Chapter Eight
Kayden
I looked up at the large, contemporary office building which was consistent with the other Acker Real Estate buildings I’d reviewed for this project.
The Boston building had been built decades ago as corporate rental space when Zachariah Acker was running the company, but it had been converted into headquarters of the Sustainable Housing and Equitably division when his daughter, Sutton Harrison, inherited the company four years ago.
On my way here, I’d stopped to see my father which had clearly been a poor choice given the anxious buzz he’d left under my skin.
He was drunk, per usual, despite the end-stage liver disease that would have him six feet under by this time next year.
Being around him triggered my anxiety in ways I should have avoided before such a big meeting, but I hadn’t been to see him since moving back to Boston a few weeks ago and I’d had the morning free.
Plus, I really wanted to see the proof that he was dying. Maybe I’m just as bad as him.
It wasn’t like the trauma and resulting anxiety disorder he gifted me with hadn’t followed me around in Phoenix, but seeing him this morning—still drunk, still an asshole—just brought so much of it back to the surface at a time that was not convenient.
If only they could see what you did to us, Dad.
That family you grieve for would hate you just as much as I do.
I adjusted the black messenger bag at my hip and took a deep breath.
I could do this. I could push my father from my mind just like I always did.
I’d won the bid for Acker Real Estate’s new addiction treatment center because I was a small start-up architecture firm.
Apparently, this division of the company believed in lifting people up in about a dozen ways, including a preference for hiring start-ups and non-profits whenever possible.
I’d done a lot of research to prepare for this meeting because obsessing was one of the joys of having generalized anxiety disorder.
I was meeting with the Vice President of Sustainable Housing and Equitably for an hour and then I’d be meeting with Sutton Harrison and the board.
Based on the four-year-old press release I found, Sutton had created this division and put her nephew J.
Cohen in charge. It was my understanding that the board had a lot of influence, but no formal authority, which meant J.
Cohen and Sutton were the people to impress if I wanted Acker Real Estate as a client.
Despite my best efforts, I hadn’t found any information about the vice president other than that.
In her original press release, Sutton had stated that the privacy of her family and employees was important to her and had opted not to share his full name.
I hated not knowing more about who I was meeting upstairs, but I talked to Mr. Cohen’s assistant a few times to set up this meeting and I got the sense he was fairly easy-going since in addition to my original submissions, he’d simply requested a digital rendering of the outside of the facility and a basic overview of the features that would be included.
Both of those things were easy for me as an architect with a background in civil engineering.
I’d even gone beyond his request and drafted an option with the highest level of sustainable materials that also maximized energy efficiency since it was obvious those were values of this company.
I wiped my palms on my khaki dress pants and pulled the door open.
The lobby was massive with a spiral staircase behind a tall, granite desk that appeared to lead to a second floor.
Two sets of platinum elevators stood out against the white marble walls on either side of the desk where a young, light-skinned man greeted me.
I stopped in front of him and put my hands on the chest-high counter. “Hi, I have a meeting with Mr. Cohen,” I said.
“Of course.” He looked down at his computer. “Are you Mr. Meacham, the architect?”
“That’s me,” I said, adjusting my glasses.
“Wonderful. The elevators to the left will take you to Mr. Cohen’s private floor. You’ll need this key card.” He gestured toward the elevator and held out a plastic card. “His assistant will be waiting for you at the top.”
Well, this is fancy as fuck. He has a private floor with his own elevator?
I was working out of my living room because I hadn’t yet found an affordable office space to rent.
Not that I really needed one, since so many of my meetings were virtual or at the client’s offices.
The more sustainable option probably would be to set up a permanent space in my apartment. Maybe I should just do that.
I thanked the receptionist and took the card before walking to the elevator and pressing the call button.
It opened immediately, and when I stepped inside and pressed the button for the twelfth floor it flashed red until I tapped the card on the black panel.
A green light flashed, and the doors shut in front of me.
I gripped the bar at the back of the elevator and watched the numbers tick up at a steady pace until they finally reached the number twelve.
I let out a breath of relief. Every time I rode an elevator, visions of being trapped in one for hours flashed before my eyes, so reaching the final floor was always a milestone worth celebrating.
The elevator doors opened and a slender Black woman in a pencil skirt and a white blouse stood on the other side with a smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Mr. Meacham. I’m Rita.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I shook her outstretched hand and looked around.
There was one desk in the center of the large, open area to our left which appeared to be Rita’s since it was empty except for a red coat draped over the back of the chair.
To our right was a glass wall that revealed a small kitchenette on the other side.
Straight ahead was a large conference room, also surrounded in glass walls, and to the left of that was a closed office door, with no windows.
There was no way to see inside that room, unless Mr. Cohen left the door open and wanted you to see.
Interesting design. So welcoming and open-concept, yet with a subtle message about who really controls the information shared around here.
The design of a space said a lot more about the people who commissioned it than they often realized.
Is this design choice from the original building by Zachariah Acker or something requested by Mr. Cohen?
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Rita asked.
“No, thank you,” I said with a smile. The sound of a door opening caused me to look up at the corner office and my breath caught in my throat as the gorgeous man I’d been thinking about for the last few days—especially when my hand was around my dick—stepped out.
He wore a gray, three-piece suit and my eyes widened as I took in the sight of him.
He’s fucking breathtaking. I’m going to have a panic attack.
Maybe I’m already having one. Is this a hallucination?
Seems extreme. Just how nervous am I for this meeting?
My palms started to sweat as he took a step forward, his face revealing absolutely nothing as he crossed the distance between us, ran one hand through his slicked-back curls, and held his other hand out for me to shake.
He smiled broadly. “Hi, Mr. Meacham. I’m Jace Cohen, Vice President of Sustainable Housing and Equitability at Acker Real Estate. Please, come on in.”
I shook his hand, staring at him, mouth agape. “Kayden,” I said, flinching at the sound of Mr. Meacham since the real Mr. Meacham was a total dick. Why is he pretending he doesn’t know me?
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Cohen?” Rita asked as I dropped Jace’s hand.
“No, thank you, Rita,” Jace said, “unless Kayden would like anything?”
I shook my head. Jace turned toward his office, looking over his shoulder to make sure I was following him. He smiled politely at his assistant. “Again, Rita, you can call me Jace.”
I followed him into his office, feeling a bit like a kid following a principal. Jace stepped in front of the door and waved me in, gesturing to the two large, white chairs in front of his desk.
“Sit,” he said with a subtle eyebrow raise as he shut the door behind us. There was just a hint of amusement on his face, and I wondered if he’d intentionally mimicked me from the night we met.
“Why are you acting like you don’t know me?” I asked, as he walked around his L-shaped desk to sit in the black leather chair across from me.
“I assumed you’d want me to, given your current situation,” he said, putting his elbows on the desk.
He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.
“About twenty minutes ago I asked Rita for the name of the architect from Meacham Architecture and when she told me the person I’d be meeting with was named Kayden, I did a quick internet search to find out if it was you.
I didn’t have much time to think about my approach beyond protect his secret. ”
I stared speechlessly at him again. This guy was going to think I didn’t know how to talk at this rate, but he kept catching me so off guard.
First with his gorgeous, flirty smile that made me feel all sorts of things, and now with another piece of evidence that he was a genuinely kind person.
The first thing he thought of when he saw that his meeting was with me was protecting me?
I couldn’t even pretend I wasn’t touched by that.
I pulled my bag over my head and set it at my feet.
“Thank you,” I said.
Jace’s smile grew significantly “You really wanted to know what I do for work, huh?”
I laughed and rubbed my jaw. “I mean, yes. But this is not how I imagined finding out. The only information I had about who I was meeting was the name J. Cohen and your title.”
“Really? Is that what they listed on the Request for Proposal too?”