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Not missing a beat, I strode toward the exit, pausing at the door to bellow, "I quit!"
"Biggest mistake of your life," he spat back at me. "You'll never work in this city again!"
"You've got something on your pants, asshole."
And with that, I was gone. No job. No money. No hope of becoming New York City’s next big pastry chef.
As I stepped out into the chilly Manhattan street, my phone buzzed in my bag. In a daze, I fished it out and glanced at the screen. It was a call from the veteran’s care home—probably Dad wanting to know how the interview went.
Ugh. He’d be so sad I didn't get the job. Then it hit me—not only did I not get the new job, I'd also lost my current one.
"Dad—how are you doing?"
But it wasn't Dad.
"Elara, it's Dr. Patel from your father's care facility," she said, her voice oddly flat.
Ice flooded my veins. "Dr. Patel. Is everything all right? How’s Dad?"
"Elara, I'm afraid I have some bad news."
CHAPTER TWO
Cole, Six Weeks Later
Michelangelo had the Sistine Chapel. The Beatles had Abbey Road. Scorsese had Goodfellas.
Me? My magnum opus was this fucking tree house.
I lined up a plank of pine and held it in place, leaning my weight against it. Then I plucked a three-inch nail from between my lips and prepared to hammer it into place when an inquisitive voice called from below.
"Daddy?" Lexi might have sounded innocent, but experience told me she was about to stick the knife in.
I dropped the remaining nails from my lips into my waiting hand. "Bad time for questions, sweetheart."
"But it’s important."
I sighed. "All right, what is it?"
"Is it meant to be all . . . crooked?"
"Crooked?" I spun round to look down at my seven-year-old daughter, and she returned my gaze with a smile so damn sweet you could drizzle it on pancakes. With those big blue eyes and her golden hair, she was the spitting image of her mother. Shame she'd also inherited her exacting standards.
"Mmhmm."
"Lexi’s right. It's really crooked, Dad." That was Rhea, my youngest at five. Much more serious, that one—just like me. She squinted and closed a soulful brown eye. “Yep. Crooked.”
"It's like the Leaning Tower of Pisa,” added Lexi. “The Leaning Tower of Bluehaven Beach."
I surveyed the half-finished structure with a critical eye, my Navy training kicking in. Every angle needed to be precise, and every joint reinforced to perfection. Shoddy craftsmanship was not an option.
I wiped my brow and ran my hand through my fast-silvering hair. No doubt I'd have a few dozen more grays before this project was through.
Why had I ever agreed to do it?
"I can't wait to play in the Leaning Tower!" Rhea practically vibrated with excitement.
Ah, right. That's why.
