Chapter Three

LIAM DIDN’T want to go to work the next morning. For the past decade he’d been hungry to be at the office, showing up before anyone else and usually staying until only a skeleton crew remained. The firm’s work space was designed to inspire the architects who spent time in it, and it was open, bright and airy, modern and sophisticated, and Liam had a place there. A place of honor. He’d worked hard, he’d been rewarded, and he belonged.

But now?

Maybe it was partly because of running into Ben. So many unresolved issues—but, no, they’d been resolved. Ben had dumped him. Liam had deserved it. There was nothing unresolved about that, other than Liam’s recurrent suspicion that he’d messed up the best relationship he was ever likely to have. But all that had been years ago.

No, he was upset about his job, now. His career.

He knew he was being melodramatic. He was healthy, he hadn’t been caught embezzling or anything; he was fine. He just hadn’t been chosen for a project. There were any number of reasons why that might have happened, and very few of them were anything to worry about. Liam would sit down with Tristan, get an explanation, and move on. Hell, maybe it was actually a good thing. Maybe there was an even bigger project, more prestigious, more challenging, right around the corner, and Tristan had wanted to make sure Liam was free to take it on.

But even that optimistic possibility wasn’t enough to put a bounce in his step as he approached the front doors of the office. He forced himself to smile, though—he’d be damned if he’d let them see him looking discouraged—and jogged up the stairs from the street. Purposeful, focused—that was the image he wanted to project.

And the first person he saw was Allison Sutcliffe, the bitch—no, don’t use that word, you’re not a caveman—the asshole who’d stolen the project from him. Her smile was bright and seemed totally genuine.

“Liam! Good to see you. I’m really looking forward to working together. I set a meeting for the team at ten this morning, but I’d like it if you and I could get together before that to—” She stopped, clearly reacting to the expression on his face. “Oh, shit. Tristan hasn’t talked to you yet. I thought he was going to—” She stopped again, and now her smile seemed more forced. “Sorry. I jumped the gun. Never mind.”

“Tristan wants us to work together?” Liam asked. It made sense, except that Allison had been announced as the project lead. Which would make Liam her fucking assistant? Hell, no, that was asking too much. “I’d better give him a call.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry, you should hear it from him, obviously.”

Obviously. Because it was bad news. Essentially a demotion. What the hell was going on? What had Liam done to deserve this?

“Oh, here he is,” Allison said, her gaze focused behind Liam, toward the front doors. “Wow, I didn’t know he was even capable of being conscious this early.”

The last was said in a lower voice, an almost conspiratorial whisper. It was the kind of comment that would have been totally appropriate, totally expected between them prior to the announcement, but now? The familiarity, the implication that they were somehow still on the same team? It made the muscles of Liam’s shoulders clench.

Liam shifted so he was looking at Tristan, and the older man glanced from one face to the other before he said, “I see I’m a bit late. Sorry, Liam, I was going to speak to you yesterday but you didn’t come back to the office. I thought I’d be able to catch you this morning.”

“Timing aside,” Liam said, “what’s going on?”

And one good thing about Tristan was that he didn’t mince words. “I want you to work on the project with Allison. She could use someone with your experience.”

Use someone. Liam was just there to be used. He was a tool in the workbox of the true artist. It was unthinkable, unbearable. “Oh. Actually—I was planning to speak to you today as well. About something different.” Hold it together, save face, don’t crack. “Obviously I want to be a team player. I remember the first time I was lead on a project—it was when you were”—going through that messy divorce, and I stepped in and saved your reputation, do you remember that?—“preoccupied elsewhere, and I definitely had to scramble a bit. It was a challenge.” He found himself relaxing a little. There was something kind of liberating about this feeling, like he was disconnected from his career, his emotions—his reality. But still able to get some jabs in. “I learned a lot, though, Allison. I think it would be really valuable for you to have that kind of experience, that sink-or-swim opportunity, if you’re up for it. As I said, I’m a team player. If you need the help, I’ll certainly put my own ideas aside. But for your own sake—oh. Unless Tristan—”

He turned to look at the older man. “Sorry. Possibly this is why you wanted to have the conversation in private. But—if you’re not sure Allison’s up to it? If you have some doubts?” Then you shouldn’t have put her in charge of the project when you’ve got someone totally competent standing right beside you! “Well. Sure, yeah. If help is needed, I can help. The most important thing is the project, obviously. We can’t betray a client’s faith in us just to manufacture an employee growth opportunity.” He smiled benignly.

“I don’t think I need the help,” Allison said. Her voice was icy now. Good. No more fake friendship, no more casual jokes. “Tristan was trying to find a way to keep you busy, I think.”

“Let’s not do this,” Tristan said firmly. “Liam, you said you had ideas of your own. Anything you’re ready to bring to the table?”

And the calm, floating sensation disappeared completely. He’d done a good job of bringing business to the firm in the past, and he was sure he’d bring more in the future, but right then he had nothing more than a few vague hints and jovial, empty expressions of interest. Shit, shit, shit. “Actually,” he heard himself say, “I was looking at a few personal projects. You know how it is, the collection of smaller jobs that people want you to take on, the things that just get shoved aside and piled up?” The projects he reliably and repeatedly refused to adopt because he didn’t want to get bogged down in petty, trivial designs. “I was thinking about taking some time to work through that backlog. A sabbatical, maybe we could call it?”

Tristan’s expression was unreadable. “Come into my office,” he said. Sure, the humiliation with Allison could be played out in a public space, but now that Liam was trying to reclaim some power—even if he was doing it with totally imaginary projects—they needed to be in private.

But Tristan was the boss, so Liam trailed after him around the reception desk and into the glass-walled space that was the only private office in the whole firm. Tristan shrugged out of his light coat and tossed it casually on the back of the leather sofa, then perched on the stool by his drafting table. He wasn’t in the big leather chair behind his desk, so this was supposed to be a casual chat, not a major meeting.

Liam, of course, was left with the sofa, which put him at least a foot lower than Tristan. Supplicant and benefactor. Lovely.

Tristan looked down and smiled gently at Liam. “Do you want to know why I didn’t choose you to lead the Taybec Briggs project?”

And suddenly Liam didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to discuss Tristan’s view of his failings, didn’t want to be analyzed and poked apart. But that wasn’t the proper answer, of course. “If there’s something you think I should know,” he said, “I guess I should hear it.”

Tristan was quiet for a moment, then said, “What’s your passion, Liam?”

What a peculiar question. “I want to create practical art,” he started, but Tristan waved a hand impatiently.

“Not a regurgitation of the firm’s promotional materials. I want to know your passion. What excites you? What do you need in your life?”

Liam stared at him. What was Tristan looking for? Not practical art, apparently, but—

“Let’s try it another way,” Tristan said. “What excited you about the Taybec Briggs project?”

“My proposal didn’t make that clear?” Liam fought through the muddle of his mind. “We were going to create a unique streetscape that would seamlessly combine—”

“No! What excited you? What images made you feverish, made you passionate, made you obsessed with the need to create? What drove you to put all the hours you did into the proposal you created? A proposal which, I must say, showed the professionalism and aesthetic sensitivity of all your work. But what’s your passion?” And he thumped his chest in vaguely the area of his heart.

“My passion.” Liam took a deep breath. “Why are we having this conversation, Tristan? You know me. For years, I’ve done good work for you. I’ve brought in three times more business than any other associate has, and I’ve produced the designs the clients want. I could go to any firm in this city, with my portfolio, my client recommendations, and have a job in a second. I could start my own damn firm and have more work than I could handle. I’m not bragging about this—you know it’s just the truth. I could do all of that, but I’ve stayed here, with you.”

“You’ve produced the designs the clients want,” Tristan said. He didn’t sound like he was arguing, but his eyes were fierce when he said, “What about the designs you want? The ones you dream about?”

“My…. I’m not the client. If I had hundreds of millions of dollars to spend on major projects, I could build the designs I want. But I don’t, so I do what they want.”

“I agree. But sometimes, for a firm to stay strong, for it to thrive and lead and excel, we have to change the clients’ minds about what they want. We have to show them something better than what they want, something more exciting, more daring. And that’s what I saw from Allison’s proposal for this project. And looking at her work made me realize I’ve never seen that from you.”

Liam felt numb. “My designs are—”

“Professional. Polished. You bring jobs in on schedule and on budget, and I know that’s a rare thing. But where’s your passion? Your vision?”

“And you think Allison can do the rest of it? You think this job is just about vision? Jesus, Tristan, are you forgetting how much business I bring into this firm? The networking, the PR, the rainmaking, the glowing testimonials and repeat business from clients who appreciate me paying attention to the business side of things. You think Allison can do all of that?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I thought you could work with her, to help her learn that side of things. And, Liam, this is one project. I’m not firing you. I know what you bring to the firm, and I value it. You know I do.”

“But I don’t have vision or passion,” Liam said dully. “You value me for my business sense, not as an architect.”

“You’re a solid architect. An excellent architect. But—”

Liam stood up. Whatever else was happening, whatever was beyond his control, at least he wouldn’t sit there like a damn schoolboy being lectured from on high. And being vertical allowed him to pace.

“Without me you’ll be laying off half your staff,” he managed. Did Tristan not see this?

“I’m not firing you,” Tristan repeated. Then he sighed. “I’m sixty-eight years old, you know. I’m still healthy and I have no plans to retire—I still love this firm far too much. I still feel passion for architecture, and for the work we do. But I’m at the stage of my life when I’m starting to look at my legacy. I want to see what I’m leaving behind. And I want to leave exciting, cutting-edge projects behind. Projects that pushed boundaries. I’ve made enough money. It’s time for me to start making art.”

Art.

There were other arguments Liam could make, but it was all suddenly too much. This old bastard and his delusions of grandeur, Liam’s own powerlessness, the thought of Allison lurking in the office outside, waiting to see what the meeting was about—waiting to gloat? Liam pushed to his feet. “And you don’t think I can do that. I’m done, then. I’m gone.”

“For the sabbatical you mentioned. A break, a chance to refresh yourself.”

“A chance to look for work elsewhere, at a firm where they appreciate my contributions.”

This was really happening. His worst imaginings were coming true. There was no bigger, better project that Tristan had been holding in reserve, no misunderstanding or simple remedy or—nothing. There was no solution other than a quick escape. “I’ll clear out my station. I assume you’ll be contacting my existing clients, but they all have my cell number, and I imagine they’ll follow up with me.”

“This is unnecessary. You still have a place here. And I still look forward to seeing your proposal for our next project. As you said, our clients have always been more than pleased with your work.”

“But not you,” Liam said. He immediately wished he could take the words back because they just seemed like they were reopening a discussion that he absolutely, positively wanted to keep closed. He started for the door. “I quit. I hope you and Allison are very happy together.”

Tristan let him have the last word, or maybe was just too slow to say anything before Liam was out of range.

He was hyperaware of Allison staring at him as he jerked open the drawers of his desk. There wasn’t much that wasn’t company property, and he didn’t have any boxes or bags, and he’d be damned if he’d take the time to find any. His diplomas and commendations were on the wall, but they were properly anchored and would be tricky to get down. Jesus, why couldn’t anything be easy?

He straightened and turned toward Allison’s work station. “Tell Tristan to have my stuff packed up,” he ordered. “I’ll send a courier for it tomorrow.”

“Liam—” she started, but he was not going to have a conversation with her. Not about this or about anything else.

He strode toward the door, brushed past a couple draftspeople as they entered the building without offering them any greetings, and then he was out on the street, almost gasping for air.

He’d just quit his job. He’d quit. Because—because Tristan had lost his mind, that was why. The whole thing was—it was incomprehensible. Absurd.

His cheeks felt strangely cool, and he reached up and found them wet. He was crying. Again. Walking down the sidewalk of New York City, crying like a stupid baby.

There was something seriously wrong with him. And he had no idea how to fix whatever it was.