CHAPTER 9
Nona spent Monday morning pulling together her notes to build the basis for her article draft. She felt she’d spent enough time with Ken, questioning and observing him, to allow her to give an accurate portrayal of who he was and how he went about his job. As a complement to her work with him, she’d contacted the city planning department and spoken with a few members of the committee who’d chosen Ken’s proposal from among those submitted.
All three of the people from the city had deemed Ken’s proposal innovative, which had been one of the top priorities given to the committee in making their decision.
“Mr. Yamada’s design proposal was simply amazing,” committee member Mary Kearns said in an email. “In terms of being respectful of the historical significance of the Grand Pearl Theater, while still updating it to modern standards, we didn’t see any other design that even came close.”
“I was amazed with Mr. Yamada’s immense respect for the project and for the city’s funds. That respect was literally written into the proposal’s wording, but when he came in to deliver his pitch in person during the second phase of bidding, it was made even clearer to us.” That quote came from Mitchell Davis, another committee member, via a voice mail he’d left Nona over the weekend.
During her chat with Nona by phone, committee chair Debra Velez heaped more praise on Ken and his design. “Mr. Yamada definitely gave us the best design, with the freshest ideas. Beyond that, his bid was very reasonable. He didn’t request an extravagant amount that would bankrupt the city’s discretionary fund, yet he didn’t lowball us in a way that might make us suspect shoddy work. We could tell he understood the scope and the importance of the project and genuinely wanted to be a part of it.”
By the time Nona finished chatting with Mrs. Velez, even she was impressed. She could tell that Ken had won over the committee on pure merit. Mrs. Velez had promised to send Nona a copy of Ken’s winning proposal, and she expected it to arrive in her email inbox later in the day. That would be the final piece to complete the basis of her story.
At lunchtime, Nona ordered in so she could remain at her desk. She often took working lunches when she had an important story to write, and this one seemed to be taking on a life of its own. Between bites of her grilled chicken salad, she typed up the first draft of her article. Like most of her drafts, it was more outline than prose. She laid out the basic structure of the feature, placing her thoughts in an abbreviated form that she’d go back and expand on later. This bare-bones layout would provide the framework on which she’d build the article, breathing life and character into it before sending it off to her editor.
As the two o’clock hour rolled around, Nona got up from her desk to stretch. She left her office with her favorite mug in hand, passing the cubicles in the general press pool on her way to the break room. There was no one else in the room, so she went straight for the coffee machine to make herself a cup. After spending the last couple of hours working on her article, she was a bit bleary-eyed.
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 undou
btedly 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 page, 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.
Harlequin Kimani Romance June 2017 Box Set Page 62
