Chapter 4
The staff was crowded. The Head addressed them on Monday morning. Naraku Shinto was the sort of headmaster who took note of anyone who failed to turn up. (Ace: I know it's like impossible for Kouga, so now I change it to Naraku).
Normally Kagome got there early and aimed to stay unnoticed. Naraku Shinto was also the sort of headmaster who picked on junior members of staff. And in Kagome's case his barbed remarks had an edge to them, which Kagome was finding increasingly difficult to handle.
So her heart sank as she realized that the meeting had already started.
With a murmured apology she shuffled along the wall and sat on the windowsill. Naraku's eyes lingered on her long legs. Kagome tried not to notice it.
"Good morning, Kagome." He gave her a wide smile, though to her it looked rather frightening.
"Good morning, Mr. Shinto," Kagome said in a subdued voice.
He looked at his watch. "School getting in the way of your social schedule again?"
"No, Mr. Shinto. The bus was held up. I'm sorry I'm late."
He stopped baiting her. But there was a glittering look in his eyes, which said it, was only a pleasure postponed.
"I won't keep you long," he said to the staff room at large. "Just a few points."
His eyes lingered on her legs again. Kagome set her teeth and tried to look interested.
Miroku Kashi lent into her shoulder. "Welcome to this morning's monologue," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
Startled, Kagome choke of laughter. She caught it back at one. If he had not been watching her, Kouga could not have picked it up. But he had been, of course. He halted and gave her a wide, encouraging smile. "Kagome?"
She recovered herself hastily. "N-nothing, Mr. Shinto."
"I thought you wanted to speak."
She ducked her head down. "No, thank you, Mr. Shinto."
I sound like one of the kids, she thought, despising herself. She bit her lip.
"If you're sure---?"
There was a faint rustle of sympathy. Naraku was not a popular head. Most of the teachers had been on the receiving end of his sarcasm at one time or another.
Kagome said quietly, "Quite sure. Don't let me interrupt your few points."
There was another ripple of restrained reaction. This time it was amusement. So Kagome Higurashi was fighting back. Dangerous, but her colleagues were with her.
Naraku's expression darkened. He turned back to his notes and rapped through them at twice his normal speed. When he had finished he looked round at them all.
"Any questions?"
There were two. He dealt with both and closed his file decisively.
"I hope we all have a constructive week," he said. It sounded menacing.
"Kagome---can I have a word?"
Here we go, thought Kagome. Reluctantly she unwound her legs from the cold radiator and squeezed past Miroku. He patted her encouragingly as she did so.
"He's got assembly in ten minutes," he muttered in her ear as she passed. "Can't talk you to death in that time."
Kagome smiled perfunctorily. It was not Naraku's monologues that worried her. Miroku did not know that, of course. None of her colleagues did.
The only person Kagome had told had been a professional counselor whose advice she was trying hard to put into practice. 'Stay professional at all times,' the woman advised. Kagome tried. But it was getting increasingly hard.
Naraku held the door open for her. The old-fashioned courtesy was a mockery and they both knew it. She went into the corridor and turned to face him. It was full of arriving children and so relatively safe.
"Yes, Mr. Shinto?"
"Not here."
Barely looking at her, he marched down the corridor to his office. Kagome followed him perforce. She thought ruefully of the advice the unworldly counselor had given her. 'Don't let him get you alone. Stand your ground.' How?
"I will not have this muttering behind your hand every time I speak to the staff," he said.
He was so angry that he did not remember his usual tactics. Kagome was grateful. Usually his approach was one of phony sympathy. He knew she was young, he would say. He knew it was her first job. Why didn't she tell him all her problems? Straightforward hostility was much easier to deal with.
Nevertheless, she retreated behind a small chair. It was a position, which left her route to the door unimpeded. That was important. A number of these private interviews in the headmaster's study had demonstrated that.
"I'm sorry," she said with genuine regret. "I wasn't really muttering. Just---"
"Just flirting with Kashi."
Kagome sighed. "No---" she began patiently.
But he would not let her finish.
"Let me make it plain one and for all, Kagome. I know this is your first job in teaching. I am willing to help you in every way I can." He paused.
Oh, it sounded so noble, thought Kagome. He clearly expected her to thank him. She could not bring herself to do it.
"But you have got to stop this childish behavior. You are twenty-four. Not some silly 10th grader. You have got to take this job seriously if you want to keep it."
And if I reported that to the governing body, they would not see anything wrong with it, Kagome thought. There was nothing wrong with the words. What was wrong was in the bullying tone, the way he enjoyed bullying her. And the way his eyes slid over her, lingering at her breasts. The secret pleasure in Naraku's look made her skin crawl.
She said colorlessly, "I'll remember, Mr. Shinto."
He came round the chair to her.
"You've got to take me seriously too, Kagome." His voice thickened. "I could be very helpful to you."
She began to edge away.
"Thank you."
He followed her. "Never forget that you work for me, Kagome. If you want to get good reference you will have to be---flexible."
It hung in the air between them. Almost out in the open that time, thought Kagome. She was so indignant that she was on the point of challenging him.
But there was a cursory knock and the door opened. It was a boy from the 11th grade. She did not know his name but she beamed at him as if he were a guardian angel.
"Everyone is in assembly, sir."
"I'm coming," said Naraku.
He squeezed Kagome's arm and went.
The watching boy was unsurprised. Presumably to him it looked like the sort of casual gesture that any informally minded head might offer as encouragement to a colleague. Only Kagome knew that Naraku had pinched her hard enough to bruise. Deliberately.
Fortunately her next class was too demanding to allow her time to dwell on it.
"Look at this, miss. Look at his," yelled one of them from the far end of the studio.
"Don't shout," said Kagome automatically.
But she went and looked.
"Very vivid," she said diplomatically.
The boy grinned. "Where's your painting, then?" he said cheekily.
Kagome laughed in spite of herself. "You may well ask."
But it gave her an idea. I the lunch break she avoided the dining room and made a phone call in the entrance hall.
"It's funny you should call today," Souta Kira said when she got through him. "I was going to getting touch. I'm a gallery-owner now."
"What?" Kagome was astonished. Souta had been her teacher at art school, and he's been like her brother, guiding her throughout her classes. So, she could not imagine less likely businessman.
"Well, third part-owner of a gallery actually. I've gone into partnership with Shippou and Rin Hitomi."
"Impressive," Kagome congratulated him, though she could not keep her disappointment out of her voice.
Souta noticed. "What's wrong, Kagome?"
"Well, I was hoping for a bit of career advice," she said. Then she laughed abruptly. "No, I'm honest, I was hoping you could find me a job at the art school."
"Things aren't working out at Hanime Street?"
"Maybe I'm not a natural teacher," Kagome said evasively.
"In that case you don't want another teaching job," Souta pointed out with irresistible logic. "You need an exhibition."
"Oh, sure," she said with heavy irony.
"It's about the right time," Souta said, oblivious. "Three years out of college. You've had time to get rid if the nonsense and find your own style."
"Time?" Her voice almost to a scream. "What time do I have? I work, Souta."
She was in a hurry and told Souta so.
"I'll pick you up tonight," Souta said, raising his voice. "We'll talk about it then."
And then the bell rang for the afternoon school. She turned around and found herself face to face with the headmaster. At once she felt guilty. There was no reason for it---it had been in her break and she was paying the call. But still she felt herself flush.
Naraku gave her an unpleasant smile. "Sorting out a date for tonight."
Kagome lifted her chin. "Yes," she said with literal truth.
He looked furious. "Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with your work I can't object, can I? He sounded profoundly frustrated.
Kagome did not make the mistake of agreeing with him. "It won't," she said quietly.
"See, it doesn't. I don't want to hear about any more late arrivals."
That meant Naraku would be in the studio when she arrived tomorrow, Kagome interpreted. Her heard shrunk. She shook her head dumbly.
Naraku looked over his shoulder. The children had all disappeared into their classrooms. The entrance hall was empty. He took a rapid step forward.
"Cancel your date," he said thickly. "Spend the evening with me."
Kagome backed. "I can't do that."
"You mean you don't want to."
He stared at her, hot-eyed. Almost as if he hated her, she thought.
But she agreed bravely enough. "And I don't want to."
"Is it Miroku Kashi?"
"Mr. Shinto," she protested, backing away harder.
She did not know what he would have said then. But there was a clatter on the stairs above the. Naraku jumped and looked up. It gave Kagome the opportunity to slip past him.
"I'm late for class. Goodbye, Mr. Shinto," she said loudly, and charged for the big front door.
As it turned out, her savior was Sango. She caught Kagome up.
"What was that about?"
"What?"
Kagome did not abate her stride. All she wanted was to put as much distance as she could between Naraku and herself.
Sango increased her pace. "Naraku. What on earth did you say to him? He really snarled at me."
Kagome disclaimed any idea and pelted for her class.
But when they were walking home that evening, Sango returned to the subject. "I suppose Naraku is getting worked up about you using the studio?" she said knowledgeably.
When she'd first gone to work at the school, Kagome had confided her ambitions to Sango. Studio space was expensive. A good art school art room after hours was an excellent compromise. That was why Kagome, hoping to work on her own painting, had taken the job at Hanime Street instead of one of the other three she had been offered. She had not bargained for the fact that Naraku would regularly visit her after hours as well.
Now she said carefully, "In a way."
"I noticed you weren't staying late so often. Has Naraku been cutting up rough?"
Kagome could have laughed out loud. The truth was the exact opposite. Oh, she had used the studio all tight. But more and more Naraku had been turning up, bringing bottles of wine, settling down to chat, pretending to be interested in her word---looking at her chest.
Her painting, once so loose and free, had grown cramped. Souta would take one look at her portfolio tonight and say the work showed signs of paranoia, she thought. He would be right.
She said carefully, "I don't think he like me doing my own work there, even out of school hours."
Sango accepted that. It seemed in character. "Control freak," she muttered.
They strode down the tree-lined street in companionable silence for a bit. The trees were brilliant with they rich green of early summer. Slowly Kagome felt the tension seep out of her.
"I love this time of day."
"Mmm." Sango was not interested in nature appreciation. "Speaking of control freaks, how's the hormone-stirrer?"
"What?"
"Him next door," said Sango with a grin.
"Oh." It was completely unexpected. Kagome thought about him for the first time in several hours and involuntarily flushed scarlet.
"Met him again, then?" asked Sango innocently.
Kagome strove for composure. "You could put it like that."
Sango laughed. "Thought you would."
But she did not press for the details. Kagome could only be grateful. She did feel up to discussing it.
The truth was that for the whole weekend she had not been able to get the man out of her head. He'd even invaded her dreams. Of course, it had been hot at night, Kagome excused herself. She had probably not had enough windows open. But even so---the thought of what he had been doing in her dreams made her hot all over again, just to remember.
"Going to see him again?"
Kagome thought of the lithe figure in running shorts. Her mouth dried at the memory. She felt her face warm again.
"Not if I can avoid it," she said, more sharply that she'd intended.
Sango cocked an eyebrow. "Afraid of things getting out of control?"
Kagome felt a strange inward shiver. She found herself hoping that they were not out of control already. And it was not dreams she was remembering now.
Sango looked sideways at her. There was a good deal of understanding in her friendly face. She patted Kagome on the arm.
"It had to happen sometime," she said.
Kagome did not find it a comforting thought.
Totosai stood in the hall surrounded by three enormous suitcases and lectured Sesshoumaru.
"You've been working too hard for so long you don't even know what it's like to have a real life."
Sesshoumaru grinned. "Pot calling the kettle black. At least I don't disappear in the jungle for years a time.
"No. You disappear into a computer. Which is worse."
Sesshoumaru's grin widened. "No, it's not---"he began.
Outside there came a swish of tires. Sesshoumaru gave a quick glance at his watch. He had left the office early to see Totosai off but he was expecting a call from Atlanta.
"That sounds like you taxi."
Totosai was not deflected, however. "There must be some women you trust."
Sesshoumaru picked up the heaviest suitcase and opened the front door. "Not the time, Totosai," he said firmly.
Totosai looked horrified. "You mean there aren't?"
But Sesshoumaru had areas not even his best friend was allowed to touch. When you got too close, Totosai found those gold eyes to be as cold and distant as Mt. Fuji.
"I judge people on the basis of experience," Sesshoumaru said levelly. "You'll miss your plane if you don't get going."
"Oh." Totosai jumped.
He seized his other cases and clattered down the path after Sesshoumaru. When they were loaded, he turned back to his friend.
"I mean it, Taisho. You've got to get more of a life that this. Start trusting people. Women."
Sesshoumaru propelled him gently into the back of the cab and shut the door on him. "Concentrate on your own problems," he advised. "Like Latin America time-keeping. They like people to be prompt in Edinburgh. Be practical."
Totosai laughed. "Ok. Point taken." He said to the driver, "Heathrow, please," then a thought occurred to him. He leaned forward. "Be practical yourself. What are you going to eat until Mrs. Bates comes back?"
Sesshoumaru had not thought about it, but he was used to fielding difficult questions he was not prepared for. Totosai would not go until he had the answer he wanted. And he could not afford to waste any more time.
"I shall go to the cafe round the corner," he said smoothly and with utter falsehood. He had never set food inside the modest cafe and never intended to.
He stepped back and the cab took off. Totosai stuck his head out the window.
"Thanks for putting me up. I'll let you know if I get the job."
Sesshoumaru raised a hand. "Good luck."
He could not resist a quick look at the house next door as he went back inside. But there was no sign of the long-legged raven head. Not so much as an open window or a forgotten watering can in the garden. Sesshoumaru was surprised to find how disappointed he felt.
He shook his head, smiling to himself. But his smile died as he closed the front door. He was almost certain he knew what they guy in Atlanta wanted to talk about. It would need careful handling.
He went into the study and pulled the confidential file towards him. He began to concentrate.
Souta arrived late and laughing.
"Found you at last," he said, swinging her off her feet with his hug. "What's the prize?"
"What?" Kagome said, puzzled.
"Your address, sweetheart. Your address."
"She put a hand to her mouth, conscience-stricken. "I forgot."
"No problem. A dour woman at your last place gave it to me. Now where are these canvases?"
Kagome had set them out in the conservatory. She led him in there and went round with him nervously. He looked at three or four, then picked one up and studied it narrowly. He did not say anything.
"I've hardly done anything for weeks," Kagome said excusingly. "There were a lot of problems at my other place..."
"Artists can't afford domestic problems," said Souta authoritatively. He did not raise his eyes from the painting he was holding. "Either an artist is serious about his word or he is an agony aunt. You are serious."
Kagome was relieved. But she still protested.
"Yes, but---"
"I know you. You don't stop working."
"No," she agreed, sighing faintly. "But I'm not painting well."
He did not contradict her. But he did say. "Artists don't always know whether they're painting well."
Kagome hooted. "Rubbish."
"It's not rubbish. Look at this."
He held the painting out to her. It was a smoky gray watercolor, a surreal view of a building that could have been a Gothic church or even an imaginary castle. She made a disgusting face.
"Illustrative."
"No," he said. "There's more to it than prettiness. A lot more. But it's too---"
"Neat," said Kagome.
He sent her a look of surprise. "Well, maybe."
"It's because I'm worried." She told him about Naraku.
He listened without comment. When she'd finished he said. "Yes, I can see that it's a nasty situation. But that's not what's wrong with this."
Kagome was piqued. She had expected him to be more outraged by Naraku's behavior.
"So what is?" she challenged.
Souta was thoughtful. "You're afraid of something."
Souta had always been too perceptive, Kagome thought. Of course, as her director of studies, he had learned a lot about her. Not for the first time she wondered if the teacher in the life class had told him about her refusal to take her clothes off when it came her turn to model. And, if so, whether Souta had worked out why.
She said carefully, "What do you mean?"
Souta was still looking at her painting. "You won't let yourself go," he diagnosed.
Kagome let out a tiny sigh. So he did not know her as well as she feared. To disguise her relief, she cast her eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, please. Spare me the pop psychology."
Souta was not put out. "You asked." He looked at his watch. "Hungry?"
Kagome tried not to show her disappointment. "Have you seen enough, then?"
"I've booked a table," Souta said, showing more practicality than soul. "It's close," he added kindly. "We can come back afterwards."
As they were leaving, Souta nodded at the house next door.
"You didn't tell me you were living next door to Sesshoumaru Takari."
Kagome tensed. But the front garden was deserted. Not a disturbing gardener in sight.
"Do you know him?" she said relaxing.
"Not personally. He used to be my landlord. The Takari Trust runs the Elderflower Arts Complex. I had a studio there for a while." A thought occurred to him. "Maybe you could do the same. They're not dear."
"And how often do they come on the market?" demanded Kagome dryly. She had been looking for studio space ever since she left university.
"You could pop round and ask Takari," suggested Souta, grinning.
Kagome shuddered. "I'm not going over the threshold."
"Oh?" He cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. "You can't have fallen out with him. You haven't been here long enough. Anyway, every woman I ever met swoons over him."
"I haven't met him," Kagome said curtly. "I don't like his staff, that's all."
Souta was curious. But he knew Kagome too well to pursue the subject when she was wearing that mulish expression. Instead, he tucked her had through the crook of his arm, comfortingly.
The call from Atlanta was exactly what Sesshoumaru had been expecting. That did not make it any more palatable. He was coldly angry.
"The
word is that a parcel of Takari shares might be available," said
his informant apologetically. "As long as the price is right."
Sesshoumaru breathed deeply. He had little doubt who was responsible. There was only one person who owned Takari shares who was not also an employee of the company. He should have never let himself be persuaded to let Ceila keep them after the divorce.
"Damn," said Sesshoumaru with concentrated fury.
"What you need," said the American thoughtfully, "is to take off with a girlfriend."
Sesshoumaru thought he had misheard. He said so. The American chuckled and obligingly repeated it.
"What on earth---? Why?"
"Gives the lie to the takeover rumors."
"I don't see the logic in that."
"Ask your PR adviser," said the American dryly. "If you were involved in strategic talks you would stick around in Japan, not take to the hills with a blonde." (Ace; No offense)
There was long, dangerous pause. Then Sesshoumaru said with deceptive mildness, "You bankers never cease to me. And you think my PR company would agree? Had you got any particular blonde in mind, by any chance?"
"Hey, I advise on your funding strategy, not your sex life. Find your own blonde," said the American cheerfully.
Sesshoumaru looked down at the file in front of him. He stabbed his pen angrily into his blotter.
"You mean it was your own idea? Kagura Leiko didn't suggest it to you?"
But the banker was not to be drawn. He laughed and rang off.
He would have to talk to Ceila, stop her trying to sell those shares, Sesshoumaru thought. His ex-wife was greedy enough to ignore the fact that it would be illegal to do so. But of course she was not there. He left a message on her answering machine.
Irritated, he rang Kagura's office. After his conversation with the American, it occurred to him that Kagura might decide to talk to the press about the rumors without checking back with him first. She too had left her answering machine on. Sesshoumaru left curt instructions: no conversation with journalists about Takari shares. He heard her pick up the phone.
"Kari?" he said, halting mid-message. "Kagura, is that you?"
Without speaking, she put the phone down again, cutting the line.
"Women!" yelled Sesshoumaru, throwing the phone in disgust.
Souta took Kagome to a small French cafe round the corner. (Ace: I don't know if Japan has any French cafes, but I love them, they're always such nice place to get brunch). He clearly knew it well. The waiters recognized him. A complimentary carafe of red wine appeared on the gingham tablecloth. Kagome demanded an explanation.
"Oh, they used to hang some of my small landscapes. When I was at the Elderflower. Sold quite a few, too. You should try it."
Kagome looked round. There was no art on the rustic walls now.
"No one's come up to my standard since," Souta asserted.
"And you think I could?" Kagome mocked gently.
"We---el..."
She laughed aloud.
Between his ex-wife and his PR adviser, Sesshoumaru was so angry that, utterly out of character, he went on a refrigerator raid. And, of course, found nothing there but the liter of milk that Totosai had bought for his own use.
Sesshoumaru felt like throwing things. Then he remembered what he had said to Totosai. The irony of it struck him at once. Dangerous things, promises, he thought. They had a nasty habit of creeping up on you and making you keep them.
He laughed and bowed the inevitable. Five minutes later he was walking through the doors of the cafe, just as he had promised Totosai. And, as he did, he heard the long-legged raven head laughing.
Sesshoumaru stopped dead. His eyes raked the crowded little restaurant. He found her. She was sitting at a discreet table in the far corner with a man who was talking hard.
"Good evening. A table for one?" said the friendly waiter.
"Yes," said Sesshoumaru absently.
He did not take his eyes of Kagome. She obviously knew her companion very well. She was shaking her head, making hey midnight-black locks shimmer in the candlelight. Her eyes were dancing. Sesshoumaru frowned.
"This way, sir."
The waiter took him to a discreet alcove. Sesshoumaru followed, still looking at the oblivious Kagome. But when the waiter pulled out a chair he paid attention. The alcove cut off his view of all but a single corner of the room. The wrong corner.
"Not here," said Sesshoumaru decisively. He looked round and discovered a free table where he could keep an eye on Kagome and her companion. "I'll take that one."
The waiter maintained impassivity with an effort. "Of course, sir."
He gave Sesshoumaru a menu with a flourish. Sesshoumaru raised it to a strategic height and studied Kagome from behind it. The man she was with, he decided, looked too old for her...but not too much.
Unaware that he was under observation, Souta said, "Never mind about the cafe. I told you I've just got third share in a gallery. We could put you into an exhibition."
He sat back and waited for her reaction. He was not disappointed.
Kagome blinked. "M-me?"
He put down his glass and leaned forward, scanning her face intently.
"Look," he said, "I've been teaching for twenty years. I've never had a student like you."
She was shaken. "You've always been very encouraging, but..."
Souta made a rude noise. "Encouraging, shoot. You're the best painter I know. Potentially."
"You didn't like my paintings this evening," interpreted Kagome.
He did not answer that directly. Instead he said, "Why don't you stop messing about and just get on with it? It's almost as if you're afraid of how good you are."
There was no mistaking his seriousness. Kagome's stomach turned over. She clutched her middle in her habitual gesture.
Watching, Sesshoumaru half rose to his feet. He sank back to his chair almost at once. But for a moment he had felt a rush of concern that astonished him.
He was annoyed with himself. Had not Kari and Ceila in their various ways demonstrated to him exactly how well women were to take care of themselves? Why should the blackhead from next door be any different? She had certainly not shown any signs of vulnerability when she fell of the wall and into his arms. Rather the reverse.
No, she could certainly look after herself. She had told him as much. Sesshoumaru raised the menu and concentrated.
Sesshoumaru put his finger together. "The gallery is putting on a summer exhibition of young Japanese artists. I've talked to Rin and she's agreed to back my judgment. There's a slot for you if you want it, Kagome."
He sat back and waited for her reaction. He was not disappointed. Her eyes lit up.
"For m-me? You mean---show my paintings? A real show? With proper professional artists?"
Souta nodded, pleased with his effect.
Kagome's delight dimmed. "I haven't got enough work. I mean---not for this summer. Christmas, maybe."
"This summer," Souta said firmly.
"I couldn't possibly get it done in time."
Souta was impatient. "I'm not looking to fill a whole room, you know. Just four or five of your best canvases. Seven at a pinch."
The light went out of Kagome's eyes. "Nothing is finished."
"So finish them," Souta said robustly. "When is half-term?"
"Next week. But---"Kagome shook her head. "I'd have to use the studio at school, and Kouga doesn't like it. Anyway, you didn't like the stuff I showed you this evening."
Souta was not discouraged. "Then do some canvases just for us. A project with a theme."
"I wish," Kagome said dryly. "All in half-term?"
Souta banged his fist down on the table. "Hell, you're too good an artist to waste your time baby-sitting delinquents."
He glared at her, frustrated. She shrugged, but the look of guilt was unmistakable. Behind his menu, Sesshoumaru saw it and frowned. He ordered from at random from the hovering waiter, not taking his eyes off Kagome's drooping head.
Souta breathed hard. "You," he said, "don't deserve you God-given talent. Now---"
The lecture lasted through the next course. Kagome picked at delicious chicken in a mushroom sauce and let it waft past her. She did not resent strictures. In a way she agreed with him. She ought to have the courage of her convictions, she knew.
But she just didn't believe in herself enough. And that was that. She did not need Souta to tell her so.
She let her eyes wander round the cafe. Souta, full of reforming fervor, did not notice. Then suddenly her eyes widened. She stiffened. Souta did not notice that either.
The waiter put a plate in front of Sesshoumaru and poured his wine. Sesshoumaru thanked him, but absently. He was studying Kagome's companion. In spite of his age, he was handsome man. And becoming more animate by the minute. By contrast, Kagome was utterly silent. In fact she looked downright uncomfortable.
Sesshoumaru frowned again. Was the man responsible for that discomfort? He found himself wanting to seize the man by his open-necked collar and make him shut up so she could get a work in edgeways.
And then he realized. It was not her companion who was keeping Kagome's eyes on the tablecloth and her antennae at the ready. It was himself.
She was aware of him. She was not looking at him. She was not even letting her eyes stray in his direction. But she knew he was there. And it disturbed her.
Sesshoumaru found his simmering anger evaporating like magic. All of a sudden he felt great. He stretched out his long legs under the table and gave himself up to the pleasure of disturbing Kagome Higurashi.
Across the room her eyes lifted. For a sizzling moment they were locked with his. He picked up his wine and toasted her with it. Kagome flushed her eyebrows.
She leaned forward. "Souta---," she said urgently.
"What you need is some time to paint in a decent environment," he announced.
She looked at the man opposite. He was laughing. She set her teeth. She was not going to remember his hands on her. She was not. But it was almost impossible to keep it out of her mind when he lay back in his chair like that, watching her unashamedly, with that devilish amusement dancing in his eyes. It was quite clear, Kagome thought indignantly: he was not even trying to disguise his enjoyment of her discomfiture.
"Yes, I know," she said impatiently. "But---"
"You've got to stop being defeatist. Take hold of your life."
From the man's ironic expression. Kagome deduced that he was tuning in to Souta's harangue. She put her knife and fork together.
"Have you finished?"
"What?" He looked down at his place. "Yes, I suppose so. But what about dessert?"
"I'd like to go back," Kagome said firmly. "I want you to look over the rest of my portfolio."
Souta looked horrified. "What about coffee?"
Kagome was pushing her chair back. "I'll give you coffee."
"You've changed," muttered Souta, sotto voce.
Kagome pretended not to hear that. She was almost dancing with impatience. A waiter hurried up to present the bill. Souta put down a credit card.
"You know, I wonder if the Takari Trust might be the answer to your problem," he mused.
"Takari!" yelped Kagome.
Behind Souta's back the man's head came up. She averted her gaze swiftly. But not before she had seen his gold eyes narrow to slits.
"Not the man himself," Souta said, amused. "I hear he's a complete philistine."
Kagome was horribly conscious of the unwavering stare.
Her temper started to rumble. Quite suddenly she stopped trying to keep her voice low.
"I'm not surprised he's a philistine," she said tartly. "He has a gardener who behaves like a bouncer and a garden that looks as if it's been planned by committee."
The man mimed an expression of mock horror, laughing.
Kagome glared back. The waiter returned with the credit card slip and Souta signed it with a flourish. Kagome slipped her hand through his arm.
"Never mind about his garden," said Souta. "Think of all the lovely money. Very creative stuff, money."
The waiter, holding open the door to the street for them, effectively masked the man watching her. But Kagome knew he was still there. And listening. She wished Souta would shut up.
"Now, what you really ought to do," he said largely, "is get hold of the millionaire and take him in hand. Aesthetic education is all he needs."
"Full-scale reform, more like," muttered Kagome.
He put his arm wound her waist and they went out into the May evening. The waiter closed the door.
At his table, Sesshoumaru's face was thunderous.
Reform? Reform him? So he was philistine, was he? A girl who had no more sense than to go clambering about on other people's walls thought she had the right to pass judgment on other people's taste? (Ace: Like he can say that, what about his thoughts of women? Arrrrgh...I can' believe I made him like this...I should make him grovel to Kagome-chan...and make him lick the dirt she walks on...OH WELL XD).
All his earlier satisfaction had gone, dispelled in a surge of cold anger. He had enough of manipulative women. He was tired of them thinking they could rearrange his life for their convenience, by God he was. The crazy girl from next door was the last straw.
Well, she was due a lesson. It would be his pleasure to provide it.
