Fat Cat Liar

There’s a loud snicker followed by Janice’s hushed whisper. She clears her throat before replying, “Sure thing. As a matter of fact, I think he may be available right now.”

“He’s standing there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and he’s brought you… something.”

Fucking great. “Send him in.”

My door swings open, and Clay walks in carrying a package and cup of coffee.

His swagger and shit-eating grin set me on edge instantly. “What’s up with you? Why are you hanging outside my office harassing Janice?”

“No harassment. You have the best coffee bar in the entire office, and I have a gift for you.” He places the package in front of me and sits, propping his feet on the edge of my desk.

His eyes light with humor, watching me closely.

“What’s this?”

“Open it and find out.”

I tear away the paper and groan when I see the certificate in the frame. “What the fuck?”

“This goes with it.” He tosses a hundred dollar bill on my desk.

“Employee of the Month? Is this a joke?”

“Yes and no. We don’t officially have an employee of the month award, but Dad says you’ve been pulling double duty, showing up at work sites all over town the last few weeks. Since I know you’re in the office as early as seven a.m. working your ass off, then traipsing over to construction sites to oversee the work, I figured you were vying for employee of the month.”

Dammit! I should have known Dad would o

pen his mouth. “You’re an ass.” I throw his money back at him.

“Want to explain?”

“Nothing to explain.”

“You’re not fooling me, Lawson. Something’s up.”

“Yeah, it’s called fucking work.”

“You hate the construction side of this business and have made that quite clear on numerous occasions.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Clay. I have a stake in every facet of this business. So do you.”

“I’m not buying it. What’s really going on?”

I sit back and meet his eyes, ready for what is sure to be an inquisition. “I decided to take Uncle Rob’s advice and go back to basics. Remember what it’s like to smell the plaster and sawdust. Watch the process. It’s served as an inspiration.”

His eyes grow wide, and he bolts up, his legs falling to the floor with a thud. “Did you just fucking use the word inspiration? Now, I know you’re lying. You don’t give a shit what Uncle Rob or Grandpa think about going back to basics.”

“Not true.”

“Okay, tell me this. You’ve hated every single step of the Simmons project. I was there when you almost ended your career over the last-minute changes to the design that put us back six months with city permits. We’re lucky we retained their business. Yet, you go there every day? I call bullshit.”

He’s right about this; my temper almost lost us the whole project. Luckily, Mrs. Simmons had a soft spot for me since I was the original architect that brought her vision to life. Even with all the changes, she knew she couldn’t start over so she smoothed the tension with her husband.

“I’ll give you this. I did hate the project until about two nights ago when we handed it off to subs. It was my very first major design, and seeing it come to the final stage changed my perspective. I needed it,” I tell him truthfully.

He studies me the same way he always does when he’s trying to find some underlying meaning to my motives.