Liam stared at him. What was Tristan looking for? Not practicalart, apparently, but—
“Let’s try it another way,” Tristan said. “What excited you about the Taybec Briggs project?”
“My proposal didn’t make that clear?” Liam fought through the muddle of his mind. “We were going to create a unique streetscape that would seamlessly combine—”
“No! Whatexcitedyou? What images made you feverish, made you passionate, made you obsessed with the need to create?What drove you to put all the hours you did into the proposal you created? A proposal which, I must say, showed the professionalism and aesthetic sensitivity of all your work. But what’s yourpassion?” And he thumped his chest in vaguely the area of his heart.
“My passion.” Liam took a deep breath. “Why are we having this conversation, Tristan? You know me. For years, I’ve done good work foryou. I’ve brought in three times more business than any other associate has, and I’ve produced the designs the clients want. I could go to any firm in this city, with my portfolio, my client recommendations, and have a job in a second. I could start my own damn firm and have more work than I could handle. I’m not bragging about this—you know it’s just the truth. I could do all of that, but I’ve stayedhere, with you.”
“You’ve produced the designs the clients want,” Tristan said. He didn’t sound like he was arguing, but his eyes were fierce when he said, “What about the designsyouwant? The ones you dream about?”
“My…. I’m not the client. If I had hundreds of millions of dollars to spend on major projects, I could build the designsIwant. But I don’t, so I do what they want.”
“I agree.But sometimes, for a firm to stay strong, for it to thrive and lead and excel, we have to change the clients’ minds about what they want. We have to show them somethingbetterthan what they want, something more exciting, more daring. And that’s what I saw from Allison’s proposal for this project. And looking at her work made me realize I’veneverseen that from you.”
Liam felt numb. “My designsare—”
“Professional. Polished. You bring jobs in on schedule and on budget, and I know that’s a rare thing. But where’s your passion? Your vision?”
“And you think Allison can do the rest of it? You think this job isjustabout vision? Jesus, Tristan, are you forgetting how much business I bring into this firm? The networking, the PR, the rainmaking, the glowing testimonials and repeat businessfrom clients whoappreciateme paying attention to the business side of things. You think Allison can do all of that?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I thought you could work with her, to help her learn that side of things. And, Liam, this is one project. I’m notfiringyou. I know what you bring to the firm, and I value it. You know I do.”
“But I don’t have vision or passion,” Liam said dully. “Youvalue me for my business sense, not as an architect.”
“You’re a solid architect. An excellent architect. But—”
Liam stood up. Whatever else was happening, whatever was beyond his control, at least he wouldn’t sit there like a damn schoolboy being lectured from on high. And being vertical allowed him to pace.
“Without me you’ll be laying off half your staff,” he managed. Did Tristan notseethis?
“I’m not firing you,” Tristan repeated. Then he sighed. “I’m sixty-eight years old, you know. I’m still healthy and I have no plans to retire—I still love this firm far too much. I still feelpassionfor architecture, and for the work we do. But I’m at the stage of my life when I’m starting to look at my legacy. I want to see what I’m leaving behind. And I want to leave exciting, cutting-edgeprojects behind. Projects that pushed boundaries. I’ve made enough money. It’s time for me to start makingart.”
Art.
There were other arguments Liam could make, but it was all suddenly too much. This old bastard and his delusions of grandeur, Liam’s own powerlessness, the thought of Allison lurking in the office outside, waiting to see what the meeting was about—waiting to gloat? Liam pushedto his feet. “And you don’t think I can do that. I’m done, then. I’m gone.”
“For the sabbatical you mentioned. A break, a chance to refresh yourself.”
“A chance to look for work elsewhere, at a firm where they appreciate my contributions.”
This was really happening. His worst imaginings were coming true. There was no bigger, better project that Tristan had been holding in reserve, no misunderstandingor simple remedy or—nothing. There was no solution other than a quick escape. “I’ll clear out my station. I assume you’ll be contacting my existing clients, but they all have my cell number, and I imagine they’ll follow up with me.”
“This is unnecessary. You still have a place here. And I still look forward to seeing your proposal for our next project. As you said, our clients have always beenmore than pleased with your work.”
“But not you,” Liam said. He immediately wished he could take the words back because they just seemed like they were reopening a discussion that he absolutely, positively wanted to keep closed. He started for the door. “I quit. I hope you and Allison are very happy together.”
Tristan let him have the last word, or maybe was just too slow to say anything beforeLiam was out of range.
He was hyperaware of Allison staring at him as he jerked open the drawers of his desk. There wasn’t much that wasn’t company property, and he didn’t have any boxes or bags, and he’d be damned if he’d take the time to find any. His diplomas and commendations were on the wall, but they were properly anchored and would be tricky to get down. Jesus, why couldn’t anything beeasy?
He straightened and turned toward Allison’s work station. “Tell Tristan to have my stuff packed up,” he ordered. “I’ll send a courier for it tomorrow.”
“Liam—” she started, but he wasnotgoing to have a conversation with her. Not about this or about anything else.
He strode toward the door, brushed past a couple draftspeople as they entered the building without offering them any greetings,and then he was out on the street, almost gasping for air.
He’d just quit his job. He’d quit. Because—because Tristan had lost his mind, that was why. The whole thing was—it was incomprehensible. Absurd.
His cheeks felt strangely cool, and he reached up and found them wet. He was crying. Again. Walking down the sidewalk of New York City, crying like a stupid baby.
There was something seriouslywrong with him. And he had no idea how to fix whatever it was.
