Paradise in Progress

3. Chapter Three

Chapter three

Kennedy

My head pounds as the queasiness in my stomach takes hold. What got into me last night? I never drink like that, let alone on a work night. I don’t usually allow myself to let my hair down and act like the twenty-five-year-old I am.

Growing up in a small town, it wasn’t uncommon for my classmates to have parties in barns or even in fields. I never attended them. Instead, I stayed in reading, studying, or taking practice ACT and SATs. As much as I loved growing up in my town, I knew there was more to life than corn fields and two-lane highways. I knew deep down I was destined for more. Or at least that’s what my parents and teachers told me.

My parents were hard workers—my dad was a factory worker and my mom stayed home with me and my sister, Olivia. It’s crazy that somewhere along the way, we both got the itch to travel. She graduated high school a couple of years after me and headed to Arizona to live with my grandparents, while I headed east to New York.

Popping a few migraine relief pills, I chug the bottle of water with electrolytes I had waiting on my nightstand in hopes this hangover ends fast. The only positive so far this morning is that I’m going to a doctor’s appointment instead of heading into the office early .

Shoot, did I set my out-of-office email?

As I stare at my dresser, I’m wracking my brain, trying to remember how I left the office last night. Hopefully, nothing important pops up between now and when I get in around lunch.

I got to my appointment on time but, of course, they were running behind, no surprise there. They tell you to arrive fifteen minutes early whenever they schedule your appointment. I’ll never understand why they ask that when they’re constantly running thirty minutes late. I’m a punctual person. If you ask me to be somewhere at ten, I’ll arrive by nine forty-five at the latest.

Now here I am, exiting the cab outside of Nelson Signature an hour and a half later than I expected. I learned while I was in the waiting room that I, in fact, didn’t turn on my out-of-office notification, because emails were pouring in.

Stepping inside the lobby, I greet the security guard as I reach inside my bag for my badge to show him. As I’m walking away, my phone dings, alerting me of a new message, and I can’t help but groan in frustration. Swapping my badge for my phone, I step inside the elevator as I read the new text message.

Zoe: Where are you?

Zoe: Tristan called for an urgent meeting in five minutes.

Zoe: You need to be here.

Shit, shit, shit . I wait impatiently for the doors to open, foot tapping on the marble floor, praying no one else calls the elevator. Today, of all days, to run behind. As soon as I step off at my floor, I beeline to my desk. Dropping off my purse, I quickly grab my laptop and open it as I make my way to the stairs. I’m typing in my login information as I make it to the floor above us.

Looking up, I notice all the seats are occupied around the large conference room table. Furious hazel eyes find mine as our gazes lock on each other. Long gone is the fun we had over beers last night. He’s back to being a prick. His chiseled jaw hardens and a fire flames inside me. Walking into the room, everyone’s heads whip in my direction and the dread of being the center of attention rachets my nerves.

“Nice of you to finally join us.” Tristan’s deep voice silences the murmurs around the room, and I feel like the size of an ant.

I realize as I scan the room that the only empty seat is next to him, which isn’t a surprise, considering most people avoid him due to his brooding, self-confident swagger. And maybe he is a little self-centered and above all of us. This is his family’s company, after all; he’s only slumming it with us peasants until he takes his rightful place as department head.

With my head held high and a false sense of confidence, I round the table until I’m sitting in the seat next to him. Our legs brush against, and I fight the sensation that forms in my stomach at that brief touch. Out of the corner of my eye, I take in his features, which seem completely unfazed by our contact. His dark, chocolate-brown suit is layered over the top of a cream dress shirt and matching brown tie. I’ve never been one for that color when it comes to suits, but there’s just something about the way he wears it that hugs his strong-muscled body and brings out the darker elements in his hazel eyes .

My phone buzzes against the table, and heads turn in my direction again. Quickly grabbing the distraction, I bring it to my lap to avoid more stares as I glance at the screen.

Zoe: Quit eye-fucking the enemy.

Heat spreads across my cheeks as I flip the phone face down to obscure it from the man on my right, hoping and praying he didn’t look over my shoulder to see the message. But based on the hard set in his jaw, I think it’s safe to say, he’s more annoyed by the interruption. Fumbling with the phone, I bring my hands to the table, folding them, and focusing back on the reason we’re gathered here.

“If everyone is finally ready, we’ll get this meeting started,” Xander says, startling me. I didn’t even realize he was sitting in this room when I walked in.

Get it together, Ken. Stop thinking about him.

Xander stands from his seat and strides over to a screen, where he clicks a few buttons on his laptop. A PowerPoint presentation appears before us, and I open a blank document on my computer to take notes.

“Being hungover isn’t an excuse to be late,” Tristan whisper-hisses for only me to hear.

My jaw drops, but I snap it closed. “I had a doctor's appointment, not that it’s any of your business,” I say, but keep my gaze on my computer, refusing to give him the time of day.

“Is that really the excuse you want to go with?” He scoffs before leaning closer. His shoulder touches mine, and I fight the urge to pull away. I’m standing tall, because I will not let him affect me. “Who knew you were so sloppy on weeknights? No wonder you always come in second place.”

Hatred courses through my veins with every word. I don’t know why I thought one night of us hanging out after work would instantly change my opinion of him. He’s still the same arrogant, entitled jerk.

“As some of you may know, Nelson Signature has recently acquired a failing resort,” Xander says, causing my full attention to bounce back to him, where a slide includes photos of a tropical destination. “It’s an all-inclusive resort in St. Lucia. By acquiring the property, we have unfortunately gained its poor reputation.”

He flips to the next slide on the PowerPoint, and comments litter the screen with one negative review after another. My eyes scan words like dirty, outdated, rude staff, unsafe, and below luxury standards all over the screen.

Yikes, this is not what someone wants to read when they spend thousands of dollars to vacation at a luxury resort.

Xander paces in front of the projector. “As you can see, the reviews are not good. Along with an entire facelift of the property, including a new layout, design to match our company’s luxurious elements, and upgrading the technology, we’ll need to work on completely rebranding the image of this resort, not only with tourists, but locals as well.” Xander pauses and stares at each one of us.

“Emails will be sent after this meeting to break up the architectural and interior design teams. You’ll be working with each other to brainstorm ideas on how to elevate this resort. You have one week to come up with a complete design pitch. Once it’s approved, the St. Lucia resort will be your only priority. By shutting down this resort for an entire year to do this remodel, we’re losing a lot of money. Making this a top priority project, we expect to be completed within eighteen months.”

People begin scurrying around the room, no doubt rushing to their desks to get started. But I can’t find it in me to move. I stare straight ahead as thoughts invade my mind about how I can win this competition– pitch . A mix of anxiety and excitement has me frozen. After all those years I spent doodling in my sketchbook of different buildings and landscapes, it’s finally the moment I’ve been waiting for to put my work out there.

“Good luck, Firecracker,” Tristian says. I turn to face him and that stupid, smug grin. “You’re going to need it.” And then he shoots me a wink.

Holding back a huff, I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest and letting confidence take over. “I’m not competing against you .”

“No, sweetheart,” he says, leaning into my space, his cedar and citrus scent flooding my senses. When the hell did we get so close? “But I’ll be one of the deciding votes, remember? This is my project.” With a light, condescending pat on the table, he stands from his chair and makes his way over to his brother and Xander’s assistant.

That motherfu–

“Kenny!” Zoe whisper-shouts from across the room. She gestures to the door, and I grab my electronics before I’m up off my chair and hustling out of the room. I refuse to spare Tristan any more of my attention, but that doesn't mean I don’t feel his eyes on me as I walk away.

“Is it safe to assume you won’t be coming out for dinner tonight?” Zoe questions as she pushes open the door to the stairwell .

“Are you kidding me? I won’t be leaving the office until I have a solid plan. Takeout for one, please.”

Zoe shakes her head as the sound of heels clicking against the metal stairs fills the space. “Girl, it’s not that deep.”

“Would you stop?” I laugh at Zoe’s constant need to incorporate one phrase the “kids are saying these days.” Her words, not mine. She said that one day she was standing in a coffee shop surrounded by teenagers and she had no clue what they were saying, so in her vow not to seem too old, she’s going to learn their language. Zoe is barely thirty; it’s not like she’s old by any means.

Once we step onto our floor, it’s mayhem. People are running around, trying to figure out where to start with this project, but it looks like Wall Street and the stocks just dropped. One thing I like about working here is that the company isn’t afraid of a little friendly competition. I’ve been competing my whole life in some aspect or another, so it feels like just another day.

“I’m running to pick up lunches at Green Goddess if you ladies want anything,” Jill, an intern, calls to us from her cubicle. Stopping at her desk, I reach for a sticky note before jotting down my go-to Green Goddess order–a simple grilled chicken Cobb salad without the bleu cheese.

We thank her before going our separate ways.

Running my fingers through my hair, I let out an exasperated sigh. For hours, I’ve been glued to my computer, researching the country of St. Lucia. When it comes to a new project, it’s important for me to not only look at what design style speaks to the location while fitting into our company’s branding, but also look at what would make this location stand out from its competitors.

Since this is an acquisition, we have to rebrand the image of the resort, which Xander stressed in the meeting. There’s a negative connotation associated with the resort, which means our property management team and marketing team need to do a great job at recreating the location’s image.

The issue Nelson’s is facing is that locals are against the new buyout, and without the support of the locals, things could go south quickly.

Stretching my hands out in front of me, I tip my neck up, working out the kinks. I notice the outside of my right hand is smeared with lead from where I’ve been sketching all afternoon. Which I’m not complaining about. Despite new technology making things easy, I’d prefer my pencil and sketchbook to draw out the first concept. It’s more freeing.

Somewhere, the sun drifted from the warm winter light and cascaded the city in darkness. Lights from neighboring buildings highlight the city that never sleeps. The small lamp on my cubicle is the only light illuminating my workspace. It’s Friday evening and my co-workers started leaving when the clock struck four-thirty, staggering out until I was the last one left at six o’clock.

That was an hour ago.

Tonight, as I sit here in this empty, quiet office, I can’t help but realize this is it. After all these years, I still find it hard to believe that New York is home. There was a time when I thought my dreams wouldn’t come true. No matter how much I studied and how many practice tests I took, life might not have allowed the chance to see everything I worked so hard for to come to fruition.

“Burning the midnight oil?” His voice causes me to jump. I guess I’m not alone here, after all. Has Tristian been here the whole time?

Spinning around to face him, I immediately regret the decision. Sometime during the day, Tristan shed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. The cream color perfectly contrasts with his tan skin. Even in the dead of New York’s winter, Tristan Nelson looks like a bronzed god who just stepped foot off the plane from paradise. Why have I never noticed how strong his forearms are? Ugh, why am I checking him out? Snapping my face up to meet his as he leans against the wall of my cubicle, I recognize his famous smirk. It’s like he has a glimpse inside my head.

“Someone has to set the bar around here.” Crossing my arms across my chest, I watch his eyes follow my movement. A small smile toys at the end of my lips as I lean back in my seat.

“And you think that someone should be you?”

Eyeing him up and down, I fight to show how much his standing here affects me. “Why not? Not all of us can rely on their title and daddy’s money to get them everything in life.”

“Ouch,” he mocks. “You know he pays your paychecks, right?”

“I don’t have an issue with him.”

Pointing a finger toward himself, he retorts, “So you have a problem with me. What, are you gunning for my job?”

“You know damn well I want the seat you're sitting in.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “You know I set the bar and you’re always under it.”

I scoff. “I’m the one pushing it higher. ”

He glances around my space, as if he’s looking for something, before his eyes lock back on me. “I don’t see Director next to your name anywhere. You’ll never get anywhere if you keep doodling like you're still in elementary school.”

I follow the path to where he’s staring at my sketchbook and colored pencils. Quickly, I slam the cover shut on my sketchbook, not wanting to show him any of my cards right now. Closing the top on the colored pencil box, I rip open my desk drawer and place my sketchbook and pencils into my bag. I’ve had enough of this. I’m exhausted and don’t have the energy to sit here and take his insults anymore.

Grabbing my things, I stand to leave but stop in front of him. Making myself level with him to make sure he hears me clearly. “Keep my seat warm, Tristan.”

I shove past him, but he’s immediately on my heels

“C’mon, Firecracker.”

“No, Tristan,” I spit out, jamming my finger into the elevator call button before whipping around to face him to say more. But my chest brushes against his and we both suck in a breath at our proximity. Staring up into his eyes, I can’t find the words I wanted to say just seconds ago. His eyes bore into mine and darken at the same time he takes a deep swallow. I track the movement, unable to control the tension swirling around us.

When the elevator chimes behind me, I force myself away from him, keeping my eyes on his for one more blink before averting my gaze to hit the button to close the door. My hand darts out to stop the door, because this isn’t another thing Tristian is going to win.

“Like I said, keep my seat warm, Golden Boy. ”

With that, I press the button again to close the door, leaving him on the other side.