But, damn it,” he said, smacking a fist onto the table hard enough to make her jump, “I thought it was time to take action, set an example for my peers. Holistic design, it’s an atypical investment for me, I won’t kid you.
And I know you’ve had a difficult time securing a backer. “Well, I didn’t make millions-okay, billions,” he corrected, raising a brow, “without taking a few risks. And I have to say, your interest has been . . .
The success of this project could lead to revolutionary changes in the common office-comparable to Xerox machines and computers. But holistic design-not everybody appreciates the difference. Eco-friendly interiors have made terrific progress.
As I was saying, I think you’ll be impressed with the final presentation for the mock office. Mia cleared her throat, dismissing the inappropriate thought. While Aaron Hough could be described as dashing, he hardly matched the untamed image that bourbon conjured up. Seeing this man hold a glass of bourbon, it was a stark contrast. Pursing her lips, Mia focused on the silver-haired businessman seated across from her. And it invaded like always, like a vagrant crashing a country club. The words in her head were old, though the voice was crystal clear. “Bourbon’s kinda meant to be sipped, not slung. “I drink it neat,” he said, gliding a toast toward her before drawing a long sip. “It didn’t look like there was enough ice.” “Ice,” she insisted, clearing her throat. The contents of the glass-or her head-caused Mia’s toes to curl up tight inside her sandals. no problem.” Tipping it, she examined the tea-colored liquid. “Problem?” She blinked, doe eyed, her fingernails tapping against his glass.
But as the millionaire investor turned to his PDA, Mia seized the opportunity and slid the glass of bourbon toward him. The smell was a trigger for banished thoughts and discarded dreams-things that no longer had a place in her life. She sipped her wine, and tried to fill her nose with the benign bouquet of house chardonnay. You’ve worked twelve years for these two hours. Time had a clumsy clutch on her arm, the thick aroma of distilled grain grabbing like an embrace-or maybe just a noose around her neck. Yet as Aaron Hough was served another drink, Mia wondered if holding her breath was a viable option. You wouldn’t think that the smell of bourbon could derail a business dinner.
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