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“You had better have panties on today.”
“That’s for you to find out.” I rise on my tiptoes and give him a kiss. “But first, work.”
“Show me everything you’ve been up to this week.” His eyes light up.
For the next twenty minutes, I show him around the two units that are now knocked together to create a gigantic space.
I go over the dozens of architectural plans with him that plaster one of the walls and show him the final phase, the new gym layout. He studies it in great detail, shuffling left and right and back again, then he frowns. “Who did these?”
“The architect.” I thought that was obvious.
“What do they normally design?”
“Bars, clubs, restaurants, hotels. This was a new project for them.” We’ve never used them before.
“You can tell.” He folds his arms across his body. “Also, the person who designed these doesn’t work out.”
“How do you know that?” I look at the plans again.
As the workmen filter in through the doors, Lincoln explains to me in fine detail how the new layout of the gym has no flow. Highlighting the lack of distance between the equipment, the areas aren’t distinctive enough, how each zone should have a different vibe with lighting and flooring. He goes on and on, making incredible and valid points that no one else has picked up on, and when he stops, I realize he’s drawn a crowd of workmen who all agree with him.
I push my fingers into my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I was trusting the interior designers to get this right. They assured me they knew what they were doing. We have never owned a health and fitness business before either, so this is all new territory for all of us and they knew that. How the hell did I miss this?” I look at the plans on the wall, getting more and more frustrated with the plans and myself for not seeing this.
Mad at myself, I put my hands on my hips, drop my head, close my eyes, and inhale a deep breath.
I’ve been juggling multiple acquisition projects for months. It’s no wonder I’ve dropped the ball recently. My father was right. I need an assistant.
The enormous space is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
As pissed as I am, I refuse to fall apart in front of them. Shoulders back and head held high again, I turn around to face them.
Dylan is our site manager, and his face right now says it all. Lincoln is right.
“Okay, I’m on it.” I hold my hands up.
Lincoln jumps in. “Hey, don’t change the plans because of what I have said. This could cost a lot of money to redo the plans.”
“That is not your concern.”
I pull the plans off the wall. “Lincoln, you're coming with me. Dylan, can you do as much as you can today? I’m off to the architect's office now with Lincoln, and can you rally all the other project managers together at the other sites and explain the situation? Set up an emergency video call with them now, please?”
“On it.” He salutes me.
“Thanks, Dylan.”
“Sounds like you have a busy day ahead of you now, Violet.”
Oh, poop. I spin around on the balls of my black heels when the deep voice of my father echoes, making his presence known.
My dad does not look happy.
Around fifty burly men scamper faster than a mouse has eyed some cheese to begin their work for the day.
“And who are you?” Hands still in his pale-gray suit pockets of his dress pants, he tilts his head at Lincoln.
World swallow me up now.
Lincoln starts to answer, but I blurt, “This is Lincoln. Lincoln Black.”
