While her afternoon pick-me-up brewed, she inhaled the deep, rich scent. When it was done, she grabbed her Daffy Duck mug from the tray. She added a little cream and sweetener, then carried the mug out of the room, intent on returning to her desk.
She passed Huff’s office and stopped when she heard the sound of someone sobbing. His door was not completely closed, letting the sound escape through the small opening.
What’s going on in there? The sob had sounded female, so she had to assume it wasn’t her boss who was crying. Usually she tried not to be nosy, but if someone was hurt, maybe she could help.
She peered through the space between the door and the frame and saw Casey Dunning slumped in a chair in front of Wendell’s desk.
“I’m sorry, Casey,” she heard Wendell say. “But the higher-ups are making cuts. There wasn’t anything more I could do.”
Casey’s answer to that came in the form of another sob.
Oh, no. Backing away from the door, Nona turned away. By then, she could see quite a few curious sets of eyes directed toward the office door. Some people were even peering over or around their cubicle partitions to see what was going on.
Shaking her head, Nona hurried off to return to her office. There, she left her door open and returned to her seat behind her own desk. Sipping from the mug of coffee, she felt a sense of dread wash over her. Morale at the paper was an important factor, one that determined the quality of their editorial. Once word of staff cuts started to travel around the office, which would likely happen at any moment, the dynamic would shift, upsetting the precarious balance of the work environment.
While Casey sometimes got on her nerves, Nona would never have wished anything like this on her. Aside from that, knowing that the executive staff was making cutbacks made her nervous about the security of her own position. She’d been with the paper since college, over a decade. Still, that wouldn’t save her job from the chopping block if she were suddenly deemed expendable.
She went back to her work, trying to push what she’d seen out of her mind. All that went out the window when she looked up and saw Casey, her face still wet with tears, trudging past her office door. In her arms was the telltale cardboard box, holding all the things that had once occupied Casey’s desk. Casey had been with the paper for two years, and Nona wouldn’t have dreamed she would be leaving this way. While a little goofy at times, Casey had always been judicious about her work.
Casey stopped, poking her head in the door. “See you around, Nona.” Her tone held resignation, defeat.
“I wish you all the best, Casey.” It was the truth, and the only thing she could think to say.
With a solemn nod, Casey moved on.
Nona knew if she spun her chair around, she would see Casey in the parking lot, loading her belongings into her car. So she kept her attention on her computer screen, hoping to take her focus off the unfortunate situation, since she had no control over it.
Wendell tapped on her office door a few minutes later. “Nona, got a minute?”
Looking up, she ceased her typing. “Sure thing, Huff. Come on in.”
He entered, sitting down in her guest chair. “I’m assuming you know by now that we had to let Casey go.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Just gave her my best.”
“It’s a damn shame. But my hands are tied on this one. Subscriptions are down, and the suits are getting nervous. They’re looking to cut costs however they can.”
“I know.” She’d been hearing varying versions of this story for the past five or six years. As more and more people sought their news online, print publications of all types suffered. Newspapers were among the hardest hit by the shift in the way people accessed the news.
“Since we had to cut Casey from your staff, we’re going to have to add her workload to yours. Hopefully you’ll be able to handle it.”
She sighed. “Couldn’t Rick or Crystal take over some of it?” They were now her two remaining reporters.
He shook his head. “Rick’s doing double duty for sports, and Crystal’s been cut back to part-time. So you’re going to have to pick up the slack. Can you do it?”
“I can’t say I’m thrilled about it, but I’ll make it work.” She ran a hand through her hair, feeling the pressure rising within her.
“Thanks, Nona. You know I appreciate it.”
“I don’t suppose this comes with a raise,” she asked wryly, already knowing the answer.
“I’ll run it by the editor in chief in a couple of months, after you’ve wowed them with your savvy and dedication.” He stood, heading for the door. “I’ll get you the list of things Casey was working on by tomorrow morning.”
She nodded, and he was gone.
Alone in her office, Nona dropped her head, letting her forehead rest on the cool surface of her desktop. Her mother would undoubtedly be thrilled with this development, because she believed the trust of the boss was a surefire path to promotions and success. Having been in the business for ten years, Nona didn’t share that belief. She saw this situation for what it was: a convenient way for the paper to get her to do more work without raising her pay. Their bottom line would improve, so why should they care about how their actions personally affected her? Her work-life balance was none of their concern.
She felt agitated, frustrated. The tumble of emotions running through her had a surprising effect, in that they made her long for Ken’s steady presence. He always seemed to stay cool under pressure, and in her current state, she could use his even-keeled sensibilities.
Luckily, she would see him in a few days. Rather than burden him with her problems, she decided to hold off until Wednesday night, when they already had plans to get together.
* * *
With the bright morning sunlight illuminating the surface of his drafting table, Ken sketched in a few lines on the large sheet of paper in front of him. It was early Wednesday, and he was well into the detail stage of his sketches for the new design of the Grand Pearl. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he filled in the image of the rear exterior.
For Ken, this represented pure happiness. Alone in his office, with the first light of day shining on his drafting table, a pencil in his hand and a Max Roach recording playing in his headphones. His creativity was at its height, and he could feel the buzz of it flowing through his veins like electricity.
So far, he’d created twenty sketches, each illustrating a different room or view of the new theater as he envisioned it. Before he could deem his work complete, the images would be scanned into a software program to be rendered into blueprints. Once the full set of blueprints was completed, he could turn them over to the construction company that would complete the remodeling. The prospect of seeing his vision for the historic building come to life excited him. He loved the feeling just as much now as he had when he’d completed his first set of blueprints.
He got so wrapped up in detailing his sketch that he barely looked up when Lynn came into the office.
“Morning, Ken.” She spoke loudly, aware of his habit of listening to music while he worked.
Hearing her over the music, he looked her way. “Morning, Lynn.”
“Just letting you know I’m here if you need anything. Carry on, boss.” Raising her coffee mug in his direction, she slipped out.
After she left, he directed his full attention back to putting the finishing touches on his sketch. Along the margins of the page, he neatly listed items that would be helpful to the construction foreman in carrying out his plans—dimensions, measurements, suggested building materials and finishes. He kept his pencil moving slowly, making sure that his writing would be legible. When the rendering software made the blueprints, it used text recognition to translate handwriting to typed words. Neatness was paramount in getting the desired results.
When he’d completed the pag
e, he carefully rolled it up and placed it in an empty plastic tube. Adding the tube to the collection of the sketches he’d already drawn for the project, he went to the front of the office suite to speak briefly with Lynn.
Lynn occupied her usual seat behind the reception desk. When she heard him approaching, she looked up from her computer screen. “So how are the sketches coming for the Grand Pearl?”
“Just finished the last one.” He leaned on the high partition in front of the desk, which obscured her desk and bookcase from the eyes of visitors. “We can start the rendering in a couple of days.”
“So are we doing cleanup this afternoon?”
“Yes. I think it’s best we get started on it.” The cleanup phase was where he checked over all his drawings, erasing any elements that weren’t going to be used and making sure the finished illustrations were as clean as possible so that the rendering software could read them. It wasn’t the most fun, but it was a necessary part of the process.
Lynn ran a hand over her hair. “Sounds good. We’ll tackle the first round after lunch.”
“I’m thinking we can get it done in two days if we do about eight or ten pages today and get the rest done tomorrow.”
Lynn opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the ringing of the phone interrupted her. “Excuse me.” Picking up the receiver, she answered, “Good morning, Yamada Creative. This is Lynn. How can I help you?”
Ken remained by the desk as she listened to the caller on the other end.
“Okay, sir. Let me get him for you.” Lynn pressed the hold button. “It’s a Nolan Cross of Crossroads Development. He says he has a project he’d like to speak to you about.”
When he heard Cross’s name, Ken’s brow shot up. Crossroads Development handled some of the largest construction projects in the southeastern United States—everything from neighborhood schools to skyscrapers. As a result, Nolan Cross was one of the wealthiest men in the country. “I’ll take it in my office.”
“Got it.” Lynn replaced the receiver.
He jogged down the hall and slid into his desk chair. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the handset. “Good morning, this is Ken Yamada.”
“Mr. Yamada. Nolan Cross.” The older man spoke in an authoritative, confident voice. “I’m CEO of Crossroads Development. How are you?”
Ken responded, keeping his tone level and professional despite the massive amount of money on the other end of the line. “Hello, Mr. Cross. I’m well aware of who you are, and I’m very well, thanks. How are you?”
“I’m well, except for one thing. I have a very large and lucrative project, and I’m in need of an architect.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” Ken quipped, keeping his tone light.
“I’ve been hearing a lot about your work lately. The children’s hospital in Lillyville is one of the most impressive I’ve ever seen. My niece received care there last spring, and I was amazed at the architectural details.”
“Thank you, sir.” He was flattered to hear that the prestigious Nolan Cross admired his work. “I appreciate that.”
“I’m told you’re restoring a historic theater there in Charlotte. The Grand Pearl. When will you wrap up that project?”
“I expect to turn over the blueprints within a week or so. By the second week of July, I’ll be ready for whatever is next.”
“I see. Well, let me tell you a bit about the project. Crossroads is developing a mixed-use area in Richmond, called Stone Haven. Our vision involves a mixture of condominiums and townhomes, as well as shopping and office space. We want it built with sustainable practices and materials, and we want to keep costs down enough so as not to displace the current residents. There is already enough gentrification going on in cities across the country, and Crossroads isn’t interested in contributing to that.”
Ken was impressed, not just with the idea, but with Nolan’s commitment to the residents of the area. “This project sounds fantastic, and I really respect your efforts to do what’s right for the community rather than what is most profitable.”
“That’s my philosophy, and it’s kept this company in the black for twenty-two years.” Nolan paused and drew a deep breath. “I love your vision, your drive. You’ve got the kind of fresh approach that I think would be great for this project. The city has pledged funds for the assignment, and along with the investors we’ve secured, the Stone Haven project is valued at one hundred and fifty million dollars. The architect we choose will easily clear thirty to thirty-five million.”
At that moment, Ken was glad Nolan Cross couldn’t see his expression. His eyes were probably the size of saucers. “Wow. This really is a lucrative project.”
“Now, if it were all up to me, I’d hire you right now. But I’ve got a board of directors breathing down my neck, and they’re a tough bunch to convince. So we have to hold off until the Grand Pearl project is complete.”
He cringed. “I can understand that. This is a very big project.”
“So what I’ll need from you is your blueprints and sketches. Send over the ones from the Lillyville hospital, the Davenport Senior Center and the Crossley Museum, along with photos of those projects. Add the final blueprints and sketches from the Grand Pearl project, and I think that will give me what I need to convince the board.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll have my assistant start pulling the package together this afternoon. You’ll have everything on your desk by the end of this month.”
Nolan sounded pleased. “Great. I’ll look forward to receiving it. Have a great day, Ken.”
“You too, Mr. Cross.”
As Ken replaced the handset, he leaned back in his chair, releasing a pent-up breath. He couldn’t believe the turn this morning had taken. Stone Haven, if he could clinch it, would be the largest and most profitable project he’d ever done. The amount Nolan had quoted for the architect well surpassed the city’s entire budget for the Grand Pearl project.
Along with the flattery and gratitude he felt came a sense of unease. With a project this large, he couldn’t help but feel the pressure. He’d have to knock the Grand Pearl remodel out of the park if the board at Crossroads was as hard to impress as Nolan had suggested.
He clapped his hands together, slid his chair back. If he was going to pull this off, he had no time to waste. He got up from his desk and stuck his head out the office door. “Lynn, come here, please. We’ve got work to do.”
Chapter 10
When Nona arrived at Satori Martial Arts Wednesday evening, she knew exactly where to go. Dressed in leggings, a tank top and sneakers, she entered the building and headed straight for the corridor that led to the smaller gym area. She’d brought a workout bag with her, containing an extra set of clothes and some toiletries, in case the evening’s activities made her sweaty.
She smiled as she thought about what that could mean. With the attraction crackling between her and Ken, she knew she could easily end up sweaty for reasons that had nothing to do with martial arts.
She walked into the smaller gym and found him already there. He was shirtless again, and he stood in the center of the floor, going through a series of stretches. Watching him, she mused about his attire. He’d shown her an image of the traditional Japanese kendo gear. The gear was dark and bulky and appeared very heavy. It even included a cage-like helmet worn over the head, to protect the face and eyes from any potential blows from the opponent’s sword.
Yet she’d never seen Ken don the gear. Twice now she’d come here and found him topless. She was starting to wonder if he always practiced dressed that way—or if it was because he was with her.
She stood off to the side and let him finish what he was doing, but she could see him watching her in the mirror. He was aware of her presence, and she offered him a soft smile.
Finally he walked over to
where she stood. He greeted her with a soft kiss on the forehead. “How was your day?”
“It was okay.” She didn’t really want to dwell on the stress she was facing at work, at least not now. “And yours?”
“Busy, but good.”
“Can I ask you something?”
He draped an arm loosely around her waist. “I thought we were finished with the interview questions.”
She giggled. “It’s not that. This is just something I want to know that has nothing to do with the story.”
“What is it?”
“Do you always spar with no shirt on?”
“No. I wear some modified gear when I spar. But we’re not sparring. Technically, we’re practicing. And I always do that without a shirt.” He drew her body close to his. “Do you want me to wear a shirt?”
She felt a certain boldness awaken within her. Lifting her hand, she ran her open palm over the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen. Swinging that bamboo sword certainly does wonders for the upper body. “No, no. I was just curious.”
A broad grin broke out over his face. “Then come on. Let’s do this.” He released his hold on her and walked across the floor, toward the sword rack.
She set her bag down on the floor, using her foot to slide it beneath the bench. Then she went to stand by Ken, taking the sword he extended in her direction.
“You did pretty well the last time. Like I said, I think you have a natural talent for kendo that may stem from your dance abilities.” He held his sword out in front of him, with the blade pointed straight up. “I want to try something different with you, if you don’t mind.”
Being on a date in a martial arts studio was already well outside the norm for her, so she was game for whatever. “I’m up for it. What do you have in mind?”
Tempo of Love Page 8
