The Arrogant Architect Read online

  “Gentlemen…” I can barely choke out the word as I lock eyes on the arrogant guy from this morning looking up at me with a smug expression on his face. “How is everything?” I force myself to proceed, acting as though I don’t know him and things are completely normal.

  Taking his fork, he pokes the inside of his chicken and says, “Is this Havarti cheese?”

  “Yes, sir.” I have a hard time calling his imperious ass “sir.” “It is.”

  “I asked for Swiss specifically inside of my chicken.”

  “My apologies. I’ll remake your meal right away.”

  “Also, the presentation of this is quite poorly smashed together, wouldn’t you agree?”

  I look at his stuffed chicken and although he has taken a few bites, it looks plump and good to me. “I’m very sorry, we’ll remake your food, right away.”

  “Thanks, with Swiss cheese and make sure the next one is not all smashed.” He gives me a grin as I lift his plate, getting a little too close to his brazenness for my liking.

  Walking back to the kitchen, Trent appears, following me like white on rice, and Ross is waiting too as I step foot inside. “What was that all about?” Ross asks.

  “His chicken was stuffed with the wrong cheese.”

  “What did the order say?” Ross asks.

  I flip through the mound of tickets, finding his. “It says Havarti.”

  “Dammit! I’ll talk to Merlina,” Trent grumbles.

  Walking back to the line, all eyes are on me as I throw the meal, plate and all, in the trash. “This one wasn’t our fault, everyone. The order came through wrong. I need stat, a Swiss-stuffed chicken breast. I repeat Swiss.”

  Yes, Chef.” Mistee takes her spot back in the line and I look over the new orders trying to get back in my rhythm, wondering if he did this on purpose. To get back at me for going off on him this morning. If he saw my name on my coat before I rode off to work, then he had to have seen where I work too. It’s got to be the only logical explanation.

  Before I know it, his new meal slides in front of me, and I look down at it wanting to smash it flat as a pancake, but instead, I do something I’ve never done. Poking it on the side with a knife, the chicken easily separates. Grabbing a Carolina Reaper Pepper, I slice a few slivers of it off and lie them in between the two chicken breast halves, watching as they disappear into his Swiss cheese. Then, I add his salad and dressing to the plate.

  “Mistee, you’re up,” I call out and leave the kitchen, holding his plate high above my head as I’m about to give him a taste of his own medicine.

  I mean, how dare he, on my birthday, come in here and not only need to complain about the cheese, but say the presentation was poorly put together? Setting his new meal down, his eyes are all over me, like he’s undressing me.

  Smug motherfucker.

  “Here you go, your Swiss-stuffed chicken breast.”

  “Thank you, Ever.” My name rolls off his tongue like silk and I can tell he likes saying it.

  “Can I get either of you anything else?” I ask him and the gentleman he is with. By this time, the other guy is done eating, and as much as I wish I could stay and watch the pain he’s about to experience as his mouth ignites with fire from the world’s hottest pepper, I can’t.

  He smirks thinking about my question, and I shake my head walking off. Going back into the kitchen, I wonder what he’ll do when he feels the burn in his cocky mouth. There is a good chance that he’ll find the slices before he eats any and takes them off, but if not…

  An evil grin I kind of like shields my face. That’s when Trent pops in and says, “Swiss boy wants to talk to the Chef again,” rolling his eyes. I chuckle on the inside, hoping I can catch him panicking to breathe.

  I pretend to be completely normal as Trent and I walk out into the dining area. But the second he gazes over at me, I get nervous, scared that he is going to make a scene and blow everything up.

  Holding myself together, I act dumb, figuring I’ll pretend I don’t know what’s going on at all. Keeping my eyes on his, not backing down, I stay in my zone and ask him with a smart ass grin, “Was your meal up to your standards?”

  He responds, “Oh, it was wonderful, Chef. I especially loved the spice you added.” My eyebrows scrunch together, not really sure if I heard him right. No one in their right mind would like that kind of spice. “Now, why don’t you go and get me a glass of milk, Ever?” Laughing far too loudly, I can see now he’s in pain, he just hides it well. I lean down to him and murmurin his ear closer than I’d like, “Fuck you.”

  And unfortunately, as I turn around Ross is right there. I can see the shock on his face. He must have heard me. Maybe I was a little too loud. I get pissed at myself knowing this asshole got the best of me…again.

  He grabs me by the elbow and starts pulling me out of the dining room. “What happened?” he snarls.

  “What are you talking about?” I play dumb.

  “I heard what you said to him. Why would you treat one of our guests that way?” I can see the disappointment on Ross’s face. Looking at the ground, I shake my head, knowing I have no good reason.

  “Why?” He demands a response as we walk into the kitchen.

  “Because he is a pompous asshole,” I whisper.

  “That doesn’t make it okay for you to talk to him that way. What if he was a food critic?”

  I shrug my shoulders, understanding his point, but obviously I know who he is.

  “Ever, what is going on with you? I get that today is a hard day for you without your mom, but I told you to stay home, and you’re the one who wanted to work.”

  “And I do want to work. I’m sorry, Ross.”

  “No, you need to go home, chill out, and recalibrate your priorities. My chefs keep their composure when on the clock, no matter what. No exceptions, you know that.”

  I nod and turn to walk away, feeling ashamed for the idiotic move. I’m not even sure why I did it. Was it because the guy insulted my food or woke me up early today? Obviously, he’s a whack-job that I need to stay as far away from as possible.

  “Give me your coat.”

  “Ross, don’t.” Tears pool in my eyes. This coat means more to me than the job. As silly as it sounds, I’d rather have to wash dishes for a week, as long as I don’t get my coat taken away from me.

  “Fine! Go!” He points to the door, and I grab my bag with my head down. I can sense everyone’s eyes on me as I reach for the door handle, and before I open it, I stop and address the staff, “I’m sorry if I was a distraction today. Keep focused, team.”

  Walking out, the door slams hard and I jump, but proceed on and unlock my bike, then ride home in a daze. So pissed at myself for what happened. Why did I let that guy get under my skin? That’s not like me.

  I push away the thoughts, knowing I can’t change anything now and enjoy the silence because I’m sure as soon as I get home, the ruckus from next door will drive me mad. Hopefully, I don’t have to see him again…ever.

  Chapter 3

  “I think I got your shower all fixed,” my dad says, coming out of the bathroom.

  “Thanks, Dad.” I put the left over takeout in the fridge and grab another beer offering him one. He shakes his head declining and I know it’s because he has a long drive home; my father…he’s always a responsible one.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go out for some ice cream?”

  “I’m sure, Dad, thanks. I’m really tired. It was a long day.”

  “I can tell. I’m sorry about all the drama at work and that guy…just ignore it. It’ll be over soon enough.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And if it gets too loud here, you can come and stay with me,” he says. I smile at him and really appreciate the offer, but I’m not twelve– I have to deal with my own problems. Plus, my dad lives too far away. I can’t have a long commute to work everyday. “Here, why don’t you open your present?”

  I know what it is already– my dad gives me
a frame every year to put the letter in from my mom. He’s into antiques– that’s his passion now that he’s retired. He fixes and resells old broken things, so it’s exciting to see what kind of frame he’s chosen.

  Pulling the tissue paper out of the bag, I reach in and take out an exquisite silver frame with tiny vines that run around the edges. “Oh, Dad, this is gorgeous.”

  He beams and says, “You like it?”

  “I love it.”

  “You should’ve seen it before, Ever. It was so dirty and in need of my touch, but I could see the potential it had. It was made in the late eighteen hundreds and beautiful under that mess.”

  Standing up, I hug him as we hear a knock on my door. No one ever comes to my house, so I’m not sure who it is. Setting the frame down, I begin to worry that it is the jerk from today, not quite done shitting all over my birthday. But looking through the peephole, Mistee’s cute face is sticking her tongue out at me. I turn to my dad, “It’s my friend from work.”

  “Happy birthday!” she sings when I open the door, holding up a bottle of wine as she charges in. “Oh shit, Ever, I had no idea you had company.”

  “It’s okay. Mistee, this is my dad, Gerry. Dad, this is Mistee, one of the line chefs from the restaurant.”

  They shake hands and he says, “It’s nice to meet you.” Then he looks at me with that look, the concerned father one–he’s unsure of Mistee as she’s already scouring the drawers in my kitchen for the wine opener. She does come off a little bit out there, but she really has the best intentions.

  “Would you like a glass, Dad?” she asks him and I chuckle at her crazy self already calling him “Dad.”

  “No, I’m good. I’m actually on my way out. I’ll let you two have some girl time.”

  “Before you go…” She pulls out a small white box from inside her huge purse that’s all smashed, and right away I can tell she got me my favorite cupcakes, or attempted to. The things are to die for, smashed or not.

  “Shut up,” I squeal, “You didn’t.”

  “Oh, I did.” And then she pulls out a candle, sticking it in the middle of one, and lights the flame. They both start to sing and I wrap my arm around my dad knowing how hard it is for him to do this without my mom. We normally do ice cream or share a dessert, but we never sing.

  As they finish, he hugs me, wiping his wet eyes on his shoulder, and I hold him back. Knowing that the pain I feel really is nothing compared to what he’s going through. Without my mom, he’s half a person, so broken and lonely. At least I have my job and my future and my crazy friend. For him, he doesn’t have much. The years without my mom have aged him; more than I knew could be possible. I can see it in his eyes as he pulls away and kisses my forehead before leaving. “It was great to meet you, Mistee.”

  “You too,” she says, and then he’s gone.

  Closing the door, I flop down on my couch and stretch my arms high above my head. Mistee places a glass of wine in one hand and my cupcake in the other one. She might act crazy, but she’s a secret genius. Then she sits across from me with her wide curious eyes, and I can’t help but laugh at her.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks, sounding honestly wounded.

  “You. You are.”

  She rolls her eyes and says, “Whatever. So are you gonna talk about this incident or am I going to have to speculate on what happened?”

  “Is that seriously why you’re here?” I snap at her, a bit pissed that she wants to talk about that first.

  “Not completely, but it is part of it.”

  “You are such a bitch.”

  “Hey, I brought cupcakes and wine,” she says and I sink further down into the couch, taking a bite of the deliciousness that she brought me. “Did you have a good birthday at least?”

  “I did until that asshole showed up at the restaurant.”

  “See? You do wanna talk about what happened.”

  “I really don’t. I mean, there is nothing to talk about, Mistee.”

  “Would you stop being such a cunt?”

  “Uhhhh, did you call me a cunt on my birthday?”

  “Yeah…I sure did. So, why did you get so angry at that guy?”

  “Because he deserved it.”

  “Okaaaaay…what did he do to you?” she asks, condescension evident.

  I fill her in on all the details of my infuriating interactions with him this morning and she says, “To me, it sounds like you two are acting like you’re in kindergarten.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Did you hear yourself?”

  Finishing the last sip of my wine, she takes my glass and refills it. “What you should’ve done was jumped his bones.”

  “Yuck. You’re so gross. He’s a stranger.”

  “And a hot one, might I add. I saw him.”

  “So what? Just let him fuck me then?”

  “Yeah. A one-night stand might do you some good.”

  “Mistee, maybe you should fuck him.”

  “Don’t flip this back on me, Ever.”

  “I’m not flipping anything. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to sleep with some random guy.”

  “Why?” she asks me dead serious.

  “Because I don’t like him. He’s all…He’s…” I can’t even explain it, and get so flustered trying to. She raises her eyebrows at me, sipping her wine. “I’m waiting.”

  “He’s not my type.”

  “Oh please, Ever. You don’t have a type; you’d turn down anyone no matter who they were.”

  I roll my eyes, trying to ignore what she is saying. She doesn’t know the first thing about dating, or what kind of guys I like. I have a type, I just haven’t found anyone who gives me that feeling inside. Plus, she has no idea the kind of douche bag this guy is.

  Chapter 4

  I slept like shit, restless, tossing and turning. I’m guessing it was from the sugar in the wine and cupcakes. But considering how jumbled my mind is anymore, tormented by the chaotic circle of regrets and misery that I live in without my mom, this isn’t a surprise. I never sleep that well.

  Checking the clock, it’s 6:50. I’m sure at 7:00 on the dot the noise will start. Looking outside, everything is quiet, or appears to be. I can’t really see the building that’s under construction or restoration or whatever. What’s the difference anyways?

  Getting up, I start my coffee and clean up from last night. The frame my dad gave me is still on the table and I pick it up, taking it to my room where I disassemble it and put my mom’s letter inside.

  The silver of the frame matches my vanity, so I set it on the corner. I don’t really have a specific place for all of the letters, so they are scattered through the house. But they are all precious reminders of her. Each paints a different story in my mind when I see them.

  Looking in my closet, I decide on a run to start my day. I need to clear my head and figure out how I’m going to make things right at work. Putting on a pair of yoga pants and a thin hoody, I pull my long, blonde hair up into a ponytail and leave before I have to deal with…I really should know what his name is. But it doesn’t matter. Locking my door behind me, I walk out. I keep a key under my mat, so I can come and go, free to not carry anything. Emerging into the light of the early morning, the workers are barely getting started. I make a break for it, but notice on the bike rack next to mine is a brand new, shiny bike with a huge red bow on it. That’s an odd place to leave a gift for someone. I blink a few times at it and then run off. The air feels great in my lungs and the pavement feels even better under my feet. So invigorating and free.

  “Hey, Ever?”

  Sonofabitch!

  I recognize his voice right away and run faster, needing space. I can’t deal with him right now.

  Coming to an intersection, I’m forced to stop and wait to cross, jogging in place. Not looking back, I pray he’s not coming after me, and then that crazy ass fucker pulls up next to me and my jaw hits the ground as I look over at him, in a suit, on that goddamn brand new
bike. “What’s up?” he says and looks down at the sleek teal frame beneath him.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, exasperated.

  “I called for you to stop, you kept running, so I followed you.”

  “Isn’t that a sign that I didn’t want to talk to you?”

  His forehead creases, “I thought you couldn’t hear me.”

  “So, you followed me on a bike? With a big red bow on it?” I really wish I could see my own expression right now, because he looks so fucking ridiculous. Dressed the way he is, too big for the bike.

  “Yeah, I did. I got this for you, it’s for your birthday. Your work told me.”

  “If you want to give me a birthday gift, then leave me the hell alone.”

  “Why?”he challenges back.

  I blurt out, “Because you don’t owe me anything.” The light changes and I jog off.

  “Do you at least like the color?” he yells.

  “No. I wish it was fucking pink.”

  Flipping him off as I glance back, he’s watching me, but thankfully doesn’t follow. Then I catch him staring up at the sky. Pushing him as far from my mind as possible, I keep going. Blurring everything away as I try and get my priorities in check.

  I have work today and after what I did yesterday, I have to explain myself. I have to prove to Ross that I can run the line and want it more than anyone else.

  _____

  I wake in a panic to my cell phone ringing. It’s 12:15pm; fuck, I overslept.

  I was set to go into work at 11:30, but the noise stopped outside and I relished in the silence, passing out cold.

  “Hello?” I answer the call.

  “Are you okay?” Mistee asks me worried.

  “Yeah, I took a nap and overslept. I’m on my way in now.”

  “You better hurry; Ross is freaking out.”

  “Shit, okay, I’ll see you soon.”

  Grabbing my work clothes I throw them on and barge outside. The new bike is parked right next to mine and I ignore it, knowing I need to kick it into high gear.

  Fumbling with the lock on my frame, I jump when he’s suddenly behind me. “What’s wrong with the new bike?” I swallow, reminding myself to stay in control before I flip around and end up slapping him.