The Arrogant Architect (3 page)

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. 

“What’s your name?”

“King.”

Of course his name is fucking King. I raise my eyebrows at
him. “That bike is not mine, King.”

“Oh, but it is, Ever. I bought it for you, for your
birthday.”

“No.” I shake my head, annoyed with him. “You ruined my
birthday. You tramped into my work and acted like you owned the place, insulted
me, and got me sent home.”

“Did you just say that I
tramped
?”

“Do you have a goddamn hearing problem?” I yell and storm
off, deciding to take a cab in, it’ll be faster. But he’s behind me, the scent
of him invading me, and the noise of his dumb shoes clicking on the sidewalk is
almost deafening. They’re like a pair of women’s high heels. I’m so irritated
with everything he does.

“No hearing problem here.”

“Clearly you have one. Because you don’t hear your dumb ass
shoes making noise like you’re a tap dancer. You stall all the time when I talk
to you, and you won’t take no for an answer.” Thankfully, I spot a cab and hail
it. I slide into the back seat, slamming the door so hard the car shakes.

I don’t look over at King. Stupid fucking name anyways.
Plus, if I’m honest, I am a little embarrassed with myself for getting so mad,
but he brings something out of me. A scary feeling of vulnerability and
uncertainty, and at this stage in my life that is not what I need. I need peace
and routine, not the noise he’s causing inside my head.

Work sucked. Ross stuck me in the back of the line and put
Mistee in my place, suddenly promoting her to executive chef because of my one
fuck-up. And to top it off, I had to yell, “Yes, Chef” to every dumb ass thing
she said, and trust me, there were about a thousand of them. Walking home
rather than paying for another cab, I take my time. Enjoying the sights of this
beautiful little town that I love.

My phone rings. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey.” He sounds good and the positivity in his voice makes
me smile. “How’s my girl?”

“I’m okay. Just walking home.”

“Why?” His voice is mixed with concern, and I automatically
calm him down. “It’s a long story, but nothing’s wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,Dad.”

“Okay. Hey, the street market is this weekend, if you wanna
still go?”

“Of course I do. I’d love that.” I know how much my dad
loves going. This market only opens every six months. To him, it’s a day he
loves, and with everything he has gone through, he deserves it. Plus, I like
our time together.

“Oh, good. Would you text me when you’re home?” he asks.

“Of course.”

We hang up and what would normally be a downtime after a
long day, when I’m all alone, I instead find myself laughing out loud imagining
King on that freakin’ teal bike.

“What’s so funny?” King asks, pulling up next to me in his
ridiculous white whatever-it-is car.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Oh my God, are you following me?” I screech.

“Never.”

Rolling my eyes.“So what, you’re just out trolling around?”

“I’m sorry, could you come a little closer? I can’t hear
you.”

I look over at him, still wearing a suit at this time of
night. Maybe this is a different one, but regardless he’s the polar opposite of
me. Standing stock still in the middle of the sidewalk as his car is stopped, I
look at the way his arm is hung over the steering wheel and his hand tattoo
draws my eyes right to it. Then there it is, that silence, where he stares,
looking at me, making me squirm inside and the feeling makes me…my thoughts
trail off, not even wanting to admit to myself what the feeling does to me.

“Good night, King.”

“Ahh, come on. Why are you always running from me?” He
creeps his car along at my pace.

“Why are you always following me?”

Then he does it again, he evades the question, and I ignore
him, putting my ear buds in, zoning him out. As I come up to the street that I
have to cross to get to my apartment, he approaches the light while I stand and
try to ignore his car waiting. I don’t want to push the walk button, ‘cause if
I do, I’ll have to cross in front of him. But what’s the fucking difference, if
I do or if I don’t? He’s already undressed me with his eyes.

Walking home with my head held high, the music drowns
everything out. That is until I step foot on the next sidewalk and the noise of
his car speeding off, going from zero to one hundred in seconds, turns my head.

I watch his taillights for a brief moment, and then like
that, they’re gone. But I’m sure it won’t be long until he’s back. Looking at
the bike rack, the teal bike is gone. Thank God he got the point. Going inside,
I grab my mail, and as I filter through it walking upstairs, I am stopped dead
in my tracks. Parked outside of my door is a pink bike, exactly like the teal
one, with another huge bow on it. There is no note or card. Only this goddamn
bike. How does he know which apartment I live in?

Looking at the thick frame, it’s so odd-shaped, nothing like
what I’d pick out. There is a small logo on it that reads
Stromer
.

As I go inside, I leave the bicycle alone and lock my door.
My dad texts me and I let him know that I am home safely. Grabbing a beer from
the fridge, I plop down on the couch and Google the bike, gawking and spitting
my beer out as the ten thousand dollar price registers.

Clicking on a link, I read about it and find out it’s
actually electric. Then get lost in a barrage of YouTube videos watching how
freaking crazy these things are. Couriers in New York use them all the time and
tons of celebrities endorse them. Which I find hard to believe as bikes should
be used for exercise, or at least that’s why I ride mine.

Sitting back, I wonder why he bought another bike and why
he’s being so persistent. Then, I think about him pulling up on the street
tonight. Was he just in the area? Was it really a coincidence? And he looked so
hurt when I brushed him off.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter. I don’t even know who he
is, not that I really care – he’s not my type. Changing into my pajamas, I get
an idea to try and find out more about him.

Just so I know what I am up against.

Plus, his name is unusual and the public records should show
his last name, if he really is the owner of the building next door.

So I grab my laptop to see what I can find, and it’s not
hard to locate the real estate transaction. It shows the buyer as King
Architecture, the signer for the company is Kingsley Lennox. Hmmm. So his name
is Kingsley, King for short? Like I go by Ever, short for Everly. Maybe we have
one thing in common. Closing my laptop, my eyes feel heavy. But the realization
that I have his name sparks me to look a bit further.

Doing a simple Google search on his name, I am floored by
the results. There area zillion articles about him and tons of images of his
work. He even has a freaking Wikipedia page. This guy is a mogul in the
architectural world. I click on a link and there’s his picture in front of a
huge, no…gigantic building, and reading the first few lines of the biography, I
kind of have a little respect for him.
Kingsley Lennox, better known as
King, is the youngest architect to ever emerge into the spotlight with such a
vision of creativity and passion, like none other of his caliber. Anything King
touches turns to gold. He’s been dubbed a modern day genius by
The New
Yorker
. A native of San Antonio, Texas where his parents both still reside,
he’s most famously known for his work on the Marble Lux, the Glass Community,
and restoring more pieces of United States history with his own money and time
than anyone ever has.

Scrolling further down, his work is gorgeous. Mind-blowing.
But I can’t help but be affected by memories of his arrogant nature. Almost
rude behavior from what I’ve seen, and that is not something that I find
attractive. I mean, I was wrong giving him the pepper, but he pushed me to that
point and never has apologized. Not for anything, the noise…nothing.

Closing my laptop, I am now well aware of who this guy is.
He is, just as he presents himself, a beautiful blend of extravagant oils. And
me…I’m water. So no matter what thoughts might be conjuring up in the back of
my head, oil and water will
never
mix. And I don’t think I want them to.
He’s not the kind of person I can see myself with. We can’t even be around one
another– all we do is fight and it goes sideways when we see each other.

But I’ve made it this far in life without a man, and I will
continue on, trusting in the bigger plan of the universe, the way my parents
raised me.

As I prepare to leave for work dreading the annoyance that
will be waiting for me, I keep focused and remind myself to put one foot in
front of the other, striving forward. But that’s hard, because sure enough, the
pink bike is still parked outside of my apartment.

Ignoring it, I emerge into the warm summer day, the noise
next door is so loud, but at least it’s coming from inside the building, if I
am looking at any positives in this situation. Keeping my eyes down, I go for
my bike. And when it is not at the bike rack, it infuriates me.

That sonofabitch.

My teeth are gritted together as I try and decide what to
do. What I wanna do is find him and fucking slap him. But I saw how well
poisoning him with a pepper went, so assault will surely not bother him.
Turning to walk in, I run smack dab into him.

“Ooompph,” I yelp from the impact. My hands touch him, he
smells like a fucking drug, and as dazed as I am being this close to him, I force
myself to quickly back away. “Did you steal my bike?” I accuse him, noticing he
has another stupid ass ten thousand-dollar bike with him.

“No, I don’t steal bikes– I buy them. So, is white the color
for you? It’s what chefs wear.” He licks his lips and I want to tear my hair
off my scalp.

There is something about him that is so infuriating to me.

“No, goddammit. No white, or pink, or teal, or any color of
that dumb electric bike. It’s not for me. I ride to exercise.”

“Okay, I need to switch the brand up.” He seems really
concerned.“And no electric, could you at least tell me which color you—”

I cut him off. “Don’t buy me another bike, or anything.”

“Why?”

“Why? Seriously, that’s your question?”

“Yes.”

I push my way around him and storm off. I need to end this
conversation, no…all conversations with this ridiculous asshole– now. But he
won’t let me. He’s right there, walking along with me, his shoes silent today,
and I wonder if he changed them because of my comment. But it’s probably just a
coincidence. He catches me staring down and asks, “Are these shoes okay with
you?”

“I don’t care what shoes you wear, King.”

“But you do. You insulted my other ones. They were my
favorite pair too.”

Shaking my head, I ignore him. But his eyes are on me again
and it makes me feel so awkward inside, all hot and bothered. “Why do you hate
me?” he asks me.

“I don’t hate you, King. I don’t even know you.”

“You act like you hate me. You won’t even look at me.”

I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and take in a big
breath of air, looking deep into his eyes. They are the clearest blue that I
have seen and I wonder if maybe I haven’t been looking at him. “What can I do
to make this right? We obviously started off on the wrong foot.”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me, please.”

“You can keep the noise down until…nine in the morning.”

“Ahhhh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Something else?”

“Jesus, you are such a piece of work.”

“What?”

Clearly, he’s fuckin’ strange. “Come on, this is a five
million-dollar project, I can’t start later in the morning.”

“Fine, apologize for the stunt you pulled at my work on my
birthday.”

“Nah, you ruined my lunch.” I glare at him, astounded that
he wants to know what I want, and when I tell him, he won’t do it. He gives me
a grin and I step really close to him. His breath is on my skin, his eyes are
burning into my soul, and I give him a taste of his own medicine. Obviously he
is pursuing me for another reason than giving me a hard time. Taking my hand, I
cup his face. He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch; a low growl crackles
from his throat. Rubbing my thumb gently over his plump bottom lip, I go to
pull away and he wraps his arm around me, holding my body more tightly against
his.

Staying in control as I end this before it even begins, I
whisper, “Don’t fucking follow me or talk to me, ever again.” Dropping my hand,
I remove his from around my waist and walk away. My body is coursing with
adrenaline, and I don’t think it’s because of what I just did; it’s because of
what he did. Holding me like that, possessing me like I was his property.

He kindles something inside me, something that has never
awoken, and it frightens me what could happen if I let it out.

_____

Walking into the kitchen, I hang my stuff up and find Ross
already in the office. “Morning.”

“Hey,” he mumbles, focusing on the computer.

“I was going to help you prep, is that cool with you?”

“Okay, can you do an inventory first and then I’ll be out?”

I give him a smile, trying to make up for what I did, but
can sense the distance between us. I hate that I did this. My job, this place,
it’s everything to me.

Going into the walkout, I get an idea, a wild one…but it
might work and get me back in his good graces, which is what I need. If I have
to dread my apartment and being tormented by King everyday and then come here
and be as miserable, my life will slowly spiral downwards.

Finishing up the inventory, Ross is still in the office, I
pop in and tell him, “I’m gonna make a call real quick, if you’re still busy.
Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Here’s the inventory.” I hand it to him and grab my phone
out of my backpack, then step out back. Following my gut on this one, I do a
Google search for King Architecture and call the number listed for the
business.

“King Architecture, how may I direct your call?” A woman
answers the phone.

Pulling out my best Texas twang I ask, “May I please speak
with King?”

“I’m sorry, he’s out in the field right now. Can I put you
through to his voice mail?”

“This is his aunt in Texas, and I’m calling regarding a
family matter. Could you patch me through to his cell phone? I thought that’s
the number I dialed, dear.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll connect you right away.”

“Thank you.”

Jesus, the people working for him are as dumb as he is. The
phone rings twice, and then he answers, “This is King.” His voice is so sexy on
the phone, but I push away the thought.

What is wrong with me?

“King, it’s Ever, I need a favor.”

“Oh, do you now?” He’s cocky in his response, and I’m sure
it’s because I wounded his poor ego this morning. “I thought you told me to
never talk to you again.”

“Don’t be an ass. Can you help me or not?”

“What do you need?” He sounds agitated, almost like he
doesn’t like it when others ask him to do something. He’d rather rule the world
and make everyone kiss his feet.

“I need you to tell my boss that your friend called me a
bitch and that’s why I reacted the way I did.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you owe me.”

“Nah, I don’t owe anyone shit.”

“Don’t play tough with me. Is it really that hard for you to
do something nice for someone once in your life?”

“Really? I spent thirty g’s on bikes for you, talk about
being nice.”

“Can you help me or not?”

“Okay, I’ll do it…on one condition.”

Motherfucker.

“Name it.”

“Go out with me. One date is all I’m asking for.”

I look up at the clouds rolling by and know one date is not
fucking happening. Oil and water will never mix.

“Goodbye, King.”

I hang up, really only pissed at myself. I should’ve known
better than to think he’d actually help me and not want something in return.
King is the kind of guy who’s only out for himself. I’m sure, to him, I’m only
a pawn in his game of life, and because I’m a challenge, he wants to capture
me.