by Jaime Reese
"Fine." Matt opened the drawer to his left to retrieve a stack of bills. He began to count out fifties. When finished, he handed all thirty-two to Julian.
Julian took the money and stared at the bills in his hand. The full sixteen hundred he'd requested in crisp fifty-dollar bills stared back at him. Now it was his turn to size Matt up.
"One question," Julian said.
Matt sighed. "Yes, this money is legal. Was that your question?"
Finding legit work was so damn difficult. That was all Julian cared about, linked to a promise he'd made to his mother as a child to stay out of trouble. Julian picked his battles. Quite frankly, most of the people he'd run into in his life had made some sort of silly, inappropriate, or downright stupid decision at one time or another. He was no exception. He was just never crazy enough to walk into a situation knowing there was something illegal at inception. The rational, over-analytical part of his mind tried to ignore how Matt had classified this money when responding. Crap.
There was something about this Matt guy that didn't put Julian on full alert. He looked sincere. As long as Julian could put in an honest day's work and get paid, legally, what was promised, he was fine with the deal.
"Yup. All I needed to know." He folded the money and stuffed it into his back pocket as he rose from his seat. "I'll get my stuff and be back in a couple of hours. One more question."
Mr. In-charge was back with the body sighs. "What?" he asked on an exhale.
Oh, and look at that, eye rolls as well.
"Is there a place I can park my truck? I parked down the street and I'd prefer to be closer."
Obviously caught off guard by the question, Matt straightened. "Oh, yeah, we've got a few spots in the back. You can come in through the alley one street up."
"Cool, thanks," Julian said with a subtle nod. "I'll be back in a bit." He turned to leave.
"What's the M for?" Matt's question stopped him.
"I'm sorry?" Julian turned to see Matt flipping through the completed forms.
"The M. Your middle initial?" Matt looked genuinely curious as he glanced up from the clipboard.
"It's for my middle name," Julian responded then turned again to leave.
"Obviously."
"It's not relevant to the job."
"I want to know."
Julian couldn't resist a smile. He could imagine Mr. Arrogant Matt Doner pitching a temper tantrum, stomping around and yelling. It took every ounce of energy he had to not burst out laughing. He shook his head, hoping to dispel the visual. "See you in a few hours."
"It's not for Matt, is it?"
"Thankfully, no, 'cause that would just be too weird." He had to leave before the temper tantrum visual returned. The whiny version in his head was stomping and screaming like a bratty child. "See you in a few." He hurried to the door.
He waved goodbye as he walked out.
"Is it Max?"
He couldn't stifle the bubbling laughter any longer once he was outside.
Chapter 3
As he watched Julian walk down the street, Matt wanted to kick himself for having been such as ass. He didn't know what had come over him. Normally civil, cordial, and stereotypically proper, he had become a downright son of a bitch to the only man who'd had the courage to walk through the door. He hoped that fronting the requested money would show a little good faith and hopefully soften the asshole vibe he knew he emitted.
"Shit," he yelled to himself as he returned to his office and leaned back in his chair. He was usually good at thinking on his feet but this man just seemed to throw him off. He exhaled heavily, trying to let his muscles relax. His exhaustion was getting the better of him, had to be. He wouldn't allow himself to think that it was the amazing crystal green eyes and obvious work-built body that was turning his brain to mush. This was not the way to start off a year-long work relationship.
He sat upright again and looked at his flashing cell phone to see a missed call. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was not returning the call. No one could dish it out to him like his dear old mother, and he was not about to subject himself to that twice in a day. Thinking back, maybe it was their earlier call that had resulted in his current state of mind. She always seemed to get the better of him and make him feel less than what he was. Since his release, she had been riding him extra hard and he just didn't want to deal with it anymore.
He grabbed the clipboard and looked over the paperwork again. M. Not Matt or Max. Maybe Michael, Malcolm? No wait, his name was part Italian, maybe Mario or Marco. Not knowing was going to drive him crazy. He looked over to the screen display of his now vibrating phone and smiled.
"Hi, Sam," he said when he answered.
"So, any luck today?" his friend, Samuel Isaacs, asked. He could recall the exact moment Sam steamrolled into his world and imposed his positive outlook on life. Just one month shy of three years ago. Their first encounter was scheduled as a required meeting between inmate and rehabilitation officer, but soon bloomed into a supportive friendship absent of judgment.
"Yeah, I just hired someone."
"When did he come in?" Sam asked skeptically.
"He just left."
"Wait, you hired him on the spot? Matt, we talked about this. You can't just—"
"Yeah, we did talk about this and I told you no one had responded to the different ads I've placed in the last month. He's the only guy who didn't run out of here when he saw the house and didn't even balk at the crap weekly pay I can afford," he said in a raised voice. He hadn't realized how difficult it would be to find someone to do the renovation he needed on his timetable and within his budget. It had become more stressful than his five years at the Federal Prison Camp in Pensacola. But he'd made a promise and he was going to see it through.
"Matt?" Sam asked with a wealth of concern in his voice.
He sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that."
"Did you talk to your mother today?"
Matt rubbed his eyes, hoping to stave off the headache he felt begin to form. "Am I that transparent?"
Sam chuckled. "Sometimes."
"Yeah, and I don't want to talk about it."
"So I'm guessing this guy is golden if he didn't run at the attitude either."
Matt wanted to reach through the phone and strangle his friend. Anything to not think of the visual the word "golden" triggered. He wondered if Julian's skin was the same rich tone everywhere.
"Please tell me he's licensed," Sam continued when Matt did not respond.
"Yes, he is. He's a licensed contractor, and he had certifications for electrical, plumbing, and a few other things."
"Okay. Did you tour him around the house so he could review the work that was needed?"
Matt fidgeted. "Um, he looked around."
"The room you were in or the whole house?" Sam asked, obviously seeing through Matt's bullshit.
"He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. I saw him watching the house for a little bit before actually walking in and he did the same in the office before giving me his answer. He even made some notes."
"What did his notes say?"
"Hell if I know," Matt said, exasperated.
"Maybe he's a song writer or poet. Maybe he writes romance and was inspired by the peeling paint," Sam said, his tone oozing with sarcasm.
Matt didn't know what Julian wrote in his notebook. Come to think of it, he didn't really know anything about his new hire. All he had to go by was his first impression. Barring the sexy, gravelly voice and the solidly muscled body, there was something equally solid about the man's integrity.
"Anyway, I hired him and he's coming back later on today. I paid him two weeks advance—"
"You did what?" Sam uncharacteristically yelled.
"I gave him an advance."
Sam sighed. "Did you at least check his reference?"
"Sam, it felt right. He felt right. He was cocky as hell, but I have a feeling it's merited. It seems he's got the skills and
he certainly has the determination." He didn't want to add that he also felt the guy needed work and possibly a place to stay, which just made him seem more human and approachable for some reason. Matt could empathize, and he wasn't about to turn away the only person who had responded, especially if the man was actually qualified for the job. And that wrist cuff. He wasn't going to deny he was intrigued. But the look in those crystal green eyes clearly sent a message that the question was off limits.
"Did you guys talk about the renovations at all?"
"No. I'm going to tell him we're renovating offices, but he's going to ask questions once he sees the plans. He'll probably figure out it's not office space, but I'm not sure how he's going to react, and I need to get started if we're going to make the schedule and stay on track with the budget."
"You've mentioned budget twice, Matt. Are the buyers still a go on the condo?"
Matt sighed. He'd had to deal with entirely too much in the last few months. He had used the inheritance from his aunt to buy the dilapidated building and hoped the funds from the sale of his condo would suffice for repairs and other necessities. He had a prior buyer for his current residence but the deal fell out of escrow. Considering the current state of the South Florida market, it shouldn't have surprised him, but he needed to sell his place in order to have enough funds to complete the renovation.
No bank would loan him a dime with his record or his non-existent credit after five years. Hell, no one wanted to even allow him to open an account at their branch to avoid the potential tarnish to their name. He didn't have a choice but to remain with the same financial institution his family had used for generations. He hated having the connection but didn't have any other options.
"As of right now, yeah. If it all goes as planned, we should complete escrow within ten days and I'll have more money."
"If you need help, just—"
"I know. It's fine. I've got enough to get everything started." He needed to do this on his own. He appreciated Sam's offer to help, but he wanted to start taking control of his life again after his release.
Do something with the money that makes things right. This was his Aunt Eleanor's wish in her will when she bequeathed everything of hers to him. Literally, everything—all money, property, and personal belongings—with her first instruction that everything should be sold and the money be used to make a change, something to give back and turn a negative into a positive. Even now, he could still hear her voice reminding him that possessions meant nothing, that memories were more important and lingered in your heart. Her caring yet firm voice just as strong as it was that day in the small interview room when her attorney played the recording of her final wishes. Matt smiled at the thought, she always knew how to make an impact with him, knew hearing her voice would leave a greater mark than an attorney reading her will.
He'd followed her instructions and invested the funds in buying the building that would become the halfway house, the idea originally a random thought discussed between him and his cellmate Liam, during one of their many discussions before lights out. Liam's chatter would lull him to sleep each night. He was that one thing no one had in prison…a friend.
Taking his aunt's surname was Matt's first step in his new life. He was surprised how easily he could leave Matthew Collings-Lloyd, city trader and heir to Collings-Lloyd Textiles behind. Stripping himself of his family name was easier than stripping the memories. The anger still boiled when remembering his mother's tears, not at the grief of losing family, but at the thought of revisiting the court system and potentially marring the family name further simply to request special permission so Matt could attend his aunt's funeral. In the end, he remained alone in his cell, mourning his aunt's loss, while the rest of the family paid their respects graveside.
He became Matthew Doner, and in his mind, knew exactly how he wanted to fix things, and it was a complete contradiction to the traditional methods of his family. They said he was welcomed back home as long as he kept a low profile, avoided any more issues, found a nice girl to settle down with, and worked extra hard at trying to minimize the horrific mark he had made to tarnished the family name in society. His mother's words, not Matt's.
"Send me the new contractor's info. I'll check him out," Sam said, returning Matt's focus to their call.
Matt was a firm believer that the eyes were the windows to one's soul. He thought back to Julian's eyes and the way he firmly held eye contact, even when Matt was acting like an ass. "That's not necessary. I know he's a quick hire but I feel he's trustworthy."
Sam remained silent. He knew Matt didn't trust easily. Hell, Matt didn't trust anyone if he was going to be honest with himself. He hadn't trusted anyone enough to tell them what had really happened and what had led him to his time in prison, only Sam. None of that mattered now. Matt had done what he felt was the right thing to do and Sam had understood his motivation to behave like an older brother in the situation.
"Okay. Just be careful. I'll try and stop by this week to make sure your new contractor didn't bury you in the backyard or something," Sam ended with a chuckle before hanging up.
Matt pocketed his cell, pushed up and out of the chair, then moved to the window. Through the broken and dirty glass he could easily see the front yard. The concrete walkway was cracked and the grass was brown and worn, but Matt easily saw the potential for a beautiful garden and welcoming entrance. He closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against the window. The lack of sleep was wearing away at him and the headache was a lingering reminder of the stress he'd been dealt for some time. Regardless of everything, he was finally out of prison. His time inside made him treasure any moment he had free of the walls and bars, even if the free air felt like a hundred-plus under the South Florida sun.
He was hungry and needed some coffee to stay awake. He grabbed his keys and walked down the street to the nearest Starbucks hoping to return before his new contractor arrived.
* * * *
After taking a quick shower and getting dressed, Julian stood in the bare room and looked around. He didn't have much to pack. The apartment had been partially furnished when he had arrived and he just never seemed to add anything to it. He grabbed his sleeping bag and backpack with camping gear from the closet. He snatched his duffle and threw it on the bed then emptied the drawers and stuffed the bag with his clothes. He'd just finished with the nightstand when he heard a knock at the door.
"Hey, Jules," David started when Julian opened the door. "Did you need me?"
"Yeah, I'm moving out and I wanted to give you something."
David started to fidget. "I know I told you we couldn't keep doing this but I don't want you out in the street."
"It's cool. I've got a job and I'll be staying there while I work. I've got the rent I owe you," he said as he fished the money from his back pocket and counted out the two months' rent.
"Jules, whatcha doin', man? C'mon, you're one of the good guys. I don't wantcha doing something you shouldn't be doin'."
Julian put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. David either stuttered or clipped his words whenever he was truly concerned about something. "Don't worry. You know me better than that," he said then flashed one of his rare toothy grins.
David relaxed and smiled up at him. "Do you need any help or boxes?"
"Nah, I'm fine, I'm just about finished packing. I'll drop off the key before I leave. Is that cool?"
David nodded. "You sure you're going to be okay?"
Julian thought about the house and its current state. "I might need a place to take a quick shower for a couple of days 'til I get the water running over there."
David nodded. "You can come back here for that. I'll keep the key so I can show it during the day but just stop by and see me when you're here."
"Thank you," Julian started before he was grabbed by the pudgy man in a bear hug. He wasn't normally the touchy-feely kind of guy but David had that paternal quality about him. "I really do appreciate the leeway these past two mont
hs," he said as he awkwardly patted David on the back.
David finally released him and smiled. "You be good, okay?"
Julian gave him his signature half smile. "I'll try."
* * * *
After a flavored coffee and wrap, Matt walked back to the house at a brisk pace. He wasn't sure if it was the heat nudging him along, the excitement of finally having someone get started on rebuilding the house, or the thought of seeing his new hire again. He tried to not linger on the latter too much.
As he walked along the street, he saw the small shops, diner, and several other businesses along the way and made a mental note to meet with the store owners to gauge their interest in working with him and his new venture. He hoped the neighborhood was receptive but was well aware that he hadn't really given them a chance to voice their opinion before getting approval from building and zoning. He wanted to have faith in them, but his experience thus far upon release and his family history was too much of a hindrance. He'd work on it, he had to, but his knee-jerk reaction was to prevent judgment at all costs, to avoid the repercussions that would undoubtedly follow. He'd experienced this first hand and knew all too well how badly it wore away at someone.
It was one of the reasons he chose the building right smack in the middle of busy downtown. He could have easily chosen a remote ranch setting with several acres of land farther south or up in Orlando, but that wasn't what he wanted for his guests. He didn't want someone released from prison to feel ousted, isolated, or rejected by society. He wanted to build a home for them, a place of solace, where they would feel welcomed and a part of a family working toward the same goal—a chance to rebuild their lives.
He stopped at the front gate and looked at his new building. His mental image of what she could be replaced what he actually saw. He easily envisioned the rich earthy tones against decorative keystone in place of the currently faded peeling paint and broken or boarded windows. Rather than the overgrown grass or weeds slowly overtaking the yard, he saw colorful landscaping that brightened the entrance of the home and welcome its visitors. Electrical cables hung loosely outside the front door, but that was simply the home's way of letting him know that a light was needed at the entrance, a beacon to those lost and rejected.
