You know that we run a No Work, No Pay policy. All funding to your account has been stopped and I’ve cancelled your credit card. Also, I suggest that you look for an alternative position for September, as at this point, your mother doesn’t want to work with you ever again. I’m working on her, but she’s even threatened to leave our entire estate to the Rover Foundation that she’s started in a fit.
I have enough on my plate with the project in the Bahamas taking off, I’m not going to manage this tiff between you two as well, so, until things have calmed down significantly, I suggest you find alternative lodgings and healthcare. Your behavior shows an alarming lack of integrity and ownership which we don’t care for at Wess & Rover. We’ll be advertising for your position we were still discussing in the spring. For now, everything is off the table.
No I love you. No We miss you. No Rover sends a lick. No regards or sincerely yours. My dad ended his email with his standard email signature.
Ian Wess
Wess & Rover — Designer Interiors of Pedigree & Distinction.
God. I’m a piece of meat. If I didn’t look like Veronique Wess to such an extent that we could be twins, I would have thought I was adopted. Lodgings? It’s as if I’m not even their child. Other people call it home. And the bit about the pay? They pay me a pittance, more like pocket money to keep me going through the summer. I waitressed during my design degree and I have a freaking student loan to pay off. That credit card? I never use it except for company expenses. Thank goodness I was able to pay for my rental car for my time in Vermont with air miles.
I’m done. I don’t even have an employment contract with them. I’m going to find a job, with healthcare, and restart my life elsewhere. Veronique Wess can leave her life’s work to Rover, since she’s dedicated it to him in any case. It’s only fair to the dog; why he hasn’t tossed his toys around already, I don’t know.
My tears are all dried up, but my anger cracks through me like a wildfire through dry wood. It’s one of those moments where it’s best not to be alone, because this is the kind of rage that would tempt even the most even-keeled person to toss a laptop into the lake like a frisbee.
The barn is quiet without Raiden here and the tiny house skeleton that overpowers the space isn’t at all talkative either. I could take the day off, but that would show an alarming lack of integrity and ownership to skip work as soon as the boss takes a day off.
Raiden Logan.
Boss extraordinaire and kissing expert.
He might have speech issues, but boy, does he know what to do with his lips and tongue. But that’s just the start. No one has ever cared enough to hold me and whisper that I’m so many hugs short. My heart still overflows whenever I recall his words and they’ve been playing on repeat.
I’m living with him. I’m working with him. He’s in my face all day long and I don’t know if this type of attraction is stock standard in the wide world out there, but for me it’s a first. The zing in my body when I saw him that first day has become a constant hum in the background of our daily interaction. I’ve tried, but I can’t shut it up. There’ve been some guys in Miami, all hot as fuck as Mel would say, but it’s never been like this with anyone.
Our heated kiss crossed a line, and Raiden obviously doesn’t want this to go any further, what with all the talk about keeping things professional.
I sink my head into my hands and breathe deeply. Looks like I’m at a loose end after this summer. Tonight, I’ll start my job hunt for September. Even if Wess & Rover collectively decide to take me back, I think this bridge has been burned beyond repair.
Raiden might have fled to Boston, but the countdown to our deadline never stops. I need to work and make the most of every hour.
I flip my laptop screen up again and close the offending parental email. There are more messages, but my eyes immediately home in on the one from the Tiny House National Competition’s secretary.
She’s thanked me for the plans and attached several documents for me with the terms and conditions, and rules and regulations of the competition. I open up the first one and suppress a groan. It’s over a hundred and fifty pages of information I’m going to have to work through. I scroll through the pages and spot several figures with measurements.
Raiden should have gone through this at some point as he built his model, but considering he treats his expenses as target practice into a cardboard box on his truck’s back seat, I want to go through this with a fine-tooth comb. I forward the lot to the printing-courier company in town and ask them to print it, because we don’t have a printer in the barn. Then, with a sinking feeling, I get into my car and drive to Ashleigh Lake. Now I’ve got pages and pages of paperwork to drag myself through. I should have done this on day two, after I dealt with the accounting and banking.
When I return to the barn a bit later with food and the ring-bound printouts, I have everything else in my life boxed up, lidded, and shoved into the furthest reaches of my mind where I can’t even spot it in my peripheral vision.
I sit down with the pile of paper. As I go along, I make notes in the margin of things I need to double-check with Raiden. Halfway into my stimulating read, I get to the dimensions and other specifications of the design. The organizers have represented these prescribed numbers in figures and drawings. I switch between their measurements and what I’ve drawn up to check and double-check that everything adds up and is in line with theirs.
And then I spot it. A chill runs down my spine and coils itself into a rubber ball in my stomach where it’s going to bounce around until Raiden walks back into this barn. For all his amazing brainpower and assurance that everything is right and tight, he has managed to make a massive mistake and it’s going to cost us—big time. It’s possible to want to kiss him and strangle him at the same time, isn’t it?
I’m still reeling from my discovery when my phone rings. Mel.
God knows, I don’t think I should speak to her now but who else is there?
“Babes,” I answer with a groan. “I have no clue what to do anymore.”
“What? You’ve already found out?” Mel asks, her voice stressed as she whispers.
She works as an intern at one of my mom’s favorite co-partner architecture firms, and this is the one fun aspect of working for Wess & Rover—I get to have work calls with my best friend.
Mel is frantically typing in the background and stops suddenly as she takes a deep breath.
“What?”
“Your mother is blackballing you.”