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The older man sighed, looking every one of his years. “Yes, I will agree to your terms.”
“Perfect. Then I think we can go out to lunch to celebrate,” Phoebe said, as if a business negotiation had gone well.
Aristotle shook his head as he signed all three copies of the contract relating to the company. “I need to go home and speak to your mother. Informing her of stipulations three and five on Spiros’s personal contract is not something that should be done over the phone.”
“You aren’t going to make me break the news to her?” Phoebe asked, sounding shocked.
“It is the least I can do,” her father replied gruffly.
Phoebe stood and gave an impulsive hug to her father, which he returned with a great deal of strength—a Greek man obviously bordering on emotion he was hoping not to show. Not that Greek men were as afraid of showing their feelings as some, but men like Aristotle would never be comfortable with that sort of thing. Regardless of their heritage.
Phoebe waited for Spiros to bring up the contract over lunch, but he seemed content to chat about inconsequential topics.
Her nervousness grew with each minute that went by without the subject being raised, until finally she blurted, “I’m surprised you signed the contract without argument.”
“Would you have compromised on any of the points?”
“No.”
“Then I made the right call.”
“But you didn’t even try.”
“Your father did not want to know your reasoning, and I knew to do so would be an exercise in futility. So I opted not to waste any of our time.”
“How could you know?”
“Do I really need to answer that?”
“You think you know me inside and out.”
“I do. Just as you know me.”
“There are still things neither of us know…about feelings, memories we don’t share and haven’t discussed.”
“Naturally. But you knew that even if I did argue, I would sign that damned contract—just as I knew you would not compromise on the elements.”
“You’re not happy about it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You tell me.”
“No.”
He sighed. “Fine. I’m angry you felt the need for the contract at all.”
“Your pride has been offended?”
“Yes.”
Looking into his golden-brown eyes, she saw something else. “You’re hurt too.”
He didn’t answer, but his lack of denial was enough.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice, feeling her own emotions roil. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
