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To: Sofia Valenti
CC: Jake Ryland
Subject: Chandelier
Hi Sofia,
I know you’ve been making changes to the design plan. If it’s not too much trouble, we would love to have a fixture like this over the kitchen island. Let me know what you think.
Farha
She’d attacheda picture of a geometric figure made of connecting bronze bars and antique Edison-style bulbs. Gorgeous and perfect for the slightly modern, slightly eclectic vibe she wanted. Price tag? Three thousand dollars? No way! She clicked to reply and realized that Farha had included Jake Ryland in the email chain. Shit. She couldn’t say no. Maybe she could find a knockoff for cheaper. One more thing to add to her ever-growing list of things to figure out. She noted it in the design plan and made an entry on her calendar to research it in the morning. Finally, she pulled the stack of purchase orders back in front of her. The mangled, half-complete paper on top sent her already aggravated blood pressure skyrocketing.
Damn it. She did not have time for this. Why couldn’t he fill out the damn paperwork the way she’d asked?
She had changed the order form three years ago, needing more info than her mother who had been dealing with contractor crap for thirty years.Some peopledecided to ignore this fact and continued to expect her to figure out what the hell their chicken scratch meant. The order request from Adrian had a supplier name scrawled across the top and notes on amounts and dimensions.
No part numbers. No prices. No respect for the extra time she’d spend filling in the blanks so she could place the damn order. And Dad wanted to give him the company? Frankie never pulled this shit. Her blood boiled. The spaces were on the freaking form for a reason! If he couldn’t handle minor forms, how on earth would he manage to run the company? And how much more crap would fall into her lap?
Before she could flip her filters back on, she pulled out her phone and tapped his number. She’d given her dad a piece of her mind. Why not give a little more to the guy who deserved it?
Chapter 10
“¡Hola,Mamá!I’m home.”
“Mijo, it’s so late. I was worried.”
“I know. That’s why I called you. Twice.”
“Yes, but the worry doesn’t leave until you come through that door.”
Adrian leaned over and pressed a kiss to his mother’s forehead. She had always told him that his kisses kept the wrinkles away, so he’d made it a point to kiss her anytime he came or went since he was a child. He’d keep her forever young if he could. She was the only parent he had left. When she passed, he’d become the official head of the family. Just the idea of her being gone snapped his throat shut, so he pushed it ruthlessly away. He could still make her smile with a simple kiss, so he would take every opportunity to do so.
“What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
In a routine as familiar as his own face in the mirror, he took off his work boots by the front door and walked into the tiny bathroom off the kitchen to scrub the day from his hands and face. By the time he’d worked the grime and sweat from his pores, his dinner would be hot and waiting for him on the table.
The comfort of this routine soothed him after his rough run-in with Sofia that afternoon. He’d thought they were making progress, but then she’d wanted to change everything while the stupid cameras were rolling. They’d spent the rest of the afternoon arguing. He didn’t know why the cameras put him on edge, but they did. He hated the feeling that he was being watched. Probably a holdover from his childhood of being told to put his head down, obey, don’t cause trouble. But it hadn’t made a difference in the end. His father had still gotten caught up and hauled away.
He’d have to find some way to make it up to Sofia. In hindsight, he realized she was probably scrambling to cut money from her design budget after his bombshells. Why hadn’t she said something about it at lunch? Because he’d scrambled her brain. He allowed himself a small smile over that particular victory. He would make amends. He’d won the bigger battle that day.
He strolled into the kitchen and dropped his exhausted body into his chair.
“Mmm,pollo en mole.Mamá, you’re the best.”
“You deserve the best,mijo.” She bustled around the kitchen, putting food away, packing plastic freezer bags with the leftovers, moving pans to the sink. Though his sisters had all moved out now, his mother still cooked like she was feeding a brood of four hungry teenagers. She couldn’t seem to scale down her recipes, so the neighborhood benefited from her abundance. Since Adrian knew the creation brought her pleasure, he was happy to spread her wealth to his friends and neighbors. As long as he got his plate first.
“Come! Sit and eat with me.” He tugged her down into the chair next to his, knowing she’d likely eaten at five o’clock when the food had been ready. “How was your day?”
“Oh, you know. I talked to Mahalia today.” His older sister called almost every day since she’d moved up to Oakland with her husband, Rey.
“How’s the baby?”
“So sweet! Look how big he’s getting! She sent me pictures.” She pulled her smartphone from her apron pocket to show off his only nephew. As the first grandbaby, every moment of Jeremiah’s life was being documented. Today’s pictures featured a red face and tears.
“He looks less than happy.”
“Still not sleeping well. Poor little guy.”
