“Do you have a problem with me joining you at your home for lunch, Iris?”
“No. What about you, Matt? Do you have a problem joining me for lunch at my home?”
They both knew why they were asking each other the question. The moment he’d stepped off the elevator and she had seen him, she had experienced something she should not have felt. Desire. And from the look that flared in his eyes upon seeing her, she knew the desire wasn’t one-sided. Even now, intense longing was passing between them. Longing that both of them were trying hard to keep in check.
Although part of her reveled in a man finding her desirable, she couldn’t let it go any further. Especially if there was a chance he might become her client. As a rule, she never mixed business with pleasure.
“No, I don’t have a problem with it. And I like meatloaf sandwiches, too,” he said.
“Good.” She checked her watch. “I need to be back in an hour for a meeting with my staff. We can take my car or yours.”
“I’m valet parked, so it will be quicker to use mine, Iris.”
“That’s fine.” Stepping back to the elevator, she pressed a button, and in less than a minute, it arrived.
* * *
Matt should not have been surprised when he entered Iris’s home. It was just as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. The homes in this area were in the millions, and people rarely moved out. On the drive there, she had told him the house once belonged to her deceased husband’s granduncle and grandaunt, and he had inherited it when they’d passed away while he was in his teens. With no need for it at the time, the grandparents who had raised him had treated it as a rental property, and the income had been used to help fund his college education.
When she and Garlan Michaels got engaged, his primary residence had been a house on Hermosa Beach. When they married, they purchased a condo closer to Hollywood where he worked. It was only years later, after her husband passed away and she became pregnant, that she decided to stop renting the house, renovate it and move in. It had been perfect for what she and her son needed.
“You have a nice home, Iris,” Matt said, glancing around.
“Thank you.”
He liked the way she had it decorated. Classy yet lived in. Somehow, she had balanced a sophisticated decor with customized touches he knew were exclusively hers. From the paintings on the walls to the various art pieces placed on tables, he thought nothing was overdone; rather, it simply reflected her specific taste and unique style. She had her own personal museum. And he liked all of it. Even that grand piano sitting in one section of the room.
“You can hang your jacket on that coat rack by the door,” she said.
“Okay. You play the piano?”
“Not as well as I’d like. That piano belonged to my Mom. I told you my parents met when my Mom was a waitress and my father was part of a motorcycle gang that stopped at the café one day. What I didn’t tell you was that at the time, Mom was a student at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. She was a gifted pianist attending there on a scholarship.”
She eased the straps of her purse off her shoulder and placed it on the coffee table, smiled and said, “She met my dad that day, and I was told he swept her off her feet.”
“Let me guess, she gave up her scholarship to follow him on his motorcycle, and they took off riding into the sunset,” Matt surmised, teasingly.
She chuckled. “Not even close. He might have swept her off her feet, but she did likewise for him. He was hit right between the eyes and immediately smitten. She gave her motorcyclist heartthrob an ultimatum. If he wanted her, then he would wait until she fulfilled her dream of completing college and becoming a professional concert pianist.”
“I assume he did.”
“Yes, he was enamored with her just that much. In fact, while he was waiting for her to complete college and then perform with the New York Philharmonic for three years, he went back to school and earned a master’s degree in education. Dad was hired as a teacher at the high school he had attended in San Clemente. While there, he taught both American and world history. He was also one of the track coaches.”
“How long did he have to wait for your mother to fulfill her dream?”
“Six years, and according to Dad, she was worth the wait. After they married, Mom taught advanced music at one of the private schools. Eventually, Dad became the principal of the high school where he’d been teaching.”
“Do you think your mother regretted playing only three years with the New York Philharmonic?” he asked.
“No. In fact, I heard her say several times she didn’t. To satisfy any cravings to play the piano professionally after getting married, she was a member of the Pacific Symphony, which did occasional community performances in Southern California. She also enjoyed giving private lessons.”
She let out a deep sigh. “My parents had a good marriage, and I saw how hard my father grieved when we lost Mom.”
Although Matt didn’t say anything, he figured it was the same way she had grieved upon losing her own spouse. “You know what I think, Iris, and what I’m willing to bet on?”
She glanced over at him. “What is that?”
“That you probably play that piano better than you think. Some people are their worst critics.”