The Better Man. Amy Vastine
Читать онлайн книгу.
boy across the street looked much older than Aidan, but they shared the same brown hair and strong lungs. Aidan’s scream rivaled that of any horror movie leading lady. Max glanced around, searching for this other child’s father. There wasn’t anyone on his side of the street and the boy looked like he was about to dart into traffic.
Max felt his heart skip a beat until he noticed the boy held a woman’s hand, his mother most likely. She’d keep him from getting hurt.
Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and he could’ve sworn she recognized him. But that was impossible. There was one thing he hadn’t made time for since he moved to Chicago and that was women. The only person he’d spoken more than a couple of words to was the nice—almost too nice—guy who owned the condo under his in their three-flat.
Max slid into the back of the cab and rattled off the address and a plea for haste. Rubbing his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he tried to refocus on his excuse for being late. He had texted Mr. Sato’s assistant that he’d be late the moment he’d woken up and realized the time. He hadn’t, however, given a reason.
An accident. A boy ran into the street and was hit by a car. Max had to stop, wait for help to arrive.
Nah. Boys being hit by cars would probably make the news. He needed to think less dramatic.
Traffic? Traffic in Chicago was almost as terrible as in L.A. Almost. Unfortunately, it wasn’t bad enough to make him an hour late.
He could almost hear Katie now. His ex-wife would be reading him the riot act if she knew. This is what you call being responsible? The only thing you’re good at, Max, is lying. Doesn’t this prove Aidan deserves better than you?
Some days he hated her. Her, her sanctimonious attitude and her new attorney husband. Nothing bugged him more than the way she acted like a saint. As if he didn’t know who she used to be. As if her life in L.A. never existed. Sadly for her, he did remember and she wasn’t perfect.
Max took a deep breath and stared out the window as the buildings grew taller and the streets more crowded. He swore things would be different in Chicago. He would be different. He came here to prove something and he wasn’t going to blow it. He was not going to be like his deadbeat father. Not if he could help it.
* * *
MR. SATO’S OFFICE was in the heart of the West Loop. Max knew they were close when they passed the Willis Tower. He threw in a couple of extra dollars of tip for the speedy service and jumped out of the cab.
With no excuse but the truth, he marched into the building and headed for the elevators. Hopefully he hadn’t missed the entire presentation. Perhaps they’d waited for him. The designers were sure to be less than pleased with him if that was the case. That accident excuse felt less wrong for a minute until the elevator reached the correct floor.
The dark gray marble beneath his feet matched the color of the imaginary cloud above Max’s head. He approached the receptionist seated behind a curved glass block desk, buttoning his jacket closed before smoothing down the lapels. He smiled, hoping the friendlier he was, the friendlier others would be in return. “Good morning. Max Jordan. I’m here for Mr. Sato’s meeting with the interior designers.”
The woman pushed her red glasses up her nose and tucked her jet black hair behind her ear. Everything about her was severe, from her hair color to the angle of her chin. “Mr. Sato’s nine-thirty meeting?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“That’s the one. Better late than never, right?”
The woman’s lips didn’t even twitch. “Let me see if it’s still happening,” she said, her tone as judgmental as the look she gave him. She picked up her phone and dialed. “I think the designer left,” she told Max.
That figured. Max bounced on the balls of his feet and patted his pockets for the cigarettes that weren’t there because he’d quit. He needed to figure out a way to make it up to Mr. Sato. Work harder. Do more promotion. Put in more hours when the place opened.
“Through those doors and to your right. The conference room is at the end of the hall.” The receptionist glanced over her shoulder at the glass double doors.
“Thank you,” Max said, trying to still appear professional while nearly sprinting to his meeting.
He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his neck around before pushing open the conference door. Mr. Sato’s eyes were the only part of him that moved when Max entered the room. His son, Jin, wore a look of disapproval that spoke louder than any words could. A third man stared like he was seeing a ghost. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.
“Mr. Jordan, how nice of you to join us,” Jin said, without an ounce of sincerity in his tone.
The designer approached him cautiously and held out his hand. “Owen Sung, the O in KO Designs.”
Max shook it firmly and apologized for being late.
Max turned to Mr. Sato. “I wish I had a better excuse than sleeping through my alarm. I will not let it happen again. I assure you, sir.”
Mr. Sato’s head bowed ever so slightly in acknowledgment.
“Shall I go over our design for Mr. Jordan?” Owen asked, handing Max a folder filled with the breakdown of the design elements and cost.
Mr. Sato whispered to Jin, who relayed the man’s wishes. “Just a brief overview. Time is of the essence.”
Max felt the sting but took a seat. Owen quickly outlined his firm’s vision for the restaurant and Max listened with rapt attention. It was a beautiful, contemporary design. There was a hipness that would attract the younger crowd but a sophistication that would lure the more established money in the city.
“Where in the world are you going to find an artist to paint a mural of this size for nothing?” Max asked as he reviewed the price points, hoping to win back Mr. Sato’s approval by finding a hidden cost.
Owen immediately squashed that dream. “My partner will be painting the mural, so her services are already paid for.”
Mr. Sato whispered a few questions to Jin while Max asked about project management. Owen stated both he and his partner would be overseeing everything on a daily basis.
“Where is your partner today?” Max asked. His tardiness was troubling, but for the K in KO Designs to be missing seemed inexcusable.
Owen puffed out his chest, an offended tone coloring his words. “Kendall was here earlier, Mr. Jordan. She had a family emergency and couldn’t wait on you any longer. I assure you, there is no need to worry about her dedication to this project. She put her heart and soul into this design.”
Properly put in his place, Max decided to stay quiet for the rest of the meeting. There was little fault to be found in the design. He could see why Mr. Sato had solicited KO Designs to make a bid. At his father’s whispered request, Jin called the meeting to an end and informed Owen they would be in contact soon. Escorting the designer out, Jin left Max and Mr. Sato alone.
A full minute passed before Mr. Sato broke the silence. “I hired you because I believe you are the best at what you do, Mr. Jordan.” His voice was deep and gravelly. He was a man of few words, and when he spoke it sounded like he hadn’t done so in years.
“Thank you, sir.”
“As manager, I expect you to be a role model. Being late is unacceptable. Understand?” Max nodded and tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. “You will be at the site every day. Early. No excuses.”
Mr. Sato’s warning had magically tightened the tie around Max’s neck. Slipping his fingers under his collar and giving it a tug, he promised, “I’ll be there every day, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“I hope not.” Mr. Sato stood, his stature not nearly as intimidating as his usual silence. At six foot two, Max was a giant in comparison. “I will accept the bid from KO later today and request we begin as soon