“I won’t fix this. Think of the show and the audience. They are going to love and hate this twist. People want to be entertained.”
“I don’t care about the show!” I care about Raiden, so, so much it hurts. What we have—had… To have it ripped apart on camera shouldn’t be other people’s entertainment.
“Okay. Here’s the other side of the coin. How much money do you think you’ll make building these tiny houses for people who can’t afford anything bigger?” Veronique says, then she presses her lips into a sour pout. “They’re cute, but there’s no money in this.”
I drag my fingers through my hair as I suppress a groan. Is this all she can think about? “I don’t care about the money. Doing this will be enough, but more importantly, it will have a lot of heart and that will make me happy.”
“You never had to worry about money, that’s why you can afford to be indifferent to it.”
“Yes, maybe, but the one thing I didn’t have is heart, and somehow that’s all I care about nowadays.”
“George—”
“For the past six weeks I’ve lived in a place that’s so full of heart and love it spills over. I’ve worked with someone who treats me with respect and as an equal at work, who uses words like please and thank you. He doesn’t blame me for his mistakes, and he doesn’t throw a fit when things go wrong.”
Mom doesn’t need to know that I’ve fallen in love with Raiden, and that what she’s done today has torn us apart. I don’t want to think about it because I’ll burst out in fugly tears, showing her my weakness, which she’ll only use for her own gain. Even worse, there will be no sympathy coming from her because she’ll never get it.
“Bottom line, it doesn’t matter which monkey wrench you’re throwing in the works, I’m done. I’m not coming back to Miami.”
At this she leans back and rolls her eyes. “Get real. I need you back, and the business needs you. What do you want?”
“You know, maybe in June, if you’d offered me an industry-related salary given all the experience I have, with the benefits due a full-time employee and a written, binding contract—if you’d only even discussed any of this with me—I would have considered staying. But after these weeks away, it’s too late. I’m done.” I cast a glance over the interior of our tiny house. “Now you’ll need to excuse me. I have a lot to do this weekend. I have to make sure everything is in perfect shape for tomorrow, even if you won’t be in here later, judging.”
“George.”
“It’s Georgiana.”
“I know, after your paternal grandmother. She insisted.”
“I’m surprised you tried to please anybody but yourself at some point in your life.”
She stands and straightens her pants and Rover raises his head where he was dozing on the floor. “Just remember, everything you know, you learned from me.”
“No, I haven’t,” I scoff. “Unconditional love is the one thing I never picked up from you.” I open the door and, with a wave of my arm, show her the exit.
With a last cold stare, Mom descends the stairs, Rover in her wake. I let my fingers drag over his furry back one last time, silently saying goodbye. I close the door as soon as they’re out and lean against it, the grit of the past twenty minutes pulsing through my veins in pure relief. I’ve finally done it. I’ve gone all the way and there’s no turning back.
Eat your heart out, Hunter Logan.
Eight weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to do this. But the person I have to thank for building this confidence in me, and whose arms I need to be in right now, has pushed me away. I’ll dwell on that after this weekend, when my self-assigned job here is done and I can focus on the next step. Raiden might not want to see me ever again, but I’m going to fix this in the only way I know I can.
I cast a glance over the interior and decide to start in the loft. I scale the stairs and make sure the pillows are perfectly puffed, the duvet is smoothed up to five-star hotel standards, all the storage drawers are neatly closed, that the bedside lamps are switched on and that the skylight is in perfect working order.
Next, I move to the bathroom and then gradually work my way through the small house, making sure not a spoon is out of place in the kitchen, or a throw pillow dented where my mom sat down earlier. By the time I’m done, it’s mere minutes to five o’clock, and I step out to see what’s going on in the rest of the warehouse.
A small crowd has gathered, waiting for the judging process to start. Jack and his team are also still here, but they’re standing at the first house in the row, where the judges stand around, my mom included.
None of the other contestants have had time to peek into each other’s houses, and I don’t care about that right now. I’ll get to see the others over the next few days. For now, I need to make flyers and business cards, put up a website, and be ready to go live by tomorrow at ten when the convention’s doors open. I could kick myself for not thinking of any of this before, but with the competition and finishing the tiny house being our sole focus, we never needed a plan B.
Luckily, calm crisis management is my latest skill, finely honed under Raiden Logan’s patient tutelage.
36
RAIDEN
By the time my heart rate calms down, I realize I’m back on the interstate to Vermont and speeding.
That was a subconscious move. After two months in the boathouse, I didn’t want to go back to my apartment, a space I hadn’t burned to show Georgiana in the first place. There’s only so much you can afford on a wage like mine after other essential payments take a chunk every month. Bunking down in my crappy one-bedroom apartment with her wasn’t how I wanted to start off our now-aborted relationship.