“Thank you.” Edison was glad his voice didn’t quiver, and his knees didn’t shake while he put one foot before the other. In no time, his arms fell in rhythm with a newfound confidence in his stride. With his head held high, Edison went inside the Town Center Suites, feeling Bishop’s fierce eyes on his back.
Chapter Fourteen
Bishop
Bishop couldn’t pry his eyes away from Edison’s scrumptious backside as he walked into his place of business. Damn. Edison looked fine as fuck in that tan suit. It made the light brown in his eyes shine brighter than the gold.
“I know that look, B. Don’t do it, man,” Trent said, shaking his head adamantly.
“Did you see how he looked at me?”
“We all saw it. And the way he damn near ran over to help when you came up.”
“Here.” Bishop took the card out of his pocket and handed it to Trent, still staring where Edison had disappeared.
“It says Edison Scala, BACJ. I have no clue what those initials mean. Executive Office Manager and Paralegal to Presley Alfred, Esquire. Alfred, Dolan, Maroko & Bickel, PC. His email address, office, and cell number are on here.”
“That’s a lot to fit on one card,” Bishop mumbled. “Executive, huh?”
“Yep. Looks like he’s the boss, too. Did you see how he checked that other guy and sent him running.” Trent chuckled and started in on his teasing like Bishop knew he would. “You like his fancy pants, don’t you?”
“Nah.” Bishop snatched the card from between Trent’s fingers, “He thinks I’m somebody that I’m not.”
“Which is?” Trent started pressing the throttle on his weed whacker, ready to get back to work.
“He thinks I’m the boss.”
“You are.” Trent frowned.
“No.” Bishop turned on his friend. “I’m not and I won’t pretend to be. I’m an employee, a crew supervisor.”
Trent shoved him hard in his shoulder. “Look around you, jackass. All of this is because of you. Yeah, it’s great that Manny can put together a few sheets of paper and call it a bid,” Trent stepped closer but didn’t bother lowering his voice. “But it would’ve been the equivalent of toilet paper without your goddamn design in there. So, don’t tell me you’re not the boss. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before Mike changes the company name to Stockley and Son.”
Bishop stood there with one hand scratching his forehead and the other he wanted to use to slam over Trent’s mouth. “Not likely.”
“Damn, B. You get on my fucking nerves sometimes. It’s like you can’t even take a compliment now without doubting it and shit. You know damn well that this is all because of you.” Trent gestured at the work being done to implement his unique design. “If it wasn’t for your sketches… your fucking brains, B, then we’d still be doing gas stations and apartment complexes in Chesapeake.” Trent shoved him again. “Now move. I gotta get back to work or my supervisor is going to bitch.”
“I don’t bitch,” Bishop grumbled, but Trent didn’t hear him as he pressed his earbuds back inside his ears and started the weed eater.
Bishop returned to where his dad and Manny were leaning over the truck’s hood going over some paperwork. Though the Town Center contract was their primary concern, they still had men working on their other properties. Okay, Trent might be a little bit right. Business had quadrupled since he and Trent joined the crew not even a year ago—seven months. He may have had a little something to do with that. As he got closer, he couldn’t help wondering what it’d be like if he started his own portfolio. Most landscapers had a side hustle going. Even Manny did designer driveways on the weekends. He had a feeling Mike wouldn’t mind if he asked to use one of their trucks in the evenings. And he knew just what side job he wanted to start with.
“Hey… um, dad,” Bishop said.
Mike turned around with a grin. “Hey, B. You handled that real fast over there. Good job.”
“Thanks.”
“You better tell Trent to cool it. We’re not losing this contract. Period,” Mike said sternly. And Bishop knew he was serious. Meaning it’d be hard as hell if Bishop had to take Trent off this property.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Yeah, see that you do.” Mike and Manny turned back to their papers.
“Hey. I wanted to ask if I can borrow one of the trucks to maybe start a side job, soon. Real soon.”
That got his dad’s attention, his dark brows rising high on his creased forehead. He examined him for a long time before cocking his head in the direction of the building. “You don’t mix business with pleasure, son.”
Dammit. Bishop sometimes forgot why he was so good at reading people and between the lines, it was because Mike had taught him how. “I’m not mixing pleasure—”