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“Wasn’t there?” he asked softly. He took a check from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.
Being careful not to brush his fingers, she took it, then sat at her desk. “Wait just a minute, and I’ll write you a receipt.”
“I have all day.”
His voice was dark honey, smooth and sweet, but her hands shook as she wrote out a receipt. For a panicked moment, she felt as though she might suffocate with him crowding her office, but she shook it off and signed her name.
“Tell me something,” she asked without daring to look up at him. “What prompted you to buy this building in the first place?”
After a brief hesitation, Griffin slid his hands in his pockets and began to pace the cramped aisle beside her desk. “You want the truth?”
“That was our deal, remember?”
“All right. At the time, a press release claimed I was here for a short break in my concert schedule, but I was completely burnt out. I couldn’t face another ten to twenty years of constant practice and performance where the city and orchestra would change, but audiences would expect me to remain exactly the same. I couldn’t stand the thought of being frozen in my prime like some succulent strawberry.
“I happened upon this building, saw the for-sale sign and bought it for a studio that same morning. It didn’t matter to me that it might take a couple of years to fulfill all my contracts. From the moment I bought this beautiful building, it became a lucky charm, a solid reminder that I could escape the frantic demands of fame and just write music. I didn’t even care if I was a colossal failure as a composer. I just wanted to give it a shot.”
He turned to face her. “I’m sorry it’s not a more entertaining story.”
Darcy handed him the receipt. “So our building is merely the embodiment of a dream you’ve already begun to realize? You’ve proven you can write incredibly beautiful music from your home, but you could do it anywhere, in your Zen garden, or down on the beach. The music is in you, Griffin. Don’t you trust your own talent? Your genius?”
Griffin responded with a sly smile. “It’s really too soon to categorize me as a genius.”
“Not from the review I read it isn’t.”
“That was just one man’s opinion.”
She rose to confront him. “One extremely knowledgeable and respected man,” she reminded him. “What did the critics say in Chicago?”
Griffin glanced away as though the subject tired him. “They were equally enthusiastic, but that doesn’t make them infallible.”
“Now you’re being a prick!”
Griffin laughed off the insult and reached out to draw her close. “It isn’t like you to mince words.”
Darcy batted away his arms. “Back off.”
Griffin raised his hands and stepped aside. “Yes, ma’am. Now, is my account paid in full?”
For one terrible instant, Darcy couldn’t recall what account he meant. She’d done her best to score a point for her side, and if all he could think of was his bill, then she’d failed miserably. “Yes, it is.”
“Good. Please feel free to list my address on your résumé.”
Darcy watched him turn and walk away. As always he moved with more than a little swagger, but she twisted in a slow turn and sank into her chair. The man had no good reason for keeping their building other than he just damn well felt like it. Even if he were a genius, he was too lost in himself to consider her feelings. She knew she should consider herself lucky she’d seen through him this soon.
But she sure didn’t feel lucky. She just ached clear through.
Griffin managed to hold on to his temper until he reached his Land Rover, but after climbing in he slammed the door shut and let fly with a string of curses in an impressive variety of languages. A week ago, he’d spent a fantastic night with a warm and loving woman, but why hadn’t that delightful creature welcomed him home? Maybe if he’d had presents delivered to her every day while he’d been away, she might have been happier to see him. But he hadn’t thought he would have to buy her love.
Wouldn’t it be inappropriate to send flowers to a landscape architect? he grumbled to himself. She made her own intoxicating perfume, so that was out. He’d already given her a diamond necklace, and he suddenly recalled that she’d been wearing it last night and again this morning. Maybe she’d never taken it off.
Still, something was definitely wrong. She wanted the blasted building. She’d made no secret of that, but if he extended her lease, what would she want next? He’d never understood how women think, and perhaps they simply didn’t bother.
Maybe they just followed their feelings and flitted from one lover to the next without giving their actions any more thought than a butterfly gave to a rose. Monarch Bay had been named for the beautiful black and orange butterflies that spent part of each year on California’s coast. It was pure instinct that led the graceful insects, but what compelled Darcy to give him grief?
There were people who would kill for a fraction of the talent he possessed, but no one seemed to care much for him as a man. That was such a depressing thought he drove home and composed the darkest, most painfully difficult piece he could manage. He doubted there was another pianist alive who could play it, or even want to, and that brought a perverse satisfaction all its own.
By midnight, the pervasive fog had become rain. Griffin had always enjoyed the sound of water trickling along the roof and splashing into the pebbled pools at the bottom of the gutters, but the next morning he wandered through his near-empty house and longed for the sun.
