I could start my own business, I realized. Which had always felt like a possibility that wasjustout of reach for me. Even when I’d imagined inheriting the firm from my dad, small as it was, it had always felt like it was his. Something for me to take over, not something for me to build.
There was something in that idea, and I frowned at it, leading the way to the conference room. It didn’t feel like an overstep to take the lead, and Cory and I worked well together, opening our laptops and sitting down at the table side by side. As peers and partners.
I spent the rest of the morning reviewing his other two projects while he began a draft of the timeline on Cahuenga Pass, and when we broke for lunch, I would have sworn the voicemail from my dad was burning a hole in my pocket. For lunch, I headed toward the beach to a little sandwich shop I only went to when I wanted to celebrate something. I’d have to share it with Marshall one day, but after the rush of the morning and the phone calls and the work on two new bids, I wanted some time to myself. Some quiet to think. But while I waited for my roast beef and cheddar, my finger hovered over the voicemail from my dad.
Instead of pressing it, I called Lincoln…and woke him up.
“Were you really asleep?” I asked when he yawned loudly into my ear.
“Really asleep. What time is it?”
“Noon, buddy. It’s noon.”
He made a very disbelieving sound in my ear that turnedinto a stretch and a moan. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I am, but it’s lunchtime.”
“Lunchtime,” he repeated, yawning again.
“I’ll let you get back to sleep”—I laughed—"but I wanted to let you know Cory and I got the job.”
“You what?” Lincoln was wide awake now, and I had to cover my face with a cupped hand to hide my smile and my blush.
“We got the job.”
“The one your dad fucked up?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“The one your boyfriend thought he was going to win?”
My heart twisted, but not as badly as before. “That’s the one.”
“Fuck yes!”
I could picture Lincoln in bed, tangled in his sheets, fist pumping the air in celebration.
“Now I’m definitely coming out with you and Marshall later tonight. Celebration blow jobs for everyone!”
“You didn’t even do anything,” I teased.
“I’m hurt you would say such a thing. I supported you! Wholeheartedly.”
I rolled my eyes, giving a pink-haired hipster a wave of thanks when they dropped my sandwich and a bag of chips in front of me.
“Yes, you did,” I consoled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I know. I know. You’re welcome, Silas.”
Tearing open the wrapping on my sandwich with one hand, I couldn’t help but feellightabout the win for the first time since the morning. I did deserve this. I had worked hard. I always worked hard and would continue to do so. It wasn’t my fault my dad didn’t see it, and it definitely wasn’t my fault hewas too stuck in his ways to understand that architecture and design was a living, breathing industry that would have to change to stay relevant.
“I’m gonna eat,” I told him. “I’ll be home after work.”
“I can’t wait. Now I’m going back to bed.”
Lincoln hung up on me, and I dug into my sandwich. I’d gotten partway through the first half when the chair across from me pulled out and my dad sank down into the seat. The bread and meat tangled into a ball and lodged in my throat. I choked on it, of course, slamming my hand against my chest to force it down into my stomach.
My dad didn’t say anything while I fought through it, only silently sliding my drink closer after I’d managed to get it down.
