Asking For A Friend

by Parker, Ali

  Craig laughed, sitting kitty corner to her on one of my wingback chairs. “I think you meant to say you can’t believe he had the balls to actually ask, because it is totally ridiculous.”

  Marissa snorted. “Actually, I happen to think his balls must be extra tiny. You don’t have everything around you so big and make such unreasonable demands if you aren’t making up for something.”

  That earned her one of Craig’s belly laughs. He doubled over, setting down his coffee cup to keep from spilling it as his shoulders shook. He lifted his eyes to mine. “Layton, I gotta tell you, I love this lady.”

  “So do I,” I told him, watching as his eyes flew wide open.

  His gaze darted between us, but he decided to leave it alone. The next time the two of us spoke without Marissa present, I was sure he was going to demand to know if I was serious about what I said. But I had been.

  Marissa gave me a small smile, but similarly didn’t comment with Craig present. Something did filter into her eyes when I said it, though. Something I hadn’t noticed when I’d said it before. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it made my heart clench and a tiny hope flared. Hope that she might say it back to me soon.

  “So,” Craig cleared his throat, picking up his coffee again and sipping it. Marissa and I both snapped out of whatever had been passing between us and turned our eyes on him. “What are you going to do?”

  “I haven’t decided yet, but Banks is sending a lawyer to the party we’re having tomorrow night. Apparently he’s bringing both the non-disclosure agreement and a termination agreement with him. Whatever I decide, I’m signing on a dotted line no later than tomorrow night. My time is running out.”

  “It’s absurd to give him credit for that building, man,” Craig argued, pushing his shaggy brows together. “You worked way too hard on that design. I remember the hours you put into it.”

  “I’ll still be getting paid for the work I did,” I told him, but he shook his head.

  “That’s not my point. It’s a masterpiece, dude.” He spoke forcefully. “It’s your masterpiece and it’s going to be the talk of the town. What you did with those cylinders and the angles, it’s going to be featured in newspapers and magazines. I have zero doubt about it.”

  I waved my hand away from my body. “I don’t care about any of that bullshit and you know it. I don’t need people to write about my buildings, I just want to build them.”

  “That’s the thing, though,” Marissa intervened. “It’s your building. You drew every last line of that design. It came out of your brain. It’s crazy that he wants to take the credit for it.”

  “It’s really not such a big deal,” I told them. “The guy has been doing this for years. He’s not singling me out or anything. When I spoke to him last week, he told me it’s supposed to be a standard term in his contract when he enlists the service of any architect. His lawyer fucked up.”

  “Which gives you the opportunity to keep your name on your building,” Craig countered. “As it should be.”

  “Do you think Banks would consider having both of your names on as architects? It’s still super unfair, but at least you don’t lose credit completely,” Marissa suggested, but I shook my head.

  “I asked him that about two weeks ago. He didn’t even hear me all the way out before he turned me down. I think he only took the call because he thought I was calling to tell him I would sign his NDA.”

  Marissa frowned, scrunching up her nose. “He’s being such a child about this. Like, ‘Yes, I like that. I must tell everyone I was clever enough to design it.’ What an idiot. Not even Annie would do something like that. At least I taught her to share. It doesn’t look like his mother succeeded in teaching him even that. Or some commonly accepted values like giving credit where credit is due.”

  “I don’t know what his issue is,” I shrugged, because his motivations didn’t change anything. He was adamant about canceling the agreement if I didn’t sign all credit over to him. He said it wasn’t worth it for him to stay on a project he didn’t get credit for.

  It made zero sense to me why he wanted the credit in the first place. It wasn’t like he was an architect trying to make a name for himself but wasn’t able to come up with inspired designs. He was a businessman.

  The museum was slated to have his name on it anyway, since he was the client. It was going to be the Banks Museum of Modern Art Boston, which I didn’t think was a catchy name, but my opinion on the naming didn’t count for anything.

  What confused me was why the credit as the architect was something that was so important to him. Buildings typically didn’t have the architect’s name in shining lights on the side. People who worked in the industry knew who designed what buildings, but no one else knew or cared.

  They either liked the building they lived or worked in or they didn’t. People might talk about what they would have done if they had designed the place all the time, but they really didn’t give a fuck who actually did design it.

  I asked Banks why it was so important to him after he turned me down on sharing credit, which I really thought might have been a solution where everyone walked away getting what they wanted. I certainly wouldn’t have minded sharing the credit.

  But not only had he not answered my question about why it was so important to him, but he also placed me on notice by telling me he was sending his lawyer with the papers tomorrow. To a party he had been invited to so he could celebrate the progress with us, even if it was my money ensuring that progress took place.

  “I think he’s got a screw loose, that’s what his issue is,” Craig said seriously, pulling off his woolen beanie to run his fingers through his light brown hair. The comment pulled me out of my thoughts before he continued. “Or Marissa’s right and he’s just got a fucking small dick.”

  “It’s possible,” I smiled, but my heart wasn’t in it. “It doesn’t really matter anyway. I need to make this decision tomorrow. I’m either all in or Banks isn’t in at all. There’s no way around it.”

  “I think you should say no,” Marissa said. “I know it’s a lot of money. I mean, I looked over the estimations a couple of days ago and they’re super high. But if you can, I think you should tell him to shove it and finish building it yourself.”

  Craig jerked his head in her direction. “I’m with your girl, man. It’s a stupid thing for him to have asked you to do. I know you’re already doing well, but this building could catapult your career to the stratosphere. Giving up credit for it shouldn’t be an option if there’s any way you can afford not to do it.”

  “It’s really not such a big deal,” I repeated, but that wasn’t true. It was a very fucking big deal. I wasn’t so worried about my career being catapulted to the stratosphere, though it would be good to get an influx of new clients.

  What I was worried about was my future with Marissa and Annie, and maybe one day, another kid or two. My future with Marissa was financially secure for now. We would never have to worry about money, neither would any of our kids—Annie included.

  Bankrolling buildings could jeopardize that. Things happen on building sites. The weather gets in the way of completion, or teams fuck up. Some buildings can eat up bank accounts much bigger than even mine. I wouldn’t be the first person to go bust over a cursed job. It wasn’t likely, but I couldn’t ignore that it was within the realm of possibility.

  On the other hand, if everything went according to plan and stayed within the current budget estimations, the money I could make off the building and from new clients would ensure that if I played my cards right, my family could be taken care of financially for generations, long after I’m gone.

  So it was a big deal. A very fucking big deal.

  Chapter 68

  Marissa

  Frustrated over Layton’s attitude about Banks wanting to take credit for his design, I left the office after our meeting. The only good thing that had come out of the day was meeting Craig.

  Layton talked to me about Craig
sometimes and he mentioned him often. I knew Craig was not only Layton’s preferred contractor, but also his best friend.

  Meeting him was a big deal for me, and I’d been nervous about it. But it turned out I didn’t have to be. Craig and I were on the same line of the same page about the Banks thing, and generally speaking, Craig seemed like a great guy.

  I was surprised by how relaxed and easygoing he was. Before I got to know Layton, I wouldn’t have thought there was one easygoing bone in his body. I definitely wouldn’t have expected his best friend to be a guy like Craig.

  He had an easy smile, could talk the ear off a donkey if he liked you it seemed, or listen seriously when the situation called for it. It didn’t hurt that he wasn’t an ugly guy either. In fact, he was ruggedly attractive.

  Whereas Layton was polished and clean cut, Craig was rugged in every sense of the word. He could’ve been a lumberjack or a man on a cigarette ad back in the day. He looked like the kind of guy who fucked hard and laughed harder.

  Those autumn hazel eyes of his were the most devastating mix of brown, green and some flecks of blue. They had an unexpected depth to them, too.

  His face spoke of how easily he smiled, and his lips almost looked as though they were just waiting for an excuse to curl upward. And his muscles—I could see he worked at a job requiring manual labor.

  He was wearing jeans and a long sleeved Henley style shirt in Layton’s office today, with his sleeves pushed up over totally ripped forearms. The kind of forearms where you could see the ropes of muscle moving under his somehow tanned skin if he even thinks about moving his hands—which, incidentally, were huge. As were his feet, looking even bigger in heavy work boots.

  If Layton hadn’t been in my life, I could easily see myself attracted to Craig. With his shaggy brown curls framing his face, he was that guy who could be either your best friend or your best lay.

  Since I did have Layton in my life, I decided immediately that I was adopting Craig from Layton as my male best friend. Both of the men had a good laugh when I told them that earlier, but Craig slung his arm around my shoulders and with a wide grin, told me he agreed to become my newest, bestest friend. His words.

  In my opinion, Layton was by far the hottest, sexiest guy on planet earth. No one held a candle or even a wick against him, but Craig came in a close second. I was now the proud possessor of the sexiest boyfriend and the second hottest male best friend.

  I smiled about that as I drove home, even though I was still annoyed with Layton. He should have turned Banks down weeks ago. No one in their right mind would ask an architect to sign over credit to him. It just made no sense.

  Was the guy’s ego really that fragile? Or was it more of a god complex? Was that what he wanted people to think? That he was the creator of everything?

  It was pathetic. And undignified. And just plain ridiculous. It made my blood boil just to think about it. Especially considering how casually he’d brought it up, then threatened to drop the project if he didn’t get what he wanted.

  Layton spoke to the firm’s lawyers about the original contracts that had been signed between him and Banks prior to the start of the project. Apparently they told him that he could sue Banks for breach of contract, but the litigation was likely to be protracted and expensive.

  It seemed Banks had something of a reputation for frustrating the legal process and essentially litigating people into the ground. Whatever money they had left after he was done with his tricks was lost in the ensuing litigation.

  The lawyers told Layton that Banks would drag litigation on for as long as he could, and then in the end, would make some low ball settlement offer. His opponents were almost always desperate by that point and often had no choice but to accept the offer, regardless of how insulting it was.

  I told Layton he wouldn’t have to worry about that, but he maintained that he wasn’t planning on wasting years of his life in court. He reminded me he’d recently had a run in with the sleaziest lawyer of them all—my ex—as well as some frustrating dealings with the lawyer that represented his late father.

  He told me in no uncertain terms that he’d had enough of lawyers to last him a lifetime. So suing for breach of contract was off the table for now.

  Layton had a decision to make. It was either finish the building with his own money, or walk away from a great design. I didn’t know all that much about architecture, but I agreed with Craig that would be an award winning building.

  Slamming my hands down onto my steering wheel, I cursed Banks for putting Layton in this situation. But that didn’t resolve the issue. It only made the dark anger brewing in my stomach grow exponentially.

  Once I got home, I reigned in my anger and frustration. It was time to leave all that behind and focus on my daughter. She didn’t deserve to have my thundercloud hanging over her because of all that.

  “I’m home!” I called out when I walked into the entrance hall, pulling off my coat and hanging it on our wooden stand. “Where are you two?”

  “We’re in here.” Denise called from Annie’s bedroom. Down the hall, I found Annie standing on her bed like it was a pedestal. They’d moved the freestanding full length mirror in Annie’s room right in front of the bed.

  “Hi,” Denise said, when I walked in. “Annie’s trying on her dress for the party tomorrow night.”

  Annie called out, “Hi Mommy.”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the mirror though, spinning around in a slow circle with the baby pink material of the dress spread out away from her legs as she held it. “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful,” I almost whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “You look like a ballerina angel.”

  “What’s a ballerina angel?” Annie giggled, scrunching up her nose.

  I shrugged. “It’s the most beautiful angel of them all.”

  She laughed again and then went back to studying her reflection in the mirror. “Do you think I need other shoes?”

  On her feet were silver slippers with tiny pink bows at the back of her ankles. She held her left foot up to me so I could get a good look at it. “No, baby. I think those are gorgeous. They go perfectly with that dress.”

  “That’s what I think, too.” Denise agreed. “You’re perfect, darling. Absolutely perfect. I think you’re ready to party.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “But I also think you should get out of that dress for now, before it gets dirty.”

  Annie tended to get dirt on her even when she slept, or that was what it felt like sometimes. I wasn’t one of those neurotic moms who refused to let their child get near dirt, I thought it was good for them to get dirty sometimes in fact, but Annie took full advantage.

  Her shoulders slumped, but then she brightened up again. “I’ll get to wear it all night tomorrow, so that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, you will,” I told her. “All night, along with your shawl.”

  I picked up the matching shawl we picked out when we went to buy the dress over the weekend and handed it to her to hang up with the dress. Painstakingly, Annie took off the dress and promised she would hang it up while Denise and I went off to the kitchen to get started on dinner.

  “So,” she started. “What’s up with you? You’ve got that look again. What did Layton do this time?”

  I flipped her off, grinning. “He didn’t do anything.”

  But then I sighed and conceded. “He’s not making the right decision about something that’s really important.”

  Denise gave me a long look before going over to the fridge and pulling out a half bottle of wine. She got out two glasses, filled them and pushed one over to me. “Tell me all about it. What decision isn’t he making? Is it about you?”

  Her brow furrowed, but it smoothed out when I shook my head. “No, it’s work. He has this client we’re in the middle of building a building for. The design is genius and obviously, Layton is the architect who did it. The client is demanding Layton signs a non-disclosure agreement about him being the architect
and giving all architectural credit to the client.”

  Denise’s head snapped back. “What? Why? That’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s exactly what I said.” I told her, getting worked up all over again. “I told him to say no, but he hasn’t done it yet. He’s actually thinking about it.”

  “Why is he even considering it, though? Is it a big client? Like someone he can get a lot more work from or something?” I heard the same confusion I still felt over the whole thing in her tone. It made me feel vindicated.

  I shrugged in answer to her question. “I guess maybe he could get more work from the guy, but why would you want the work if he’s just going to keep taking the credit?”

  “Why is he thinking about it then? Why didn’t he just tell the guy to stick it where the sun don’t shine and carry on with his life?” I sighed, chewing my lower lip.

  “The client said if Layton doesn’t agree to his terms, he’s pulling out of the project and all the cost will be passed onto him,” I admitted, watching as Denise’s eyes grew round and wide.

  “Buildings are expensive,” she said finally after releasing a low whistle. “I can see why it’s a big deal for him.”

  “That’s the thing, though. He keeps pretending like it’s a not a big deal. The client is sending the paperwork to the party tomorrow night and Layton needs to make the call before then, but I don’t know what he’s going to do. He just inherited all his dad’s money, I don’t see why he’s so worried about having to take on the costs of the project.”

  She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes in thought. “No, I can see why he’s worried about it. If he keeps his name on this building, it’s a part of his legacy, but a legacy doesn’t mean much if you don’t have any money to live off of. You can’t eat a legacy or use it to pay your bills. It doesn’t mean much if you have a family.”

  Something clicked in my head at Denise’s words. I remembered how Layton had used the word ‘our’ when he talked about the future after the meeting. “You think he’s worried about this because of us?”