Chapter One
Kenzie
I’m late, again.
For normal people, this would happen once in a while, or in the case of an emergency, but to me, this was the story of my life. No matter how hard I tried, or how early I woke up, I was always late.
I didn't even know why exactly. Maybe it was just in my DNA to be late. The universe made a decision, and it made sure that I stuck to it. I was late to my own prom, and my high school graduation video is not something for the faint of heart to watch. Furthermore, crossing roads, whether on foot or in my car, was a nightmare. Walking and driving were a pain for me because I swear that my car, my white, conspicuous little Audi was a magnet for all the idiots on the road. I’d be doing sixty, and all of a sudden, a car, any car for that matter would just swerve into my lane and drive at a whopping ten miles an hour.
I kid you not.
Every.
Single.
Time.
I had never questioned it so much before, as it didn't bother me as much when I was younger. I used to be a lot more relaxed than I was now. The reason for that was simple. I had places to be and people to see, and tardiness was frowned upon in the professional world. Especially when there were clients involved.
I worked for Astral Designs, an interior decorating company in Miami, and I was one of their master decorators. I’ve been doing it for almost seven years now, but in actual fact, I’ve been decorating and designing for as long as I could draw. I was the only creative artist in my family of academics and they didn't always know how to handle me, but I survived, with most of my sanity intact, and theirs.
Driving to the airport was a nightmare, especially this time of the day. No-one knew what the hell they were doing, and this was causing a bit of frustration on my part. I couldn't be late again, but tell that to the people around me, stuck in rush hour traffic.
I tapped my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, hoping that it would make me relax, but it only added to my agitation. I switched on the radio and inserted my favorite mix CD.
Music was a big part of my life. It helped me through a lot of teenage crap, that now seemed so stupid. It was my muse when I drew, and it just calmed me down, like it was now. Regardless of the fact that my plane leaves in half an hour, I was super relaxed in my car.
The song was interrupted by my phone, which was hooked up to the radio for a hands-free experience, and I absentmindedly pressed the button on my steering wheel with my thumb.
“Kenzie Morris.”
“Are you on your way?”
A question I heard so often, especially from my best friend, Sophia. She didn't bother to say hello, or ask how I was doing. She just asked if I was late again. Of course, it was a valid question, and one I obviously knew how to answer, even though she didn't really believe me.
“Of course I’m on my way,” I answered as I rolled my eyes, so happy she couldn’t see me.
“Are you really?”
“Yes, Sophia.”
“Good, because I just checked online and your flight is delayed.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, so you’ll actually be one time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, great.”
“How long are you going to be away for?”
“Just a week, hopefully.”
“Did you pack everything?”
“You sound like my mother, Soph.”
“I’m your best friend. I’m supposed to sound like your mother.”
“True.”
“So where exactly are you?”
“About fifteen minutes away, but there are about five hundred cars in front of me.”
“Exaggeration?”
“Probably, but it feels like much more.”
“You went from work, didn't you?”
“I had to pick up my sketches.”
“No wonder you’re stuck.”
She had the ability to point out the obvious to me, whether I wanted to hear it or not, and I rolled my eyes again. I rolled down my window for a bit of fresh air and glanced out in front of me with a sigh. This was going to be a long wait.
“Yeah, I know,” I said eventually.
“Anyway, have a safe flight.”
“Thanks, I will call you when I check into the hotel.”
“Have fun.”
The call ended and I frowned to myself. Sophia prompting me to have fun was unexpected, but also not strange at all.
Sophia and I had been friends for as long as I could remember, and even longer than that. Our parents went to the same school, as did we, and when we met, something just clicked in our minds. It was like our souls said, “Boom, there you are. You’re my soulmate,” and it was true. We understood each other without saying a word. At one stage we completed each other’s sentences, which both the teachers and the other kids in class found extremely irritating.
We were both equally free-spirited and fun, and we loved to laugh. We had the same sense of humor, the same common interests, and we both loved the same kind of lifestyle, hence why we live at the beach.
Sophia taught me to surf right before my tenth birthday, and I taught her to play the guitar, but we taught each other that no matter what, we would always remain friends. We were separated for a few years when she went to university to pursue her passion but ended up being a musician. She had an incredible voice and had massive talent. It was too bad that she ended up hanging up her microphone and became a sound engineer for a record company here in Miami. At least she is doing what she loves. How many twenty-eight-year-olds can say that these days?
I eventually reached the airport – thirty minutes later – and I ran as fast as I could to my terminal. I was surprised to see only a hand-full of people sitting in the waiting area. I walked up to the reception desk, dragging my small suitcase behind me.
“Excuse me?” I asked the young woman behind the desk.
“May I help you, Ma’am?
“Miss Morris.”
“My apologies.”
“My flight to Boston was supposed to take off in twenty minutes.”
The woman glanced up at me and held her hand out. “May I see your ticket?”
“Of course.”
I handed my ticket over to her and she typed vigorously on the keyboard in front of her. “Your flight has been delayed, Miss Morris.”
“Do you know for how long?” I asked.
“The plane is experiencing technical difficulty, so, unfortunately, we do not have a time frame available as yet.”
“I really need to get to Boston tonight. I have a presentation with an important client and if I miss it, I could lose my job,” I answered.
“I’m sorry, Miss. The only other thing that we can do is to book you on another flight to Atlanta, and there’s a connecting flight to Boston.”
“If I did that, would I be there before tomorrow morning?”
“Estimated time of arrival would be twelve forty-five.”
I exhaled slightly and shrugged my shoulders. “Let’s do it.”
“Right, I will get that all organized for you. Would you mind taking a seat?”
“No, of course not. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I dragged my suitcase back to the waiting area and I sat down on the chair facing the window. The plane that was supposed to take me straight to Boston stood on the side of the runway and there were three mechanics working on it. I tilted my head as I wondered why three of them? Was the plane in such bad shape that they needed more than one mechanic? I watched as they worked for a few minutes until the woman at the desk called my name. She handed me two replacement tickets and said with an apologetic smile. “There are your tickets. Please proceed to the next terminal, as your flight is currently boarding.”
“Thank you,” I smiled.
I turned away from her and headed down in the direction she motioned me in. I glanced down at the tickets and noticed that it was economy class. It didn't bother me at all, at least I wasn’t going to miss my meeting in the morning. I smirked at myself as I realized that if that were the case, it wouldn't be my fault. I chuckled in amusement and shook my head. As I entered the next terminal, a loud, and very angry voice filled the waiting area. I glanced at the reception desk and saw a man dressed in an expensive suit standing at the desk, bellowing his lungs out.
He seemed really upset and wasn't even giving the young woman behind the desk a chance to talk or explain what was going on. I felt for her, as I had been on the receiving end of a ranting customer more than once. The woman seemed to handle him better than I thought she would. She kept her cool and waited for him to finish his rant, which seemed to last longer than usual. I glanced at the clock on the wall above the counter and frowned. He better finish his rant soon, or none of us will be on that flight.
Wyatt
This was ridiculous! I had spent more than two hours waiting for a seat on a plane and now they told me that there were no first class seats!
“That is unacceptable,” I grumbled.
“I am sorry, Mr. Pearce, but the only seat available is in the economy class. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait until morning.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
“Shall I book you on the next flight, in economy class?”
“Surely you can make a plan.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but there-”
“Do you even know who I am?”
“I understand that you are frustrated, sir, but the plane is already boarding and there are a few other passengers that need to be rebooked,” she said politely and motioned behind me. “Shall I book you on this flight?”
I sighed and my jaw clenched. “I probably have no other choice, do I?” I grumbled.
“Is that a yes, sir?”
“Yes,” I grumbled and watched her as she issued my new ticket.
“There you are, sir. One ticket to Atlanta, Georgia, economy class.”
I pulled my face at her, clearly dissatisfied and took the ticket from her.
This was not the way I had envisioned my day would go. First off, people might perceive me as a terribly impatient and rude man, which I probably was, but I had good reason to be. My business partner, who just so happens to be my younger brother, Calvin, insisted that I not use the private jet, as he was using it. For what you ask? He was flying a girl who he had known for merely a week, to Paris. Talk about desperate for some action. The woman was only after his money, because he didn't really have the body or the charm that normal people had, and whether he was a good lay, I didn't know. Or at least I didn't want to know. Ever.
So here I was, roughing it at the airport, albeit booked in first class on a flight that was supposed to have left three hours ago, upon Calvin’s insistence. He assured me that everything had been planned out meticulously, as he knew what I was like, but as always, those plans of his didn't have much ground to stand on.
They never did.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s my brother. He’s just not as focused on the finer details like I was. In fact, no-one was as focused on those details, or at least no-one I knew.
My childhood therapist (yes, I had one of those) told my parents I was obsessive compulsive. Everything had to be perfectly in place, or it would drive me crazy. I would never drink from a glass that someone else drank from, or even touched, and my closet was color-coordinated, arranged according to brands.
That made most of the women I dated, of which there were very few, run for the hills. They figure I was too high-maintenance for them.
Some might say those are borderline crazy, but that was my life. Precise, planned and controlled.
If that meant others saw me as obsessive compulsive, then so be it. I was comfortable with my lifestyle and that was all that mattered.
I read in a health journal that majority of OCD cases were, in fact, male and that those males were all firstborns, which was exactly what I was.
Look, I didn't like to place myself in a category, but that was who I was, and I accepted it. It didn't bother me that people thought I was difficult, or strange. Sometimes I could really be an absolute asshole, but if things didn't go my way, I would become an even bigger asshole. Somehow people did not understand that. They simply thought I was a pain in the ass, complaining about everything, but if things weren't according to my exact specifications, it caused me discomfort, and discomfort led to even more discomfort, which in turn could mean the end of mankind as we know it.
Not an exaggeration, by the way.
Sometimes I feel sorry for my mother, having had to deal with me being this way, but she handled it quite well. My father, on the other hand, tried to beat it out of me, but clearly, it only made it worse.
A major fail on his part.
I left the desk and glanced back at the line of impatient people, and most of them glanced at me with angry expressions on their faces, as if I was the one who caused the mechanical failure on the plane we were supposed to be on in the first place.
Mechanical problems were simply their way of saying that they had no idea what was going on, I thought to myself as I walked to the boarding gate, wheeling my carry-on behind me.
“Enjoy your flight, Mr. Pearce,” she said with a friendly and polite smile.
“That is certainly overreaching, but thank you,” I said in return, which made her smile vanish into thin air. I didn't even wait for a reaction and made my way through the tunnel to the inside of the plane.
At the risk of sounding like a complete snob/asshole, whichever you prefer, the seats were small and too close together for my liking, and had I had a choice, I would get out of there as fast as I could, but I had urgent business to attend to in Atlanta, and I had to get there as fast as I could. Somehow our legal department overlooked a small detail in one of our employees' contracts and now that said employee was making waves for the department. That was where I came in. I handled most of the administrative and “people” problems in the company, although many think that I have absolutely zero people skills. I had to admit, I was very frank, sometimes tactlessly so, but at least everyone I came into contact with knew exactly where they stood with me. I always told the truth – I couldn't lie if my life depended on it. Personally, I think that is an admirable trait to have, as there are so many people who don't say what they mean, or mean what they say for that matter.
Just to be clear, Calvin and I were the founders of one of the largest online data storage companies in the country, and the world we’d like to think. Although we have only been in business for less than ten years, our company grew so much in that short period of time, that it made us a lot of money, very fast. Calvin was in charge of the programming, and all that computer/technical stuff, and I was in charge of the rest. I knew very little about computers, except for switching it on. I know, in this day and age to be technologically challenged was unheard of, but it was true. I mastered the basics of computers and knew everything there was to know about the programs I worked with, but Calvin was the real genius.
From a young age, he would dismantle radios, watches, basically anything that could be taken apart, simply to see how they worked. Putting them back together was interesting, and had to be thrown away. Luckily my father was the sort of man who encouraged us to pursue what we loved, and he was right there in the garage helping Calvin figure out how to put the radio, or whatever he had taken apart at that time, back together.
A groan escaped my throat as I walked along the narrow aisle towards my seat. I opened the overhead compartment and slid my carry-on case into it. I sat down on the rather uncomfortable seat and glanced around me. That, of course, was a mistake. Everything around me made me feel so uncomfortable and I shifted around in my seat. I sat back and leaned my head against the headrest, taking a deep breath. This was going to be a long flight, and hopefully, no one will be sitting next to me.
Kenzie
Oh no. I stopped midway down the aisle and my shoulders slumped.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered as I glanced down the row of seats, to see the ranting asshole sitting in the seat beside mine.
“Is there a problem, Miss?” one of the air hostesses asked me.
I turned to her and smiled. “No, not at all.” I turned to the back of the plane again and made my way to my seat. The asshole’s eyes darted to meet mine and they widened slightly. I decided to ignore his looks and shifted his bag to the left, and reached down to get my carry-on. I slid my case into the compartment and closed the compartment.
I glanced down at him, knowing that I had to literally climb over him to get to my seat.
“Excuse me?” I asked, and he glared at me, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. “Could you get up so I can get to my seat?”
He glanced at me and eventually stood up, and entered the aisle.
“Thank you,” I said with a slight smile and sat down in my seat.
He didn't say anything, not that I expected him to, and he sat down beside me. He looked really uncomfortable, so I decided to strike up a conversation with him. Maybe that would get him to relax.
“Are you from Miami?” I asked.
He looked at me with a frown and looked away.
“A lot of people dislike flying, but it’s really just-”
“Are you done?” he asked me.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you done trying to make small-talk?”
“I’m sorry, I just thought that-”
“Well, stop. You’re annoying me.”
“I was just trying to be nice.”
“You want to be nice?” he asked and I nodded. “Don’t talk to me.”
Wow, what an asshole.
“Fine,” I mumbled and sat back in my seat.
The air hostesses did the safety speech, showing where all the exits were, but I didn't pay much attention to them. I’d been on enough flights to know exactly what the protocol was if anything had to happen.
Within a few minutes, the plane was in the air and when the seatbelt sign turned off, I unclasped mine. I took out my headphones, placed them in my ears and switched on my music. If Mr. Asshole beside me was going to complain about everything, I didn't want to hear it. Under normal circumstances, I would think he was rather attractive, but the way he acted was a definite turn-off for me. No amount of hotness can make up for a shitty attitude.
I proceeded to listen to my playlist, occasionally tapping my fingers on the armrest to the beat of the music as I gazed out of the window at the clouds flying passed.
I noticed the air-hostesses heading down the aisles with their silver drink carts and grinned to myself. This would be interesting. I wondered what Mr. Asshole would dislike about this. I subtly lowered the volume of my music and glanced over at the air-hostess.
“Would you like anything to drink, Miss?” she asked me.
“Just a water, thank you.”
She smiled at me, took a water out of the cart and handed it to me. She turned to him and smiled. “And for you, sir?”
“Just a coffee. One sugar, hot milk.”
“Very well, sir.”
She placed the coffee on his tray, along with a sachet of sugar and a small container of milk.
“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the milk.
“It’s milk, sir.”
“I asked for hot milk.”
“That’s the only milk we have, sir.”
“Can’t you heat it up?”
My jaw dropped slightly as I witnessed something that I had never witnessed before. Sure, I had experienced difficult clients before, but he was taking it to a whole new level.
“You know what? Take it.”
“Sir?”
“I don't want your shitty coffee or your cold milk.”
The hostess glanced at him for a moment and took everything off his tray. I gave her an apologetic smile and turned my gaze out the window.
“The one time I decide to fly commercial, and this is what I get,” he muttered beside me and I rolled my eyes.
“Wow, and you think I’m annoying,” I muttered.
“Excuse me?” he asked and I looked at him.
“How is she supposed to heat up a plastic container of milk?”
“I think you should mind your own business.”
“No, you’re being ridiculously rude over something as trivial as milk for your goddamn coffee. What difference does it make if it’s hot or cold?”
“I always have hot milk.”
“Well, this isn't your private jet, okay.”
“I really think you should mind your own business.”
“You know, being nice to people isn't going to kill you.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he grumbled.
“Thank goodness for that,” I said and rolled my eyes again.
He muttered something under his breath and I didn't pay him any more notice for the rest of the flight. He was shamelessly rude and I honestly didn't want to have anything more to do with him. The flight only lasted an hour and thirty minutes, luckily, and I breathed a sigh of relief when the captain prompted us to fasten our seat-belts. After the plane landed in Atlanta, Mr. Asshole was the first to get up, get his carry-on from the overhead compartment and dashed right out of there. As I stood up and removed my own bag, the same hostess that he was so rude to, walked passed me.
“Excuse me?” I asked her and she turned to me.
“Can I help you, Miss?”
“I just want to say that I’m sorry for that man’s behavior.”
“Do you know him?” she asked.
“Not at all.”
“Then why are you apologizing?”
That was a good question. “He was horrible to you and you didn't deserve to be treated like that.”
“Thank you, Miss.”
I smiled at her and watched as she continued down the aisle. I left the plane and immediately went to the next terminal to board my connecting flight, wishing with every bone in my body that he wouldn't be on that flight. He wasn't, and I was glad about that.
Honestly, I hated it when people think that they can treat other people like that. The flight to Boston was uneventful, thank goodness and I even managed to sleep for a while.
Boston was beautiful as usual, and as soon as I checked into my hotel, I fell down on the bed and quickly texted Sophia. I knew that it was after one in the morning, but I promised her that I would let her know as soon as I was at the hotel. I took a quick shower and went to bed, as I only had five or six hours to sleep. I quickly fell into a deep slumber and awoke when my phone’s alarm went off at seven sharp. The initial consult with my clients went amazing, as they knew exactly what they wanted, and they were happy with everything that I discussed with them. They took me to the small clinic that they wanted me to redesign and I was confident that I would be able to have everything done within the week. As I mentioned, they knew exactly what they wanted, and the choices of colors and furniture were easily accessible through my suppliers. The whole week passed so quickly, that before I realized it, I was on my way back home.
Wyatt
My office was a mess and I didn't like it one bit. I had left it in its usual pristine condition before I left for Atlanta, but when I came back everything was in absolute disarray.
I was not being dramatic, or full of shit, but the sight of the office would give me nightmares for weeks.
“What the hell is going on in here?” I asked Calvin as I stepped into the office, almost afraid to do so.
“What do you mean?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Look at this place,” I said and motioned dramatically to the desk. “Did you use my office?”
“Just for a while. I didn't think that you would mind.”
I glared at my brother and shook my head. “Calvin, you know how I am. Did you think that I wouldn't notice?”
“Wyatt, come on. It’s not so bad. So I moved your desk two inches to the right. What’s the big deal?”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself so that I didn't grab my little brother by the throat and fling him through the window so that he plummeted to his death. “I am going to get some coffee. If I get back, this place better be exactly how I left it.”
“You’re too uptight,” he laughed behind me. “I think you need to get laid, or something.”
“Fix it, Calvin. I mean it!” I marched out of my office and headed to the elevator.
My brother knew exactly how to aggravate me, and he once again succeeded. He did the same thing to me when we were younger. He would move everything in my room a few inches to the left and he’d watch with extreme amusement as I tried to figure out what the hell was going on in my room. It didn't take me very long to realize what he had done, and it often led to savage fights in our house. Even though I was older, he always won the fight for some reason. Probably because I found it silly to punch him and possibly hurt myself.
I plotted my revenge of course, but it was backhanded and planned. It took me a week to execute my perfect plan, and he still hated me for those, even after all these years.
Siblings are evil. End of story.
When I arrived back in my office, Calvin stood by the door and I inspected everything.
“Are you happy now, Wyatt?” he asked.
“Please don't ever do that again,” I muttered.
“I hear you, brother, but you know I can’t promise anything.”
“Do you enjoy aggravating me, after all these years?” I asked as I sat down behind my desk.
“It’s just funny to see you, especially when your eye twitches sometimes.”
I pursed my lips, shook my head, and shifted the keyboard slightly to the right.
“You have a problem, you know that?” he chuckled. “How was Atlanta?”
“Everything about it was terrible. The flight, the hotel, the service.”
“I heard there was a delay.”
“The plane I was supposed to be on had mechanical difficulties and I had to fly economy.”
“Holy crap and you lived to tell the tale.”
“It’s not funny, Calvin. It was terrible.”
“It could not have been that bad.”
“I am not exaggerating. The next time you want to impress a bimbo, get your own private jet, and stop using mine.”
“Fine. I’m sorry.”
“So how was Paris?”
“Paris is always beautiful.”
“And the girl?
“I have no idea. I left her at the hotel because I found out her husband pitched up there.”
“Her husband?”
“Yeah.”
“Calvin, that’s ridiculous. Didn't you know she was married?”
“She didn't say anything.”
“Obviously she wouldn't tell you. She was just looking for a free flight to Paris.”
“Probably, but I’m off women now for a while.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Believe what you want, but it’s the truth.”
I pursed my lips and nodded unconvinced.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Don’t you have any interest in finding yourself a wife?”
I glanced at him in disgust and frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”
“You’re thirty-four, Wyatt.”
“I know how old I am, Calvin. What’s your point?”
“Well...” he answered and dug his hands into the front pockets of his pants.
“What?”
“You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“Get out,” I said and switched on my computer screen.
“I'm just saying.”
“Calvin, honestly. I don't have time to search the world for a woman who would run as fast as she could in the opposite direction when I open my mouth.”
“You are not that repellant.”
I laughed bitterly and shook my head. “I know I am.”
“Did you meet a woman in Atlanta?”
“No, on the plane.”
“And?”
“She thinks I am the biggest asshole alive.”
“She wouldn't be the first,” Calvin chuckled. “What did you do?”
“She sat in the seat next to me and she kept making small talk.”
“Damn.”
“I know and she was just...”
“What?”
“She was really beautiful.”
“She was?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you’re not bad looking either, Wyatt.”
“Not from where she was sitting.”
“Leave it to me.”
“Leave what to you?”
“I’ll get you a date.”
“No!” I stood up from my chair. “You don't have to do that.”
“How else are you going to meet someone? You’re constantly working, and you can b a pain in the ass most of the times. Maybe a woman can help you not be such a pain in the ass.”
“I don’t want to meet someone.”
“Okay, okay. Relax.” Calvin held his hands up in defeat.
“Don't you have work to do?”
“Yeah,” he nodded and quietly left the office.
For a second I thought about what he said. What if he was right? What if someone could help me be less of a pain in the ass? It would take someone really brave and tolerant to partake in the kind of endeavor, and most women didn't have the tenacity or the patience to deal with a guy like me.
I shook my head at my ludicrous thoughts and scanned through my unread emails.
Kenzie
I stirred the warm and frothy cappuccino in front of me and glanced at Sophia sitting opposite me. We were having coffee in our favorite place after I came home from Boston and of course, in true Sophia fashion, she wanted to know everything. Although we were in different fields of expertise, she loved hearing about my decorating adventures to different cities. She often told me how proud she was of me, and she was more of a sister to me than a friend. We’ve been friends so long that she knows me better than anyone, sometimes even better than I knew myself. It was strange really, but I loved her a lot.
“So, how was Boston?”
“It was good.”
“Did you have fun?”
“It wasn’t a leisurely trip, Soph. It was for work.”
“You didn't go out?”
“No, I didn't.”
“Not even once?”
“Not even once.”
“You disappoint me.”
“This client was very important to me, and to the company. I had to focus.”
“Wow, that’s a first.”
“I know.”
“So how did it turn out?” Sophia asked.
“Amazing,” I beamed and took out my phone. It was customary for me to show her what I did after every trip and she would usually gush over the photos, envisioning all the items and the furniture in her own apartment.
I handed her my phone and she began scrolling. “Oh my gosh. I love that table. I wonder how that would look in my living room.”
See what I mean?
“The best things about that job was that the clients were so particular about what they wanted, that I knew exactly what I had to do.”
“How is that easier?”
“Because they didn't want my input. I just had to get all the items, and I didn't have to do any suggesting.”
“Oh, right.”
“And, their budget was so high, they had tons of money left over, even after I finished everything.”
“Wow, that’s generous of them.”
“They really were the best clients I had ever had, and that includes that elderly couple from Nebraska.”
“Does the woman still send you a Christmas card in the mail?”
“Every year.”
Sophia chuckled and shook her head. “That’s sweet though.”
“Yeah.”
There was a moment of silence between us and I took a long sip from my cup. The warmth of the cappuccino was so welcoming and I sighed. “This is so good. They do not have coffee like this in Boston.”
“Or anywhere for that matter,” Sophia pointed out. “I spoke to your mom when you were gone.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, she invited me for dinner last Friday.”
“And you actually went?”
“Of course. She’s kind of my mom as well.”
“True.”
“She, um...”
“She what?” I asked and glanced at her. “Oh no.” I knew what my mom was like and I knew exactly why she invited Sophia over for dinner. To talk about me, and my love life, or my lack thereof.
“Don't be mad.”
“How can I not be mad? You and my mother were discussing my love life behind my back. I shouldn't really be surprised because she's expressed her concern on more than one occasion.”
“I’m sorry, okay. It wasn't my intention to discuss that aspect of your life with your mom. It just happened.”
“It might not have been yours, but it definitely was hers.”
“I’m sorry, and I swear it won’t ever happen again.”
“Clearly me being single bothers everyone else more than it bothers me.”
“Your mother is just worried about you.”
“No, she’s worried that she will never become a grandmother.”
“I’m not her only child,” I said with a frown. “Dillon’s older than I am and he doesn’t even have a steady girlfriend. Why isn't she pestering him about it?”
“Probably because she knows that there’s a better chance that you’ll give her a grandchild than Dillon is.”
“I don't even know whether to feel insulted or complimented by that.”
Sophia chuckled and shook her head. “Anyway, do you feel like seeing a movie?”
“Yeah, that would be fun actually. Do you know what’s showing?”
“Whatever you like.”
I narrowed my eyes and looked at her suspiciously. “You never let me pick.”
“Who said I was going with you?”
Then it hit me. “Oh no. You are not doing this to me again.”
“Oh come on. He’s a nice guy.”
“Oh my god. I can’t believe you. You are totally siding with my mother!” I stood up from the chair and grabbed my bag.
“Kenz, please don’t leave.” Sophia came after me as I rushed out of the shop and I whirled around.
“I’m not going on another one of your arranged blind dates, okay? I’ve had enough and you should really respect that. You’re my friend, you should know that being single doesn't bother me. I don't care if I’m not in love with a guy, I’m in love with my life right now, and that should be enough. For you, and my mom.”
“Kenz, I’m sorry. I’ll just call him and cancel.”
“Thank you.”
“I honestly didn't mean to upset you.”
I ran my fingers through my dark hair and shrugged my shoulders. “When I’m ready to date, I will. You’ll be the first to know, okay?”
“Okay.”
I honestly couldn't believe she did it again. She had me go on probably a dozen blind dates in the past and most of the guys were complete weirdos. There were a few nice ones, but they weren't the type of guy that I would want to date for a long time or spend the rest of my life with. It was those times where I felt Sophia didn't know me at all. I would, of course, tell her that, and she would rebuttal with the typical ‘Opposites attract’ bullshit.
I get that people were all different and I fully embraced everyone’s unique personalities, but it didn't make sense to me that two people who had nothing in common could be happy together. A lot more sacrifices would have to b made, and people didn't like that. They wanted to be themselves, stay in their comfort zones. Why did they want to go out on a limb for someone, or learn a new way of life, or whatever the case may be?
Relationships were stupid, or at least in my experience. They either ended up cheating on me, or they were they were only interested in Sophia. At the risk of sounding like an insecure and jealous bitch, Sophia was the pretty one, even from a young age. She had long beautiful blond hair, bright blue eyes, and legs for days. She did gymnastics in high school and of course had the perfect body. She only dated men who were as good looking as she was, and always ended up with either the captain of the football team or captain of the swim team.
Poor old me, being five foot four, lived in the shadow – quite literally – of my tall and beautiful friend. I didn't hate her (much), but it bothered me a little when all the cute guys would approach me to introduce them to her. That was certainly not the highlight of my dating life. I ended up going to prom with the boy next door, who wasn't bad looking at all. He was sweet and he made me laugh, which was probably a really good trait to have. Of course, when you’re young, you don't really notice that. It would be only years later where you thought of that boy, and wonder where the hell was he now? Probably happily married to a woman who was just as nice as him, living the perfect life.
“Do you feel like watching a movie at my apartment?” she asked eventually, pouting apologetically.
“No, I have a few designs that I need to work on.”
“You work too much,” she cringed.
“I know. How else do you think I can afford my apartment?” I asked her with a wink.
“It is a really nice apartment. It’d be a pity if you had to live somewhere else.”
She was right. It was a great apartment, 973 square feet of bliss. With hardwood floors, high ceilings, and a view of Biscayne Bay, what more could a girl ask for?
“I’m just going to head home, Soph. I might need to sleep for a while.”
“Okay, but if you want me to come over if you get lonely, just let me know.”
“As soon as I realize that I am close to drowning in my sea of despair, I’ll let you know.”
We went our separate ways and I headed home. I was admittedly tired and a nap would be just what I needed. I wasn't as lonely as I made it sound. Sure, some nights were worse than others, but I had been single for almost two years now. Some days, I must admit I missed being in a relationship, but other days I was thankful that I wasn't. If I wanted to sleep in on the weekends, I did. If I wanted to spontaneously go somewhere, like a drive to the beach, or wherever for that matter, I just threw on a bra and there I'd go. I didn't have to make plans or coordinate schedules, and I loved it. I wasn't the type of person who liked planning things, besides work of course, but that was a different story.
I was aloof and relaxed, but not when it came to my work. There I was precise and kept to my budget, as well as my schedule. The only schedule coordination that I did, was between my clients and myself, and I made sure to keep them happy at all times, even if that meant I had to get up at four in the morning to drive to Tallahassee to meet them. I didn't mind that. They were my clients, they paid me to get the job done, and as long as they were happy, so was I.
In my personal life, of course, I was a completely different person. My apartment wasn’t always neat, and it didn't bother me if it was. If I wasn't hungry, then I’d simply nibble on rice cakes or popcorn. There was no need to always cook. I also never really made my bed, as my bedroom was my safe haven, my retreat, and a made bed just seemed very stiff to me. I also never knew how people could get ready for bed, as I was always ready.
Just to clarify, I was not a slob, but I just liked to be comfortable around the things that made me feel comfortable, regardless if it was in its designated place or not.
I arrived home and as I stepped into my apartment, the familiar scent of vanilla filled my nostrils, and it made my body relax. It was and had always been my favorite fragrance in the whole entire world. I placed my bag on the kitchen counter and walked through the lounge to the large sliding door that led out to the balcony. I inhaled the cool, fresh air and sighed happily as I gazed out at the bay. The wind-chimes beside me danced in the breeze and made the most soothing sound.
Yes, I had wind-chimes.
Most of my friends called me a hippie, a nomadic artist who could travel the world on horseback, or in the back of a van, sleeping under the stars, or live off the land – whatever that meant – which was probably true in a way. I had a lot of things that I was grateful for and my material things weren't any of them. To clarify, I was grateful that I could afford my apartment, and everything else, but it wasn't the apartment itself. I had a place to sleep, I had the means to survive more than comfortably in this wonderful city, but if everything was to be taken from me right at this second, it wouldn't matter that much.
Some people find it very hard to understand, or even believe what I just said, but it was true. I was most probably a nomad in my previous life, hence why I felt this way about life.
I also believed in Karma, that fickle little wheel-turner who sees everything we do, and whatever goes around, comes around. I’ve seen it every single day of my twenty-seven years on this planet, and I could honestly say that no-one should piss off Karma because she really was a bitch.
I gazed out across the horizon and smiled to myself. After a week in Boston, I was glad to be home. The sky seemed bluer and brighter, and I just felt happier here, in my hometown of Miami.
I was born here, I grew up here, and even though I travel a lot and love it, I would probably never leave this place for good. My parents still stayed here, as well as most of my family, and my friends.
I don't even think that my parents would allow me to leave.
I was their youngest child, and their only daughter, and regrettably, I would always stay their baby girl, no matter how old I was. I realized this very early on in my life that no matter how much I attempted to stop them from referring to me in that way in front of people, the more they did it. It was embarrassing, especially when they said those things in front of my friends, and in front of Dillon’s friends.
Dillon was my older brother, and there was a rather big gap in age between the two of us. He was almost eight years older than I was, and even to this day, both my brother and I have absolutely no idea why the gap was that big. We cross-examined our parents so many times, but they just shrugged it off and laughed about it. It didn't bother either of us as we got older, as we just figured that Mom held my cousin when she was a baby – we’re a year apart – and she got so broody that she convinced Dad to have another one. Better late than never, I suppose, but I was grateful that it happened, as I wouldn't be here if it didn't.
Dillon was a freelance IT technician who could build anything even remotely related to computers and worked for himself in his studio apartment on the other side of town. He had no view of the ocean or the bay, and he apparently preferred it that way, as it made him focus better. He was always busy as well, but it never seemed to amount to anything. Don't get me wrong, I’m not saying my brother lacks ambition, but I personally think financially he would be better off working for a larger company, but if he was happy and content with his life and they way he lived, then so be it. I knew working for ‘the man’ wasn't always ideal, but it opened a lot of doors for me, and professional connections can be very powerful.
Anyway, enough about work. All I wanted to do was relax for a while. I poured myself a large glass of wine and sat down on the balcony, watching as the speedboats and the yachts gliding through the water of the bay. On the other side of the bay all the wealthy people lived, and by wealthy, I meant the millionaires. Those people who earned more money in a day than I earned in a month, or a year even. The houses in Miami Beach were massive and luxurious, and even though they lived ten feet from the ocean, they still had massive pools and hot-tubs, which seemed a bit redundant to me. Why on Earth would you want a pool with the ocean ten feet away from you?
Maybe those people in those houses had more money than common sense, or maybe all that money made them lose that common sense.
I was in no position to judge them of course. It would simply be fascinating to know what goes on in the minds of those people. I often wondered what it would be like to have no financial limitation, to not worry about budgeting. It was probably like being a kid in a candy store. You could pick out whatever you wanted and there would be no implications whatsoever.
What would you do with that much money anyway?
Now I realized why celebrities went off the rails so often, especially the young ones. They had more money than they could ever count, so they get up to stupid shit, like crash their sports cars, or become alcoholics or whatever. I’m not saying every young celebrity out there did this, but it happens. Money definitely was the root of all evil.
Wyatt
I swear there was no amount of money that could buy common sense!
I closed my eyes for a second and inhaled very slowly. It was the only way that I was able to calm myself, and it was the only way I knew how to attempt to let things go. Obviously, it wasn't working in this given situation and I opened my eyes, glancing silently at the two lawyers in front of me. They were from the Atlanta legal department of my company and they stared at me with fear in their eyes.
“Mr. Pearce, we are not sure how this happened,” David Caldwell said to me, but I didn't reply. I simply lowered my gaze and waited for them to finish their sob story of so-called innocence.
Ignorance was the word I’d use.
“We usually go through all our contracts with eagle eyes,” Jeremy Finnick said with a frown.
I glanced at the two men, having a very one sided conversation and I simply shook my head.
“We know that you are upset with us, Mr. Pearce-”
“Upset is not the word I would use, David,” I said and sat back in my chair. “I run this company with an iron fist, you both know that. I expect everyone to do their jobs as they are supposed to, that is after all what I pay you to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why was it not done?”
The two lawyers glanced at one another in panic, not knowing what to say.
“I will give you forty-eight hours to fix this oversight.”
“But Mr. Pearce-”
I raised my hand and it silenced him immediately. “If Mr. Williams continues with the lawsuit, it will cost this company millions of dollars, which will, in turn, come out of your paychecks. So, if I am not mistaken, and my calculations are correct, you will have to work for five years, just to make up the amount that I lost. Not to mention the damage to the company, and my reputation. I cannot afford such mistakes. Is that clear, gentlemen?”
“Yes, Mr. Pearce.”
I watched as the two men scrambled to their feet and practically ran out of my office.
Frankly, my blood boiled in my veins and I had to let it out.
My secretary, Hannah, stood briefly in the doorway and she recognized the expression on my face. She disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a cup of coffee. She entered the office without saying a word and placed the cup on the coaster to my right, and turned the handle of the cup that it was perpendicular to the edge of the desk.
“You’re a lifesaver, Hannah. What would I ever do without you?”
“You would possibly go on a wild murder spree, sir,” she said with a chuckle.
“Especially today.”
“What on Earth did you say to them?”
I glanced up at Hannah and pursed my lips. Hannah was one of the very few people I spoke to regarding the happenings inside my office. I trusted her implicitly, as she handled most of my affairs. She knew what my bank balance was, so we didn't have any secrets between us. Also, I liked her, because her name spelled backward was still Hannah. It was perfectly symmetrical.
“They screwed up and I told them to fix it. They have forty-eight hours, or they’ll be working for free for a while.”
Hannah chuckled and shook her head. “Serves them right.”
I glanced at her again and tilted my head. “Hannah?”
“Yes, Mr. Pearce.”
“How long have you been working for me?”
“Almost five years now.”
“Have I ever told you how much it means to me that you have stuck out with me for so long?” I asked honestly.
“On a few occasions, sir.”
“I mean it, Hannah. You are one of the most valuable people here.”
“Thank you, sir. That certainly means a lot coming from you,” she said with a smile and walked to the door. “I’ll leave you alone with your coffee now.”
I gave her a grateful nod and watched as she left the office, closing the door behind her.
The hot coffee tasted amazing, exactly how I liked it, and have always liked it. With hot milk.
I frowned suddenly as I thought about the brown-haired woman who sat beside me on the plane. Some, or most people didn't get me, even if they knew me pretty well, so I didn't expect a stranger to either. Not even my family understood me most of the time, and growing up with this condition, as my parents would gallantly refer to it, was difficult as well. It just made everything harder, slower, and needed more effort. Luckily, it was only twelve years of hell, note the sarcasm.
Pretty soon it was time to leave work and my routine started. Hannah would clear out my coffee cup immediately, and straighten out my desk. I would lock my cabinets, and check them to see if they were locked about three times. Four just to be safe. My phone in my right breast pocket. My wallet in my left pants pocket. My keys in my right pants pocket.
Hannah had become so accustomed to how I ended off the day, that she had everything ready for me, and I was incredibly grateful that she did that for me, as it made my already difficult life a bit more bearable. She called my driver, and when I stepped outside, he was already waiting there for me in the silver Escalade. The Escalade had bulletproof windows, of course, just as a precaution and the windows were also tinted, so no-one could see me inside of it.
I didn't like to drive, but would if I really needed to.
“Good evening, sir,” Porter, my driver greeted me as I climbed into the back seat of the Escalade.
“Good evening, Porter,” I said to him.
“Will little Pearce be joining us as well?” Porter asked.
“No, not today.”
Little Pearce was what Porter called Calvin, as he was a lot shorter than I was, plus he was six years younger than I was.
Despite my mother and Father’s explanations on why there is such a large age gap between us, I knew that he was completely unplanned. Of course, I joked to him about this, and he would get angry, but it was just payback for all the shit he did to me. Brotherly love, I suppose, expect everything he did to me only fueled my need for revenge.
I was an angry child, even my grandmother said so, but my grandfather understood, as he was exactly the same as I was. That’s where I got all my quirks from.
The drive to my house wasn't a very long trip and soon the Escalade pulled into my driveway.
“Thank you, Porter.”
“Will you be requiring my services tonight, sir?”
“No, I think a quiet night in is in the cards for me tonight.”
“I’ll keep my phone on, just in case.”
“Thank you, Porter.”
“Have a good evening, sir,” he said with a grin.
“And you,” I said with a nod and climbed out of the car. As he drove off, I made my way along the raised footpath leading to the front door. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I slipped off my shoes and placed them on the shoe rack by the door.
A lot of people are shocked when they step into my house and I tell them to take their shoes off. Some people are even offended by this, which I don't understand. This was my house and my rules. If you didn't like them or respect my demands, then get the hell off my property.
I did not invite people over to my house, except my family, who just drops in completely unannounced, despite my constant pleas to call before they just pitch up.
I didn't mind having them over, I just needed to prepare myself for their arrival. I wasn't talking about the house, as it was always in a pristine condition, never anything out of place. The preparation was more of a mental one for me.
I walked through the house, set at a perfect temperature and headed to my bedroom, where I took a quick five-minute shower and dressed in a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Now I just looked like a regular guy, with no issues and no hang-ups.
If the world could only see me now.
As I poured myself a drink and walked out onto the patio, I glanced out at the bay and a small smile ran across my lips. This was the place I felt most at home – my home. It was perfectly designed to my specifications and the best of all was that there was no clutter. Everything was mostly white, with chrome finishes, and wooden floors. It was cleaned according to my specifications as well by a crew of cleaner – yes, a crew – and they were excellent.
The sun was just starting to set when I heard my phone ringing and I entered the house.
“Wyatt Pearce speaking.”
“So formal.”
My mother.
“I always answer the phone like that, Mother.”
“I know, I’m just teasing,” she chuckled. “How are you?”
“Fine, I suppose. It was a tough day.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
That was typical of my mother. She always asked me that when I told her that I had a tough day because every day was a tough day for me.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I already said I was fine.”
“Okay, there’s no need to get sassy with me. I’m still your mother.”
“I know because you remind me every day.”
“There’s that sass again.”
“Fine, I’m sorry. Thank you for caring, Mother,” I said and rolled my eyes.
“I’ll just pretend I didn't hear that tone or the eye roll.”
My mother knew me all too well. It was probably to be expected as I was the most predictable person in the world. When I was very young, and even a teenager, I was convinced that my mother was either psychic, or a witch, because she knew what I was going to do, or say, or think even before I did, say, or think it. It was eerie, to say the least, but as I said, I was just predictable.
Calvin, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of me. He was the most unpredictable person in the world. He would just do things randomly – some call it being spontaneous – which only seemed reckless and irresponsible to me. Why would you do something without planning it first? How would you know the outcome if you tried something you have never tried before? What if it got you killed? What if you ate at a new restaurant and ended up getting food poisoning? How would you know if you have not eaten there before?
“Your father and I would like you and your brother to join us for dinner tomorrow evening?”
“Why?” I asked.
“No reason. We simply miss our two sons.”
“I’ll have to check my schedule.”
“I already checked with Hannah and she told me that you are free.”
MY jaw clenched slightly and I took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry. It will be at our house. I know how you feel about restaurants, Wyatt.”
“Okay. I will be there.”
“Seven sharp.”
“Will dinner be seven sharp or-”
“Just be there at seven.”
“Now who’s being sassy?” I asked.
“I’m your mother. It is the one courtesy I am allowed in your life.”
“Right,” I said with a nod. “Should I bring anything?”
“No, we’ve pretty much got it covered.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”
“Have a wonderful day, son.”
“And you too.”
I lowered my phone and stared at the screen for a brief moment. Something was definitely going on because my mother knew how busy evenings were for both myself and Calvin. We had taken on a massive client a few weeks ago, and they have so much digital data that they needed us to store that we had spent many late nights at the office. My parents obviously knew that, but the fact that she called Hannah to check my schedule was a bit suspicious. I hoped that she didn't invite over one of her country club friends and their daughters because that would just end up with me leaving before dinner was even served. She had done that quite a few times, hence why I am so suspicious of her. Maybe I was being too paranoid. Maybe she just wanted to spend some quality time with her entire family for a change.
No, I thought as I shook my head, that definitely wasn't it.
Being thirty-six and unmarried was the most terrible and unacceptable thing imaginable to my mother.
She knew me well enough to think that the type of women she wanted me to meet was not going to be the type of woman that I would actually date. Those women were spoilt little Daddy’s girls and I had no time for those women. They were all much younger than I was, which left me questioning my mother’s motives. Then again, the older women who she introduced me to were just strange and completely the opposite to who I would date.
Thinking back to the type of women I dated when I was younger, they were a little like me. They were perfectionists and that was exactly what attracted me to them, but obviously, after a while, they weren't as perfectionistic as they claimed to be. I hated people who lied, and I never lied. I couldn't lie even if I tried.
Sadly, people lie. They pretended to be someone they weren't, but in the end, the truth always came out, much at the downfall of the relationship.
I have been in love a few times, and admittedly I was never the one who broke up with a girl, or a woman. It either became too much for them to handle, or they just left me for someone else, someone easier. I never found that reason particularly helpful because there was nothing that I could do to change the way that I was, so I was doomed to be by myself for all eternity. My mother was not going to like that idea. I am guessing that was the reason why she still keeps trying.