Page 60 of Omega’s Fold

“Thank yourself. You earned it.” Richard finally stands. He comes around the desk, putting out his hand. I stand too, and we shake. He claps my shoulder once, the way he has clapped my shoulder for years, and he goes back to his side of the desk and he sits.

“The waterfront put it over the line,” he says. “I’ll be honest with you. It put it over the line in February. I was waiting for the right moment.”

“It hasn’t gone to planning yet.”

“It will. And when it does, it’s going to put us on a different map. You’ve put a marker down with that scheme. I want it on our masthead. I want you on our masthead.”

I do not have a thing to say to that. I sit and I let him say it.

“There’s a piece in Architectural Review coming in the spring. They want to do a profile. We’ll set it up after planning.”

“That’s wonderful.” Wonderful is an understatement. Architectural Review. My mother is going to be over the moon. This is it. This is what I have worked years for.

Richard leans back in the chair. “I’ll admit I was worried earlier this year with that whole prime match thing,” he starts.

I keep my face still.

“It was a messed-up situation. Anybody could see that. I was, frankly, worried about it at the time. You disappear for two weeks to go and live in some one-horse town to comply with some piece of bureaucracy that frankly I have always thought was nonsense, but you handled it well. That’s what I wanted to say. You did the thing the Bureau required, you came back, you put your head down, you delivered. You haven’t said a word about it since. I respect that. I want you to know I respect that. The job hasn’t suffered. The waterfront didn’t suffer. You handled it the way a partner handles a thing.”

“Thank you.”

“It is what it is. That’s the only sensible way to look at any of this. The Bureau picks names out of a hat and tells two people they have to make a life together and ninety percent of the time it works and ten percent of the time it doesn’t, and when it doesn’t, you sign the paperwork and you move on.”

I make a noise of agreement. I haven’t moved on. Not even a little bit. I see Wyatt when I close my eyes every night. I see the look on his face when he saw the name on my laptop. The look of sheer betrayal.

But it’s not completely my fault. All he had to do was talk to me and he couldn’t even do that.

Richard nods once, satisfied. I take the opportunity. It is a small one and I take it before I have decided to.

“How is the Parish Ridge development going?”

His face shifts a fraction.

“It’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious really. The whole thing had the town really riled up while I was out there. And you’ve just reminded me of it.”

He makes a small dismissive sound. “It’s fine. You know how these things go. The locals are still kicking up a fuss, there’s a town volunteer lawyer trying to make a name for herself, somebody filed an objection to the dewatering schedule, somebody else wrote a letter to the county. It’s the usual. The yokels will always find something to complain about. Legal has it under control. We’re on track.”

“Right.”

“Brent’s been running point. He’ll tell you the same. We’ve put the second phase on hold for a quarter to let the noise die down, but that’s a scheduling matter. Don’t worry about it. You’ve got bigger fish.”

“Right.”

“Julian.”

“Yes.”

“I need you to focus on waterfront. The next four weeks are critical. Do not get distracted.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

He picks the partnership letter up off the desk and turns it round and slides it back to me.

“Take it. Read it again at home. Have a lawyer look at the buy-in. We’ll talk again Friday.”