I can’t believe this is happening.

Who the fuck hired this guy? Adam Messet.

There’s a door where there should be an arched doorway and there's a window missing in the living room. I looked up at the empty apartment and felt the stress hit me. This place has to be done in three months and we still need to add the cabinets, moldings, furniture and everything else.  We have a strict deadline . . . where the fuck is the window!!!

I punched the lonely table in the middle of the empty loft.

Fuck!

I pulled up my sleeve and looked at the time. The construction manager is late, five minutes late! I let out a muffled yell.

Calm down, Cedric. It can always be fixed. You’ve dealt with worse.

I wasn't going to lie. This wasn’t the only reason I was so frustrated. I was still very sexually frustrated from what happened yesterday. I hadn’t even jerked off since I wanted to save all of myself for her. I want to fuck her with all that I have. I can wait until tomorrow, maybe.

I took a deep breath and pulled up my sleeves. I walked around the empty apartment measuring everything to make sure all the dimensions were correct. I was the only one on the construction site now since I told everyone to go home. I couldn't look anyone in the eye with all the rage that was built up inside of me.

Good, at least the measurements are correct. If I only have to worry about adding a doorway and a window to each level, I think I’ll be fine.

“Mr. Mount? I’m Erick Jane. You wanted to see me?” I heard a deep voice address me. I looked over my shoulder to see the construction manager. He was a short man with dark jet-black hair and a full mustache.

I looked down at my watch. “You’re thirteen minutes late. Come here,” the anger in my voice heated up the room.

He walked over to me as his work boots thudded on the floor. There was a blueprint under his arm, which he was holding tightly.

“Can you tell me what this is?” I pointed at the blueprint.

“A window?”

“Good,” I rolled up the blueprint and looked at the wall in front of me. “Now, do you see a window?”

Erik narrows his eyes on the wall, “No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because there is no window in my blueprint,” Erik said confidently as he rolled out his print.

I looked over to the blueprint he held and noticed it looked exactly like the apartment right now. I searched for the architect's name at the bottom of the print. The same guy had prepared both versions.

“What? What the fuck —,” I ripped the blueprint from Erick’s hand and headed toward the table. I laid the prints next to each other and pointed out the differences, “You see this, right?”

Erik nodded, “Which one is the correct one?”

“What the fuck . . .”

I looked at the information at the bottom to check the date, authorization, type of drawing, and everything else. But it was exactly the same.

“Did you ever see this version?” I looked over at Erik while pointing at my blueprint.

He shook his head, “The architect, Mr. Messet, gave me this one,” he pointed at the one he brought.

I looked over at Erik who was just as confused as I was, “Did you talk to the clients? Did they see the apartment? Did they like it?”

“Yeah!” Erik puffed, his mustache wiggled. “They said they loved the apartment!” His voice got higher.

“Then what the fuck is this!!!” I picked up my plan, the plan Walter had given me before I left Florida.

Is this for a different apartment? Is this just an old version?

I had a hundred questions on my mind but only one important one, “So the clients loved it?”

“Yeah!” Erik said while shrugging his shoulders.

“Hmmm, okay,” I scratched my scruff trying to figure out what I should do.

I need to find out which blueprint is the original one which means I have to go back to Florida for a few days since Walter won’t send me the originals. God forbid he trust the postal service. He has always been paranoid that someone was going to steal this idea. I shook my head from his unrealistic fear.

Wait.

Maybe I don’t have to go back to the office. I could just call him and he can tell me which one is the correct one.

“Erik, give me a second. I am going to call Mr. Tate”

I dialed Walter’s number at the firm. It rang for about a minute until the receptionist answered.

“Hello, this is Walter Tate’s line. How can I help you?” I heard Bryan answer.

“Hey, Bryan, can you send me over to Walter’s office? It’s urgent.”

“Sorry Cedric, but Walter’s out for this week and . . . next week? He’ll be back on the twelfth.”

“Why?” I asked slowly knowing that I was going to hate the answer.

“He is on vacation in the Bahamas . . . again.”

“Again —,” I scoffed. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I hung up on Bryan.  

I don't understand why Walter doesn't just retire already. He takes two vacations a month while I’m busy busting my ass.

“So, what does the big boss say?” I heard Erik ask nervously.

The empty loft was silent for a few minutes while I thought about what to do. I have to go back to Florida, but I might as well take my sweet ass time since Walter was doing the same. I looked down at the two different plans. There doesn't seem to be a rush since the clients love the new layout . . . or is it the original plan.

I skimmed over Erik’s plan. I hope I was lucky enough to find out that this plan is the original plan and mine was the dud.

“So, what are we doing boss?”

“How long would it take to add a window on each floor and to make that door into an archway?” I pointed a door behind him.

Erik shrugged his shoulders and bobbed his head thinking about the time. “Three maybe six weeks. Give or take.”

I arched my eyebrows, “That’s it?”

I pulled out my phone and looked at the calendar.

“You know what Erik. Why don’t you and your men take off the next two weeks. We’ll come back on the 19th and I’ll have the correct plans and figure out what we need to do. We have enough time.”

Erik looked at me with wide eyes, “Really?”

“Yeah, Mr. Tate isn’t in the office, so I’ll have to go back to Florida to find out which plan is the right one — so fuck it. Take a vacation.”

Erik’s eyes glowed with glee.

“Sorry for yelling at you. I was just furious.”

“No. No. No. You have nothing to apologize for; if I were you, I would have probably thrown a fucking sledgehammer at the wall to make a window.”

We both started laughing.

“Okay, so two weeks on the 19th,” Erik clarified as he walked away from me, heading toward the door.

I nodded.

I looked around the apartment, rolling up the plans until my phone buzzed.

It was a text from Brad.