Lindsay gave her a squeeze, obviously recognizing that Kaitlin was getting emotional. “You ready for lunch?”
“Sure thing.” There was no point in dwelling on the past. She was staying in New York City, and that was a great thing. The rocker would make a difference, she was sure of it. Maybe she’d get a cat, a calico or a black-and-white gerbil. A pet would make things that much more homey.
With one last look around, she followed Lindsay inside. They locked the rooftop door and took the aging elevator back to the third floor and Kaitlin’s small office.
“There you are.” Zach’s greeting from inside the office sounded vaguely like an accusation.
“What are you doing here?” Kaitlin’s guard immediately went up. She suspiciously scanned the room, the deck, the bookshelf, her computer, checking to see if anything had been disturbed. She’d put a password on her laptop, and she was keeping the preliminary renovation drawings under lock and key.
She’d made Zach promise to give her carte blanche on the project. But she still feared, given half a chance, he would try to micromanage it. She wasn’t planning on giving him half a chance.
“I have something to show you,” he announced from where he stood behind her tilted drafting table.
She saw that he’d rolled out a set of blue line drawings. She moved forward to get a better view. “Those aren’t mine.”
“They’re something Hugo Rosche put together,” he responded.
Kaitlin slipped between the desk and drafting table, while Lindsay waited in the doorway of the cramped office. Kaitlin stopped shoulder-to-shoulder with Zach, and he moved closer up against the wall.
“What’s different than how it is now?” she asked, moving through the pages, noting that a few walls had been relocated. The lobby had been slightly expanded, and new windows were sketched in on the first floor.
“We’d also repaint, recarpet and get a decorator,” said Zach.
She glanced up at him, searching his expression. “Is this a joke?”
He frowned at her.
“Because, I mean, if it’s a joke, ha-ha.” She dropped the pages back into place.
He looked affronted. “It’s not a joke.”
She gestured to the sheets of paper. “You’re not seriously suggesting I use these.”
“We don’t need to make massive changes in order to improve the building,” he insisted.
“I’m not a decorator, Zach. I’m an architect.”
“Being an architect doesn’t mean you need to tear down walls for the sake of tearing down walls.”
She turned and propped her butt against the side of the desk, folding her arms over her chest and facing him head on. “Did you seriously think I’d fall for this?” Because if he had, he was delusional.
He lifted his chin. “I thought you’d at least consider it.”
“I just considered it. I don’t like it.”
“Thank you so much for keeping such an open mind.”
“Thank you so much for bringing me a fait accompli.”
“I paid good money for these plans.” He snagged the bottom of the sheets and began to roll them up. His voice rose, the offense clear in his tone. “And I paid good money for your original plans. And now I’m paying a third time for the same work.”
Lindsay shifted forward, stepping fully into the room. “Would you prefer to fire Kaitlin and meet us in court?”
Zach’s steel gaze shot her way.
He glared at her briefly, then returned his attention to Kaitlin. “I thought you could use them as a starting point.”
Kaitlin shrugged. “Okay,” she said easily.
His hands stilled. He drew back, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Then he paused and asked, “You will?”
She shrugged again. “Since they’re virtually identical to the existing building, I’ve already used them as a starting point.”
Lindsay coughed a surprised laugh.
Zach came back to life, snapping an elastic band around the paper roll, while Kaitlin hopped out of his way.
“It’s my backup plan,” Zach said to Dylan. It was Sunday afternoon, and the two men maneuvered their way through the crowded rotunda at Citi Field toward a Mets game. If there was one thing he’d learned from both his father and from Dylan’s dad, it was that your contingencies had to have contingencies. Plans failed all the time. An intelligent man was prepared for failure.
Dylan counted on his fingers. “Plan A was to buy her off. Plan B was getting her to agree to the Hugo Rosche drawings. Low percentage on that one working, by the way.” He skirted a trash can. “And now Plan C is to find her a new job?”