Page 85 of Burning Ember
I stand and start cleaning up. After gathering all the dirty glasses, I head into the kitchen to wash them. Taz follows me. He doesn’t say anything but leans back on the counter, arms folded.
In a voice laced with suspicion, I ask, “What are you doing?”
He shrugs. “Standin’ here. That a crime?”
“Why?” I draw out the word.
“Makin’ sure you don’t leave. Mav gave strict orders to keep you here.”
I put down the dishes before I drop them. “He can’t do that.”
Taz reaches into his pocket and pulls out a toothpick, which he pops into his mouth. “Actually, he can do whatever the fuck he likes.”
“And if I try to leave?”
The side of his mouth lifts. “You can try. But I’ve been given permission to tie you up if you do.” He uncrosses his arms and grabs his belt buckle. He also gets this crazy look in his eyes like he’s imagining it. “Just say the word and we’ll make some memories, little stray.”
A shudder travels down my spine. Mav is definitely evil. He knew this would get to me. He’s pulling my strings. Bit by bit he’s controlling everything I do. It’s as if I’m traveling down the slippery little slope with Warner all over again.
I’m so mad I feel like I’m going to explode.“God, Luce. You’re such an asshole. I’m not your doll. You can’t just make me do whatever you like.”
The energy I lacked this morning is now surging through me. I clomp around the kitchen, slamming cupboards, hissing under my breath, and bake like a mad woman. Because that’s exactly what I am. A. Mad. Woman. Whathe’sturned me into. I’m losing control. I’m losing my freedom. And I don’t know how to put a stop to it. The only thing I can do is leave and now I can’t even do that.
MAVERICK
My secretary’s chin hits the floor when I walked in to the office this morning. She said she couldn’t remember the last time I came in to work all dressed up likea boss—her words, not mine.
It’s been months since I came to the office. Maybe a year or more since I last cared enough to look professional while doing so.
Tim, my business partner, nearly fell out of his chair when he looked up to see me standing in his doorway. He gave me some shit for slipping on my end of the work, and not returning his calls, but not one to dwell on the negative, he quickly moved on, shook my hand, and welcomed me back. For the next few hours, he updated me on what I’d missed, and what we currently had in our pipeline. I gave him the go ahead on the large Sandia project I’d been putting the brakes on. And after calling the bank to wire the money he’d need to purchase the lots, we set a deadline for two months. By then I’d get him the designs for the brochures and the blue prints for the model home.
For the rest of the day, I work in my office, drawing. Even after all these years, it never gets old. Taking something as simple as an idea and making it a reality is what hooked me on art at a young age.
I felt a kinship to the God my parents taught me to worship. I had created something from nothing and made it beautiful.
The hidden story behind a building, the history within its walls, is what attracted me to architecture. But I wanted to be the one who set the stage, crafted the walls, and designed the foreground from the very beginning. It was a rush and still is today.
There’s nothing like building someone’s dream and handing over the keys so they can begin making it happen.
Maybe that’s why I settled for Dana. I lacked patience. I wanted to start my own story. I had plans and I was sick of waiting for the right woman to come along. So I found one I was attracted too and tried to make her what I needed.
My mother often told me my lack of patience would be my undoing. I doubt this is what she meant, but it’s true all the same.
When I’m done for the day, I leave my office with a sense of rightness flowing through me.
I’d forgotten this feeling. The satisfaction one gets from finishing an honest day’s work.
I know I have in no way fixed the chaotic mess that is my life, but it feels like maybe I’ve shoveled one pile of shit off my shoulders. I still have a lot more wrongs to right. Starting with Doll. And Edge. And fixing my standing with the club. But I’ll have to take it one day at a time. One shovelful at a time.
Driving back to the clubhouse, I tap my thumb on the steering wheel. I’m jonesing for a cigarette. Quitting this morning may not have been the best decision. Especially if Doll stays prickly and feisty toward me like she was this morning.
That’s if she’s even still there . . .
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I flip it open and reread Taz’s texts.
T: shes pissed. did u no she calls u luce.
T: Wuz up with that
