by A. E. Via
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Edison droned.
“Sure hate you had to work late last night, man. You know Thursdays are poker night, why’d you have to pick that night to plan the budget? We missed those pigs in a blanket that you made the last time… with the sprinkles of gruda cheese in it.” Skylar energetically batted Edison’s shoulder with his hard forearm as they made their way towards the bank of elevators.
“Gouda cheese,” Edison mumbled. “And maybe the next time you guys ask me to make them, they’ll include an invite to poker night.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know how to play.” Skylar frowned. He pushed rudely past a man standing close to the doors, and jabbed at the already lit arrow.
“I don’t. But I’m a quick study. Poker is a game of skillful strategy. I like to think I have that quality.” Edison waved a couple of ladies past to enter the elevator before him, then stepped inside.
“Look, Edison. We don’t have time to teach classes. If you want to learn how to play the game of distinguished men then watch a YouTube video or something.” Skylar chuckled, smoothing his hand over the lapel of his suit.
Edison didn’t fidget when a few eyes turned towards him. This was a prime place for Skylar to dig at him. “Fine. Forget it.” He hated that those poker nights were coveted and any and everyone wanted to be invited. It was said that even some of the senior partners had gone to a few. But not just from their firm—it was also top executives from some of the other offices in the building as well. It seemed obvious that someone in Edison’s position would get asked for sure, but it never happened. However, Skylar didn’t mind asking him to provide homemade food for it.
“Well you could always come and watch, I guess. As long as you bring some good hors d’oeuvres. No dips or crudités or any of that other tasteless shit.” Skylar popped him playfully in the stomach—at least Edison believed that Skylar thought it was playful—then amended his invitation. “Matter of fact, I’ll let you know.”
Skylar got off at the third floor. Edison threw a hand up in question, then checked his watch.
“Just gonna say a quick good morning to this little hottie in the accounting firm down here. Start her day off right for her, ya know what I mean?” Skylar winked like a jerk just as the doors closed.
The woman beside him scoffed in disgust but any comments that may have been on her tongue she kept to herself, and so did Edison. Letting Skylar get into his head was stupid. He had a long day ahead and tons to get done if he wanted to be home by six tonight. The thought of an evening of Netflix and the beef shanks he’d put in the crockpot this morning would be his catalyst to propel him through the eight hours.
He made his way to his office to unload his bag and then to the break room for breakfast with little obstruction. His boss, Presley wasn’t coming in until late so he wouldn’t be fielding her requests all morning. She had a creditor’s meeting at nine forty-five, and then she was preparing to take off with one of her male friends to a bed and breakfast in Williamsburg for the weekend. Even an important woman like Presley Alfred found time to carve a piece of pleasure out of her hectic life. Sure, there was probably something she could’ve been working on in the office, but she choose to interject a bit of joy… and action into her body.
Edison didn’t want to think about action or the lack thereof in his life. Work was a good distraction from sex, and so was reading. The minute he sat and spread his food in front him, he pulled up his Kindle app on his phone and opened his latest download by Robert Galbraith. He’d been waiting none-too-patiently for the next installment in his Cormoran Strike series and thought now would be a good time to get a couple of chapters read. He’d eaten his breakfast sandwich and was slurping down his little container of orange juice with his head buried in his phone screen when one of the legal secretaries jolted him with her screechy voice.
“Morning Edison,” Jessica said as she bounced over to the coffee center and grabbed her own mug that had Secretary, Because Badass Isn’t an Official Title wrapped around it. “Were you able to approve that leave time for me? I really wanna go with Derrick to the Labor Day classic concert in Miami,” she whined.
Edison made sure there were no crumbs around his mouth or on his suit, and tossed his trash. Why did some of the partners keep hiring slackers like this? He sighed internally and pocketed his phone into his inside breast pocket. So much for a few minutes of reading. “No, Jess, I’m sorry. I can’t. Not again. You just came back from vacation a month ago. That’s too soon. Did you happen to look at Mr. Shaw’s schedule before you requested this time off? He has two hearings and seven creditors’ meetings that week. How’s he supposed to get prepared for that with his secretary gone?”
“Can’t someone cover for me like last time? I’m sure Roberta wouldn’t mind.” Jessica stirred a packet of Splenda into her black coffee. Despite the obvious hangover signs from last night’s happy hour excursion, Jessica was a pretty girl who liked to use her looks to manipulate some of the staff. But Edison was immune. He didn’t like the games she played. She sat in the seat beside him and leaned over to grip his hands. Her cleavage popped up in her low V-neck blouse, and she smiled when Edison’s eyes accidentally dropped in that direction. God, he didn’t want to have another talk with her about appropriate office attire. “I’d be so very grateful,” she purred.
Edison untangled his hands and went for the door. “Sorry. I’ve already denied the request and sent it to human resources.” He wasn’t as far away as she thought when he heard her hiss, “Ugh. Annoying little fat-ass. That’s why we all hate you.”
Edison almost tripped over his feet. He paused just before he got to the receptionist desk, not wanting to walk past the lobby when he knew his face was probably ten shades of red. He wanted to turn around and go scream in Jessica’s face that she was terminated. Clean out your desk! Go directly home. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars! But he couldn’t fire the witch because she didn’t like him and called him mean names. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Straightening his spine and walking tall like his pop had always taught him, he went to his office and closed his door to begin his day.
Chapter Seven
Bishop
Bishop was staring at the silly shit on the back of the Frosted Flakes box when he heard Mike come out of his bedroom. He was already dressed for work as he dragged his feet down the hall the same as Bishop had done fifteen minutes ago.
“Morning,” Mike mumbled. He reached into the cabinet and grabbed another salad bowl and a spoon they’d both nicknamed a shovel, then dropped into one of the chairs at the small four-top dinette table in their eat-in kitchen. After his dad had poured the last quarter of the box into his bowl, he immediately flooded it with milk and dug in. His mouth was full when he said, “You came in earlier than expected.”
Bishop kept his eyes on his own bowl.
“How was it?”
“Over,” Bishop answered.
“I’m sorry, son.”
Bishop scoffed. “Right.”
“I am. You were back an hour later which means he insulted you and you left.” Mike heaved another heaping spoon in his mouth. “That’s the last thing I wanted.”
“Let’s just go to work. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Royce has moved on with his life and so have I. He’s doing his thing. Doing really good, actually, so…”
“Yeah. So.” Mike nodded as if Bishop had said something profound. “You do your own thing too. Best way to get back at someone for doubting you is to prove them wrong.”
Great. Pearls of wisdom from someone who was only fifteen years his senior. Bishop put his bowl into the sink and grabbed the milk off the table to return to the refrigerator.
“Hey! Wash that,” Mike barked when Bishop left his dishes.
Knowing he had to respect the rules, he turned and cleaned up his mess without attitude then went to his room to grab his
gear. He also had some new designs to show Manny at lunch. He decided to focus on his job instead of the crushing defeat he’d felt last night. Royce was a college student now, complete with the hipster study group. He’d shown his true nature, and Bishop would’ve seen it earlier had he not gone to prison two months after Royce had discovered his secret. Because even then, Royce obviously had had zero tolerance for the illiterate.
“So, you wanna watch Deadliest Catch tonight? I just found it. That show’s addicting, man,” Mike asked on their way through door.
It was too damn early to think about what he was doing tonight. But whatever it was he was sure he’d be home. “Yeah. I’ll check it out with you.”
After they hitched the equipment trailer onto the back of the F150, Mike eased out of their narrow driveway and headed towards Trent’s place ten minutes away. His dad had a huge grin on his face that rivaled the morning sun.
“What are you cheesing about over there?” Bishop asked, flipping through the pages in his sketch pad.
“Just looking forward to a little quality time with my son this evening.” Mike beamed.
Bishop’s chuckle left his lips before he could stop it.
“Aren’t you?” Mike asked.
Bishop cleared his throat. “Um, yeah.”
“Come on B. I know this is different but we’re not strangers. I’ve had you my whole life. I never left you.”
“I never said you did.”
“I was just a shit dad.”
“No.” Bishop squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I know you did what you could. You were a teenager, Mike. I get it.”
His dad shook his head. Maybe because he’d slipped and called him Mike again, but Bishop didn’t like the expression he saw. His father was trying so hard and Bishop really was trying to meet him halfway. “So, what’s so great about that crabbing show? You do know fishing and crabbing are two different things?”
Mike straightened in his seat as if he’d gotten a great idea. “Maybe we can do both. Manny has a crab basket. Him and his boys go all the time. I’ll borrow that too when I get his poles.”
“I have a feeling we’re going to look crazy out there. Neither one of us know how to fish.”
“It’s about time we change that,” Mike said.
“I like bowling.” Bishop shrugged. “I used to be good at it.”
He didn’t think Mike’s smile could get any larger. “Oh yeah! I didn’t know that. Well we’ll try that too. Maybe you can teach me.”
Bishop stared out of the window because he was unsure what he looked like with a smile on his face.
The moment Trent jumped in the back seat he started in. “How late did you get in last night? Was it all you imagined it would be?”
Bishop took a breath, feeling his body start to heat with anger. He didn’t want to ever think about last night again.
“Shut up, Trent. That’s his business. No one asked if Sicilia made you sleep on the couch again last night, which I’m sure she did.”
“But that’s okay. I deserved that couch after not coming home the night before. I’ll take that. But what I wanna know is—”
“Drop it. Now,” Mike ordered
Trent promptly shut his mouth at Mike’s tone. It was just as intimidating and commanding as his own. Bishop wasn’t the type to let another man come to his defense, but he didn’t mind his father sticking up for him. And heaven knows he didn’t want to go into how Royce’s tongue was so sharp and vicious that he’d had Bishop feeling worthless within minutes. He’d stayed up most of the night—again—trying to clear those hurtful words from his mind.
“Bishop, these are amazing,” Manny gushed over his latest two sketches. “I can’t believe you can see this all in your mind. It’s crazy. Hey, Mike come over here! Check these out.”
They were sitting at a picnic table in the park across from the property they’d just finished in Virginia Beach. It was a shaded area, and the breeze from the small body of water behind them felt nice on his damp skin. Bishop was grateful that he had his proper work gear on today and the sun wasn’t beating directly on his skin. Long sleeves and hats were a must in landscaping. His dad came over with his Calz Classic sub and Big Gulp and sat beside Manny, across from him and Trent.
“What you got there?” Mike leaned over, frowning at Bishop’s twenty-inch, graphing sketch pad.
“I think we have the new design for that three-story lake house. Look at this, man. Check out the curves on the inner and outer beds.”
“Right. Shit. It’s like they’re moving in opposite directions.”
“The flower arrangement makes it look like that.” Bishop said.
Manny inched closer to study some bright yellow flowers Bishop had added around their new client’s small koi pond on the side of his flower bed. “Are those…”
“They’re snapdragons.” Bishop already knew what he was referring to.
Manny smiled. “Bishop, this is incredible. I’d like to let Joe work this up in the software and show it to the customer. I know he’d go for either one of these.”
Mike had stopped eating his sandwich. His eyes were holding Bishop’s for longer than he was comfortable with, but he didn’t look away. “I’m proud of you.”
He fought not to fidget or squirm as all eyes landed on him, including a few guys from the crew who’d walked over to see what the noise was about.
“Thanks,” Bishop muttered then pulled the pad away. He tore out the new drawing and gave it to Manny. His oldest son Joe was a graphic artist for the local paper and was a whiz on just about any kind of design software. So when his dad or Manny wanted to use one of his designs, they’d have Joe make it professional-looking.
“I’ll have Joe get right on it.”
Raphael came closer to Bishop’s side of the table, glaring down at his papers. “Yeah. Sure as hell can’t show the client a fucking crayon drawing.”
Trent jumped up so fast Bishop barely had a chance to hook his arm before he was able to leap over his seat. “Jesus. Sit down, Trent. I don’t give a fuck about him.” His friend couldn’t just pop someone in the mouth for being disrespectful… not anymore.
“Whatever.” Raphael walked off as Trent stared angrily at his back.
“What’s his goddamn problem, Mike?” Trent hissed.
“Besides the fact that Bishop took his position after only working here for four months?” Steve answered. Steve was one of the guys Bishop kept on the riding mowers because he couldn’t edge for shit and he was the slowest weed whacker he’d ever seen. But he was a good guy and always showed up on time and ready to work.
“Bishop didn’t take anything,” Manny snarled. “I was never gonna promote Raph. He’s too damn lazy. I would’ve given you the job, Steve, before I asked him.”
“Oh no. I agree with you guys.” Steve put his hands up. “I’m happy as hell with the new changes. Bishop has mad skills. We weren’t doing yards like this before he joined us. People are taking pictures of them and shit. And you know I’m about my money, so as long as y’all are getting the good contracts with this dude’s drawings, then I say buy him another fucking pack of Crayola.”
The guys all laughed, as a few others got in some good-natured jokes about Bishop’s drawings, mixed with praise about how thorough they were, and if they’d be able to pull off some of the more intricate details of the landscape.
“It’s not gonna be a problem. We got this.” Mike still grinned proudly.
Steve was still laughing when he added, “Yeah, your brother can draw his ass off, Mike.”
Manny and Trent laughed even harder.
“That’s not my brother, dipshit, that’s my son,” Mike growled.
It only caused more laughter as Steve and a couple of the newer guys kept moving their eyes back and forth between him and Mike. Some of them even shaking their heads as if they didn’t believe it, as if perhaps they were playing a joke on them.
Mike waved them off. “You guys are assholes and you’r
e about to start licking my son’s boots because I just got an email that we won the bid on the Town Center Office Suites building.”
There was a small pause before the guys let out loud whoops. Bishop stared straight ahead, not quite wanting to believe it himself. He knew it was the largest job his dad and Manny had ever bid on. And their decision to take that chance was because of Bishop. They’d used one of his sketches for the four-story building’s vast courtyard and parking lot.
“You’re not shitting me, are you?” Manny yelled.
Mike shook his head. “We start Monday.”
“What about the two Wawas on Military Highway that we do on that day?” Trent asked. “We can’t fit that in too.”
“I’ll rework the scheduling. Hell, we may even have to hire a few more guys,” Mike said. “Business is booming!”
“Okay, since we’re done for the day, let’s start up at six next week because we’re gonna need to do some surveying first,” Manny noted. “There’s been no work on that property for months. You know the city of Virginia Beach won’t tolerate an eyesore in the middle of their precious Town Center. All eyes are gonna be on our work, fellas.”
“I’ll go by and look at it this afternoon,” Bishop volunteered.
This was a huge job for them, one that could set his dad’s business above a lot of the other landscaping companies in Hampton Roads. He’d seen the Town Center Office building a few times when they’d gone to take pictures for him to draft ideas for the bid, but he hadn’t laid eyes on it since. It was a large piece of untapped property that the owners had let go for far too long—they were probably more concerned with the expensive decorations on the inside than the grass and dirt on the outside. He’d ignore the occupants of the building like he always did, just as they did him, and put his attention into what he considered to be his craft.