaze fixed on the skylight until she turned back to the living room again. “Let me shoot some photos out here.”

He smiled, but didn’t challenge her further, just let her wander around and look her fill.

Daisy resisted looking her fill. She’d have been here for hours, curious about the man, wanting to know him better, at the same time she knew she shouldn’t want to know him at all.

Alex’s apartment was not some sterile showplace. There were dishes in the sink, a newspaper on the counter. Two pairs of athletic shoes, a gym bag and a racing bike sat by what she supposed was the main front door—the one that didn’t lead down to his office. And one wall of the kitchen was painted as a mural of something that looked like the Greek islands—lots of blue sea and sky, white-washed buildings and blue domed churches. It drew her attention.

“Did Martha paint that?”

Martha was Lukas’s twin sister. Daisy had met her several times over the years. She knew Martha now lived part of the year in Montana—of all places—and part of the year on Long Island and wherever her husband, Theo Savas, was sailing boats.

It seemed an amazing exotic existence to Daisy who had been born in Colorado, came to the big city for university, and never left—except to go back home occasionally.

“She did,” Alex agreed. “Kind of bowls you over, doesn’t it?”

“I like it,” Daisy said.

“I didn’t,” Alex said, surprising her.

“What? Why not?”

He shook his head. “Memories.”

That startled her until she remembered him telling her about his childhood, about his brother who had died young.

“You could paint over it,” she suggested.

He shrugged. “I got used to it. I just wasn’t expecting it. I was heading out of town and I told her to paint whatever she wanted. She thought it would make me happy. Can we get on with this?” he said abruptly, gesturing to her camera.

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Daisy grimaced, feeling a flush of confusion engulf her. That would teach her.

She pointed to the armchair near the window. “Go sit there and look at one of your books.”

Alex picked up a book and sat down with it, opened it at random, studied it as if he cared what was in it while Daisy moved and shot, moved and shot.

He turned a page. “I hired a matchmaker.”

Daisy’s finger slipped on the shutter release. Then, taking a slow careful breath so as not to jar the camera, she clicked off several more shots and lowered it again.

“Did you?” she said, heart pounding. “Good for you. I’m sure you’ll find exactly what you’re looking for. Turn a little more this way.”

He turned. “I found her on the internet.”

A breath hissed through Daisy’s teeth. “The internet? For heaven’s sake, Alex! How do you know she’s legitimate? She might be a charlatan—someone hanging out her shingle, looking to make money off poor unsuspecting fools.”

He looked up from the book and raised a brow. “Poor unsuspecting fools … like me?”

Daisy’s cheeks burned. “I didn’t mean that! I never said—” She retreated behind her camera again. “I just meant that not everyone is reliable, honest. Did you get letters of recommendation? What do you know about her background?”