The Arrogant Architect

by LK Collins

  The Arrogant Architect

  BY

  LK Collins

  Copyright © 2016 LK Collins

  Cover Design by Prezident Collins

  Edited by Lisa Christman, Adept Edits

  Photography by Viorel Sima

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Lisa, this one’s for you and you know why.

  Chapter 1

  Tomorrow is my birthday. Well, the clock will hit midnight in four minutes, and what used to be my favorite day of the year will rain down on me like a dark cloud of misery. Since watching my mom suffer and eventually lose her battle with breast cancer, nothing seems to matter anymore– not my birthday, not holidays, or really anything. Without her, nothing is important. Yes, I tell myself, I am blessed to be alive. Just waking up should be enough…but I simply don’t have the feeling I used to about life. All I want is to sleep the days away, blur them all together. Stay still until my time comes and then I can be with her again.

  Sitting alone in my quaint Rhode Island apartment, the clock ticks by brutally slow. In front of me is another letter from my mother. Each year they come and have become the only thing that I have to look forward to on this wretched day. I have no clue who sends them, or why she decided to have them sent. My dad and I both get one every year, so I know he’s not the one sending them. Maybe it’s her way of keeping us going, giving us something to look forward to without her. Which isn’t a bad thing– that’s what moms do: they pick you up and push you forward during those times in your life when you don’t feel like it or even know if you can. And even without my mom here now, she’s still doing it. And for me, for a brief moment every time I open and read a new letter, it’s like she’s back, talking to me as I get swept away in her words. I can hear her voice laced through each one of them. But the letters always end, as letters do, and the reality of my life swallows me up, pushing me further and further into the seclusion of my nothingness.

  It’s 11:59–I wait ‘til midnight to open them. Not that it matters, there are no rules when it comes to all of this, but it’s what I do. This is the way she wanted things. Staring at my name so perfectly written on the front of the purple envelope the color of lilacs, her handwriting is just as beautiful as their fragrant scent. Now…it’s another thing that reminds me of her.

  As the clock strikes midnight, I lift the envelope, staring at it, knowing only a few years ago she had this in her hands. Looking at the seal on the back, I imagine her licking it closed and I force myself to open it, breaking something she put together.

  My dear Everly,

  Happy twenty-third birthday, my darling. There are not enough words that I can say to express how hard it is to not be there with you to celebrate another birthday. But…as I’ve always said, I’m right there with you in spirit, sitting next to you, wrapping my warm arms around you, and kissing the top of your soft, blonde hair. Hold onto that feeling and the bond we share…forever.

  How is work? Are you still cooking? Have you opened your own restaurant? Have you met a guy yet? There are so many things I wish I could know right now, but I’m reassured that after I’m gone I’ll have all those answers way before you, and I’ll be right next to you, guiding you every step of the way. Remember even though the magnitude of missing out on so many milestones together is a terrible pain, know deep down I am proud of wherever you are in life. You are a brilliant young woman! Take care of yourself, Ever, and your dad. I love you more than there are stars in the sky.

  Love, Mom

  A tear drips off my cheek and lands on the letter, my insides burning, the ink bleeding. And the moment of relief…is gone. The feeling of suffering is immeasurable as I stare at the blurring ink, reminding me so quickly how hard it is to go on without her. Folding the letter, I swallow away the tears and set it on my nightstand. Doing my best to regain calm, to cease the crying, but I can’t fuckin’ stop. What the universe has done enrages me. Why was it her time? Why?

  Falling back against my pillow, I sulk in the misery, but it’s soon cut short as my cell phone rings. I take a deep breath before I answer, hating for my dad to hear me upset. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Happy birthday, baby!”

  “Thanks,” I respond through a chuckle, hearing how hard he’s trying to be positive for me. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Dad.”

  “I’m not; I’m happy it’s your birthday.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you read the letter yet?” he asks me.

  “Yeah,” my voice crackles, remembering her words.

  “What did she say?”

  “This one was different, maybe she was having a rough day, but she was sad, I could tell it was hard for her to write.”

  “I couldn’t imagine writing them myself or what I’d say to you, Ever.”

  “Then don’t, ‘cause we’ll forever have each other.”

  “You sound like her.”

  “She taught me a lot, Dad.”

  “She sure did. You still want to have dinner?”

  “Of course. Do you want to come over here before dinner and look at my shower? It’s leaking.”

  “Of course, but you’re renting– have you called maintenance?”

  “I emailed and called them over a week ago. They haven’t responded and the noise is driving me crazy. It’s really all I want for my birthday,” I joke.

  “Okay, I’ll return the sports car I got you then and just fix your shower.”

  “Thanks, Dad, you’re the best.”

  Talking with him makes me feel better, probably because he’s my best friend. Aside from the people I work with, he’s all I’ve got and I’m all he has. But we are all we need in this life, and it works for us, especially because we’ve been left with no other choice. All you can do sometimes is play the cards you’ve been dealt. Lying back, I close my eyes, looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow and enjoying a day off of work.

  _____

  I wake to a loud bang. It shoots me right up in bed and shakes my entire apartment. My heart is slamming against the walls
of my chest.

  What the fuck was that?

  Then I hear beeping and yelling, and I wonder if there was a car accident outside. I glance out the window, but can’t see an accident or anything that would explain the noise. Then the bang happens again and rocks my whole place. Automatically, I grip my blanket like it’s going to protect me in the case of some freak ass natural disaster or nuclear bomb. But the beeping and yelling continue, and I fly out of bed, determined to find out who or what is making all the goddamn noise.

  Putting my pajama pants on, I rush out my front door barefoot, so angry as the noise keeps getting louder and louder. Normally, I never hear anything inside my apartment, it is so tranquil and one of the reasons why I love living here. As I charge down the stairs, my boobs hurt from the impact of each step and I realize I don’t have a bra on, but I don’t give a fuck.

  Barging outside, the chilly air winds around me, blowing my hair wildly, and I wrap my arms securely over my chest. Right away, I spot where the noise is coming from. There are a million workers, around and inside the building next to mine, which has been vacant for years. “Excuse me?” I ask a guy with a hardhat on walking by, “What’s going on?”

  He points to another man and says, “You have to ask the boss man.”

  Leaning against the side of a ridiculous white sports car is the “boss man.” He’s dressed like a lawyer, in a suit, talking on his phone, looking up at the building as he barks orders at someone on the other line.

  Who comes to a construction site dressed like this?

  Behind me a pallet drops and I almost jump out of my skin. Marching over to him as fast as I can, fury boils through me. Barely restrained, I wait for him to end his call, and when he does, he sticks his phone in his pocket and opens a leather portfolio looking over what appear to be sketches of some kind.

  “Excuse me?” I blurt out, not sure what his problem is, or why he’s ignoring me.

  Is he blind?

  He looks up at me, his blue eyes squinting, and then he raises his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. “Yes?”

  “Can you tell me what in God’s name is going on here?”

  He stares at me, looking at me like he doesn’t understand my question. His eyes scan my body, making me feel uncomfortable, and I wrap my arms more tightly over my breasts. “Hello?” I wave a hand in his face.

  “I heard you,” he reaffirms.

  “So, what’s going on?”

  He closes his portfolio and tilts his head the other way, still not saying anything. Is this guy fuckin’ dumb or something??? “What’s! With! All! The! Noise!?”

  “I’m not a fucking dumbass. I heard you.”

  “You sure? ‘Cause you’re acting like one.”

  In the background there are more pallets being dropped, the workers are shouting and cars are honking. I look over and see a huge truck is now blocking the roadway. “This building is undergoing a twelve-week restoration project.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s an important piece of history.”

  I stand with my mouth gaping at him. I don’t care how important it is– I can’t live through twelve weeks of this. “Did you need anything else?” he asks smugly.

  “Yeah, I do. Don’t you think it’s a little early to be making so much noise and blocking the roadway and shit?”

  He smirks and looks around at what’s going on. “Pursuant to Section 7.9 of the Rhode Island State noise ordinance, outside noise can begin for projects any time after seven a.m.”

  “Are you kidding me!?”

  His phone rings and he pulls it out. I storm off, knowing this is pointless and he calls after me, “Good chat; we should do this again sometime.” I glare back at him as he answers his phone. He’s looking me right in the eye, so arrogant and motherfucking cocky. I don’t think I’ve ever been so frustrated in all my life.

  Then he winks at me and I flip him off, stomping back into my apartment like a child who didn’t get her way. Slamming the door as hard as I can. The noise still so loud. How am I supposed to live like this for three months? I’ll go crazy.

  I start a pot of coffee in my kitchen and leave it to brew as I get into the shower. Standing under the water, I let the warmth surround me and focus on my breathing so it can wash away this newest stress. But I can’t seem to let what just happened go. The interaction with the smug prick keeps replaying in my head.

  Getting out, I dry off and go through my normal morning routine. Then going back into the kitchen, I pour myself a cup of coffee. It’s only 7:35, there is no way I can stay here with this racket all day or I’ll go ballistic.

  As I finish my coffee, I decide to go into work. I was supposed to have the day off, but I’m not going to sit here, aggravated. Plus, my work is the only place where I find peace anymore. I grab a bar for breakfast and put my chef’s coat on. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realize my mom would be proud.

  I sling my backpack over my shoulder and walk down to the bike rack, trying to ignore the veritable roar of construction mayhem coming from next door. Thank God that pompous jerk is nowhere to be seen. Unlocking my bike, I put the lock in my backpack and prepare to ride to work. I so much prefer riding to driving my car.

  “Did you really flip me off?” The guy from earlier walks up behind me and startles me. Internally, I roll my eyes and zip my bag before turning around.

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you were being a jerk.”

  “I’m only doing my job.”

  “Then I want to talk to your boss,” I state.

  His grin gets wide, from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat, and he takes another step closer to me. My heart skips a beat and I swallow, not really sure what’s going on. This guy is soooo not my type.

  “Seriously?” I ask aggravated.

  “What?” he responds, almost wounded.

  “What’s with the silent treatment?”

  “I’m not giving you the silent treatment. You asked to talk to my boss, and…that’s me.”

  “No,” I rephrase my question so this time he gets it through his thick skull what I want, “I want to talk to who owns this building. To whoever is making these ridiculous decisions to begin…” I trail off, frazzled, but quickly recover, not letting him– or any man– have that power over me. “To begin the work so early in the morning.”

  “I own the building and I’m running the restoration project, so you can talk to me.”

  Shaking my head, I push my bike around him and ride off. This is a lost cause. “It was nice to meet you, Ever,” he yells out, clearly having read my name on my coat. I’m hesitant to flip him off again…I think that has lost its zing for the day.

  Chapter 2

  I manage to prepare everything for the lunch rush and do an inventory on the walkout. Going through the last of my checklist, Mistee, one of the other chefs, walks in and says, “Oh my God, Ever, I totally thought you were taking today off.”

  “I was, and Ross wanted me to, but you know me, this is where I’m happiest.”

  She smiles, knowing this really is how I am, even if the peace I get at home hadn’t been shattered into a billion annoying pieces. “Well, happy birthday.” She kisses me on the cheek. Mistee is very touchy feely, but I don’t mind, because inside and out, she is a great person. “What do you say, before lunch…one shot for your birthday?” she asks.

  “Uhhhh, no way. Ross would fire us!”

  “He doesn’t have to know.”

  “Know what?” Ross asks, walking into the kitchen.

  “Nothing.” I quickly bounce back and cover our asses as he hangs his stuff up.

  “I thought you were taking today off?” he asks me.

  “I was, but…here I am.” He doesn’t ask further. Ross doesn’t like to get into the dramatics of our lives; as long as we can run the kitchen to his exacting standards, he stays happy. Going over what is planned for today and everything I did this morning, he asks me, “Are you read
y to step up today?”

  “I am,” I tell him, knowing exactly what he means.

  “Good, you’re gonna do great.”

  “Thanks,” I smile at him excited to run the kitchen for the first time…by myself. I’ve been working here since I was nineteen. Now as an executive chef, Ross says I’m ready to start handling more responsibility, so what better time to start than on my birthday? I knew this was coming…just not today.

  I stay in my zone as the beginning of our lunch rush starts, and an enthusiasm fills the kitchen that motivates me. It gives me a high; this is what I live for. The orders start to come in and I call each one out to the staff, letting them know exactly what I need.

  The vibrant ring of, “Yes, Chef,” resounds through the air, and I’m so happy that I came to work today– this is what I needed, this is my relief. I knew my day to be in charge of a kitchen was coming and couldn’t be happier to finally be experiencing it. Cooking is my release from the torment of grief that is my life without my best friend, my mom, in it.

  Taking my time, putting my heart and soul into every order, is rewarding. Each plate that I send out to our guests is my best. The hours fly by like minutes. “Chef?” the restaurant manager, Trent, calls out, popping his head in. “Your presence is being requested.”

  I swallow hard as the vibe in the kitchen suddenly diminishes, and I look around at the team, knowing that no matter what the news, good or bad, we will keep striving forward. “Mistee, to the front.”

  “Yes, Chef,” she’s quick to respond, and I hope Ross is okay with my decision. He’s told me that when I am in charge to make whatever decisions I see best to keep things running smoothly. Despite Mistee acting like a maniac half the time, she’s great at her job, so I’m confident she’ll hold down the fort perfectly.

  I wipe my hands dry and look at Trent as he leads me to the table. There are two guys sitting at it, and walking up, Trent stops, nods, then goes back to the front of the house, leaving me on my own.