“Whatever works in the space. Sculpture, wood work, paintings.”
“I know a guy who does amazing work with acrylics. His paintings—”
“Mae.” Merit’s tone held a note of warning. “Let Mr. Brennan’s designer do her own job.”
“No, it’s fine,” Brennan said. “Shoot me his information and we’ll take a look at what he’s got.”
She discretely raised her eyebrows at Merit, but he clenched his jaw and remained silent, his gaze furious. She swallowed against a wave of sudden uncertainty. “I’ll talk to him and see what he’s able to offer.”
“Sounds good. Keep in touch.”
When he was out the door, she turned back to Merit as he rolled up the plans with jerky motions. “Just hear me ou—”
“Not here,” he growled, his fingers clenched on the rolled paper. “Your office. Now.”
He strode out without waiting for her. She glanced toward Becca on the other side of the building, but her forewoman was paying them no attention. Mae drew in a fortifying breath and blew it back out before following him.
You gotta be more stubborn than him. More persistent.
Merit’s jaw looked to be set in stone as he held open the office door at the top of the steps. She expected him to lay into her the second they were in private, but all he did was shoulder past her to toss the plans on her drafting table.
He gripped the edge, shoulders tense as he stared down at the surface. “You had no right.”
“All I did was mention I knew a guy,” she shot back. “It’s still your decision.”
“Then I say no.”
“Why? Because you’re afraid they might not like them? That they won’t be good enough?”
“It doesn’t matter why. If I say no, the answer is no.”
“Were you afraid Brennan wouldn’t like the plan changes you proposed?”
He spun around, then leaned back against the table, arms crossed. “That’s different.”
And yet he hadn’t denied her accusations. “How exactly? You’re going to have to explain it to me, because I don’t see the difference.”
His jaw clenched, then released. “There’s nothing personal in those stupid plans. If he doesn’t like it, he tells me what he wants, and I do another one.”
“And if he doesn’t buy a painting, so what? Does the painting mean any less to you?”
“No, but—”
She shook her head to cut him off. “If you’re that afraid they won’t like anything, what if I take some pictures to show them myself? I wouldn’t even give your name.”
“I’m not afraid,” he bit out.
“You sure about that?” She moved to stand in front of him and placed her hands on his folded forearms. “The only way you fail here, Merit, is if you refuse to even try. I guarantee you that.”
His gaze met hers for a split second, then slid away.
Neither of them spoke in the silence, until at long last he relented. “Fine. Take the pictures.”
“And if they want to purchase some?” she pressed. “Are you going to
be okay with that?”
“Yeah.”