Fat Cat Liar
“Okay, Lawson Hall, today is your official welcome to the neighborhood. Let’s get moving.”
A surge of unexpected excitement hits me.
Intentions be damned; I’m going to enjoy spending my day with this woman.
Tomorrow, I’ll get back on track with my plan.
•8•8•
I crank up the music to drown out the sound of the knocking on the door. There are only a few people who can get past Janice, my Administrative Assistant, when I’m in my drawing room. She barricades my office with ferocity, scaring away anyone who attempts to interrupt me. Rob and my grandfather don’t dare cross her.
Clay and my dad are the exceptions to the rule. Somehow, they always figure out a way to intrude. Today, she was given strict instructions to keep everyone away, because I’m deep in a creative mindset that I can’t risk losing.
Sunday night, after my day of exploring with Greer, inspiration hit. I started sketching ideas for the Palmer project, and four hours later, I had a very rough draft. For days, I’ve worked to polish the design, combing over every detail to the point of obsession.
Creativity flows easily, all because of Greer. Her love and knowledge of the city became contagious. I may have tagged her as shy, but once we hit the streets surrounding our neighborhood, she couldn’t stop talking. More than once, she brought up her family and shared stories. Everything she said is catalogued in my brain.
I learned it’s no coincidence our apartment building is across from the café. She explained the building that housed the shop was one of her absolute favorites in the city. I didn’t understand the attraction until we rounded the block and I saw the massive park and exquisite gardens across the street. Almost every window on the back half of the building is treated to this view.
She guided me through the park and gardens, boasting on the architecture of the surrounding buildings. I was stunned and impressed with her expertise, noting more than once she was educating me on the history of the area. Every piece of information she provided was a window into her life.
I hung on every single word.
The only time I dared ask about her father, she was elusive, describing him as a business man. Never did she mention their wealth, status, or relation to Palmer Enterprises.
By the time I left her at her apartment, my head was spinning.
The music turns off at the same time Clay’s voice blasts through the air. “You are alive.”
“There’s a reason the door was closed,” I bite out through gritted teeth. “Where’s Janice?”
“She’s currently in the break room, refrigerating the chocolate covered fruit basket I brought her.”
He’s grinning smugly when I leer at him. “You’re getting more resourceful.”
“She caught onto my sweet-talking, so I had to think of something to make her leave the desk.”
“What’s so damn important? I’m busy.”
He comes to my table and scans the sketch. “Impressive. How’d you come up with this so quickly?”
“It’s a shell. I need to talk to construction, planning, and engineering about a few ideas before I add more details.”
“Still a great fucking start.”
“Thanks, but you didn’t say what was so important.”
“Lawson, you’ve been MIA for days. Is your phone broken?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“For three days? The only way I knew you were alive was from daily check-ins with Janice.”
I take off my glasses and rub my stinging eyes, leaning back in my chair. “Sorry.” I offer a half-hearted apology. He of all people should know my process.
“Okay, well, explain this to me. Why’d you close down all your social media accounts? I’ve been fielding messages about the disappearance of Lawson Hall. One of your college friends asked if you were dead.”
“You fucking kidding me?”