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A mid-morning pick-me-up is not what I planned when I woke today. But since I’m possibly facing losing twenty percent of my pay due to potentially not making my deadline, and because I couldn’t keep my fucking opinion to myself, a double shot of Mac is called for. I motion to the barmaid for another.
“Must be a woman you’re trying to get over,” she says and pours me another.
“Nope. It’s business. I’m trying to come up with creative ways to ask for an extension on a project, and at the same time not lose money.”
“Ah, I see. Want me to leave the bottle?”
“No, this is my last one. Go ahead and close me out. I have to go interview some designer with no experience and then call my old friend for a favor.” I hand her my card so she can final out my tab while I finish my drink. My phone rings, and I check the caller ID. “Fucking great,” I say. It’s Marcus Hernandez, the owner of the build in question.
“Hey, Marc. How are you this morning?”
“Brent, I just received a call from Ella telling me she quit. Please say that’s not true.”
I run my hands through my hair and signal the barmaid for another as this is about to get real. “We had some creative differences, and she chose to quit. I even tried to get her to stay.” I sigh as I prepare for the ass-reaming of my life.
“I assume you already have a replacement?” Marcus asks gruffly.
“I have a few interviews lined up, and my old business partner said she would help if needed.” The last part was a lie, but I run with it anyway.
“When I come to town in two days, I want to go over the designs. Complete with fabric samples before you go ordering shit. Comprende?”
I take the last swallow of my drink and leave her a tip on the receipt as I walk out the door.
“Absolutely. I’ll have it ready for you by then.” I shake my head, wondering how I’m going to pull this off. a few people walk by being loud, and realize I should’ve finished this call inside.
“Are you at a party?”
“No. I went to go pick something up for lunch. It’s time for that interview, so I will catch you in two days.”
“See you then.” Marcus hangs up, and I want to punch the nearest thing to me.
Somehow, I think the streetlight would win that match. I maintain my composure and pop a few Tic Tacs in my mouth to mask the scent of the whiskey and walk back over to the build site. I enter my makeshift office, upstairs where the actual owner’s office will be located. Darlene has agreed to begin the interview process once the candidate arrives. I swallow a couple of aspirin to ward off an afternoon headache/hangover and go over some final layouts, making sure they are at least on target for completion. The sound of high heels echoing through the open space below pulls my attention. Darlene is greeting someone.
“Hi, you must be Ms. Brown. I’m Darlene Jansen. Mr. Phillips will be down shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am. You may call me Kara. Ms. Brown is so formal.”
She giggles, and it awakens my senses. Her voice is sweet and sensual. You can tell she is native to New Orleans, unlike myself. Her accent is intoxicating, and I want to peek at the face behind those words. I stand at the open window and catch a glimpse. “Damn,” I say softly. Her almond complexion is endless as I search her over from her head to her manicured feet. Even from up here I see that she takes care of her body. And what a body it is. I adjust myself when gazing at the sexiness of her legs that lead up to her curvaceous ass. Darlene tells her about the size of the task at hand, and this gets my attention.
“So, the designer who originally started resigned due to personal reasons. This job is scheduled to complete in a month and starts tomorrow. Is this something you can handle?”
She looks around and takes out her phone. “May I take a few pictures?” she asks.
Darlene nods, giving her permission, and Kara carefully examines the place. I head downstairs to introduce myself as she surveys her surroundings.
“I can work with what’s already started, Ms. Jansen. That wouldn’t be a problem,” Kara replies, but her expression reads differently.
“I sense a but, Kara. Please continue,” Darlene says, sitting in one of the chairs set up for the meeting.
“To be honest, and I’m sure the previous designer had all the right intentions, but from what I can see, there isn’t enough utilization of the space. It seems to be too closed in—no room for patrons to dance. Too intimate for a club. The construction of the building is wonderful. Outside it looks inviting, but inside it seems stuffy.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I say, approaching them. “Hi. Brent Phillips, Developer.” I extend my hand to shake hers, and a shock happens when we touch. Man, this woman is breathtaking. She laughs that intoxicating laugh again, and suddenly the Macallan isn’t what’s making me tipsy.
“Kara Brown. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve read all about your work and I’m honored to be in the presence of a man with your architectural skills.” She’s going right for the Brownie points.
I bet she knows nothing about my other build jobs. Probably just brushed up on some shit before coming.
