Page 30 of The Write Choice

“I want to let them all get settled a bit. Maybe next week?” I ask, inwardly cringing at yet another thing I need to prepare Katie for.

Apparently satisfied, Mom nods once, then turns on her heel to walk back toward my new office. Dad raises a ruddy eyebrow, still looking amused, and extends an arm, indicating I should follow her.

“Your team is meeting in the conference room in fifteen minutes,” Mom says as she walks primly through the cubicles back to my office. She shuts the door behind us. “I think it’s best if we are not there with you,” she continues as soon as the door is safely closed. She glances at my father, who nods his agreement. “We want to be as hands-off with this project as we can, though we are available to help privately should you need. Most of the work you will be doing is administrative. You’ll be listening to the ideas of your team, fielding their questions, checking their math”—she makes a face at this, and I make a mental note to figure out who is the weak link with whom she’s clearly irritated—“and, of course, it will be your job to finalize the visuals for the presentation you’ll be making in March. Shortly after that, as you know, it is our plan to step aside permanently.” There is a tinge of remorse in her voice, but her countenance remains stoic.

“That sounds so grave,” I mutter. My dad stifles a laugh behind his hand.

My mother levels a glare at me. “You need to treat this seriously if you are going to have a future here, Brandon. All eyes are on you.”

I try not to sigh heavily. “You’ve made that abundantly clear, Mom. I apologize if I’ve given you the impression that I believe otherwise.” I pause, then continue against my better judgment. “Have a little faith in me. I’m ready for this. I know what I’m doing.”

She eyes me up and down, her steely gaze lingering on my hair which I made sure to pull back into a presentable bun this morning. I send up a little gratitude that I also opted for long sleeves today so she can’t see my tattoo poking out. If she could cut my hair off right now, she would happily do so. But she can’t, so she settles for pursing her lips and folding her arms.

My father, who has been watching this entire silent exchange, finally decides to jump in. “Of course you are, Brandon. Your mother and I are understandably nervous. We don’t want you to have dragged your entire family all this way for nothing.”

Little do they know, if I can’t also make Katie happy here, it’ll all have been for nothing, anyway.

I simply nod. “I’m confident in my ability to knock this project out of the park.” Which is true, but I try to sound extra convincing.

Apparently appeased, my mother reaches out a hand to cup my cheek. “We are, too, Brandon.” She drops her hand and moves it to the doorknob. “Ten minutes. Conference room. Don’t be late.” She pulls the door open and leaves.

My dad shoots me what I could swear is an apologetic glance before he follows her out.

In the silence, I am finally able to set my bag down. I sit in my desk chair, the large, outside windows at my back. In front of me are floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the cubicles and other offices. I run a hand over the aged wood of the desk I had sent here from my New York office. This desk is a relic—the drawers only open if you pull them a certain way, and the wood has grooves in it from decades of past architects drafting by hand on it—but I love it.

I walk to the little kitchen area adjacent to the conference room to pour myself a cup of coffee before making my way into the meeting a few minutes early. I set up my things at the head of the conference table, signing into my laptop and putting my notebook and coffee to the left so I can write down whatever I need to.

It doesn’t take long for the team to file in. I try to smile warmly at everyone as they shuffle to their seats, also setting up similarly. I eye the clock, and as the meeting is supposed to be starting, there is still one seat conspicuously empty. We should have one senior architect and three juniors, plus the engineer, but there are only four other people present besides myself.

I check my watch to be sure the clock isn’t running fast. It’s not.

The older man to my left sighs heavily. “You may as well start. Thalia couldn’t be on time if her life depended on it,” he says gruffly.

My eyebrows shoot up as I glance around the room. A younger man and woman avoid my eye contact, and a man who looks to be about my age leans back in his chair and twirls his pen between his pointer and middle fingers.

I check the clock again. “Right. Well, let’s start with introductions and we’ll see if she arrives then,” I suggest. The two younger members visibly relax while the older man tries—but not very hard—to hide his eye roll. I make a mental note of this interesting power dynamic before continuing. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here. I’m Brandon Conley. Yes, my parents own this firm. Yes, I am here to hopefully take over for them at the end of this project. I’m excited to serve as team leader on the addition for Leade Park High School.” I glance to my left, nodding my head at the man sitting next to me.

“Jasper Bean, senior architect. I’ve been working here for fifteen years and have served on two different teams designing school additions.” Jasper is curt and imposing. His back is rigid against the chair, and his jet-black hair shows a hint of gray at the temples. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed at my presence as team lead or if he’s just like this.

“Marianne Barnes,” the young woman sitting next to him says. She’s blonde and extremely put together, though she looks like she graduated yesterday, her wide eyes taking in the room in the way of someone who is more than slightly intimidated. “I’m a junior architect. This is my first large-scale addition project.”

“Orlando Key, another junior architect,” the young man next to her says. He has not one single hair on top of his head, though is sporting a well-trimmed beard that does little to make him look older than about twenty-five. There is noticeably less space between him and Marianne than there is between him and the man sitting next to him, which I take to mean they are friends or possibly something more. I file that information away for later.

“Calvin Saunders,” the man next to him says. “I’m the engineer for the project. I won’t be at all the team meetings, but your parents”—he nods at me—“asked me to be here to meet you today.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, the door bursts open and a woman around my age bursts into the room. She’s almost cartoonishly disheveled, her black hair falling from her bun in curls around her face, her brown skin completely free of makeup, and her blouse half-untucked from her trousers. I think I see a stain on her thigh, as well, but she quickly sits down in the empty chair, hiding the spot and dumping an armful of papers unceremoniously onto the table. The papers fan out in front of her, and she scrambles to stack them.

Jasper makes a noise of disgust to my left. “And this is Thalia Gutierrez, our third junior architect.” He isn’t even trying to hide his disdain, which is not a dynamic I want between my senior and junior architects before we’ve even gotten started, so I hold up a hand to stop him.

“I assume Ms. Gutierrez is capable of making her own introduction?” I ask, directing the question to her.

She sets the stack of papers neatly on the table and takes a deep breath to steady herself. She eyes Jasper, her eyes narrowing slightly, then nods once to me. “Thalia Gutierrez, junior architect. This is my fourth year with the firm. Was there any other information you asked for?” Her voice is steady and not at all what I would expect from a woman who rushed in here in a cyclone of papers and an untucked shirt.

“You’d have known if you bothered to show up on time,” Jasper says under his breath.

I shoot him a warning look as I say, “No, Ms. Gutierrez.” I turn to her. “I’m Brandon Conley, the new team lead. Do you need a second?” I don’t know why she was late, and I don’t want to make any assumptions, unlike Mr. Grouch to my left.

Thalia folds her hands in front of her on top of the table and sits up straight. “No, sir. I’m good.”