Elements of Retrofit (2 page)

They left to spend their Friday night out doing God knew what while I tidied up after dinner, sat down with a glass of wine and opened my laptop, spending my Friday night working.

* * * *

I was in the office on Monday early, like always, and had forgotten about the intake of interns, until Jennifer buzzed me on the intercom. I looked up from the job specifications. “Yes, Jennifer.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr Elkin,” she said. “If I could trouble you at my desk for a moment.”

The only time Jennifer ever asked me to come to her desk was when she wanted me to have a visual of a client, or opposition, before I met them. “Sure,” I told her.

Jennifer’s desk ran along the left-hand side of my double doors, which ensured no one got to see me without checking in with her first. I opened the door and she handed me a file, which I opened. “Interns,” she said quietly. “There are three to choose from, that’s them over there.” She looked pointedly towards the waiting room without moving her head.

I looked over to see two young men and one woman, all keen to impress and impeccably dressed. Usually the four executive senior partners got to choose from the top four candidates, so I knew any of the three remaining candidates were good. I read through the very brief credential lists first, not even looking at names or gender. I just wanted talent.

Academically, they were all relatively evenly matched, but then a name stood out. I risked a glance at the suited man who I hadn’t even recognised as the kid who’d had dinner in my apartment just three nights ago.

He looked different. Gone was the backpacker look, gone was the kid who drank beer and talked about drunken antics with my son.

In his place was a professional, serious man, dressed in a well-tailored suit.

Without another thought, without
any
thought, I looked at Jennifer, handed her the file and said two words that would change my life.

“Cooper Jones.”

Chapter Two

A short while later, Jennifer knocked on my door and upon walking in, introduced the man behind her.

“Mr Jones, this is Mr Elkin. He’s a senior partner here at Brackett and Golding. You will do everything he asks, when he asks you to do it. You’ll be here when he gets here, you’ll be here until he leaves. Keeping up?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

Jennifer sniffed. “You may call me Jennifer,” she told him, then looked pointedly at me, signalling to the young man that he should address me.

In that split second, I wondered if he’d acknowledge that he knew me, or knew Ryan at least, and I wondered if I’d done the wrong thing by taking him on.

But he gave a curt nod and said, “Mr Elkin, it’s an honour.”

I smiled at his professionalism, while Jennifer turned on her heel. “Right, come with me. I’ll show you to your desk.”

Cooper didn’t smile, but his eyes flickered with humour before he followed her out of the door.

And for the next two weeks, I worked with him every day. He mostly worked with my team, but sometimes with me—sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. He was efficient, dedicated and very talented. For his age, he was one of the best I’d seen.

For his age. I had to keep reminding myself he was only twenty-two.

But even with the mundane jobs he was doing as an intern, it was easy to see he had a love for architecture, much like I did when I was his age. Much like I still did.

He would use his hands animatedly to describe something and his eyes would light up as he spoke. He was passionate, that was for certain.

And as an intern, I should have had him doing what the other interns were doing—the mundane tasks, still ensuring they learnt, but interns basically did the little jobs no one else wanted to do.

The other senior partners rarely saw their interns, and granted, before Cooper I rarely saw any of mine. But he was different. He had an energy, a presence. I didn’t know what it was, but I was intrigued by him. He was fascinated by the work that went on around him, and that was refreshing.

Maybe because he was an old friend of Ryan’s, or maybe it was because of his love for architecture, but instead of having him learning from other people on my team, I picked him to work closer to me.

It was his second week there, late in the afternoon, and we’d had a staff meeting in the conference room, which turned into a bit of a concept meeting then became a design think-tank. I liked those meetings. More casual, open and everyone was encouraged to discuss problems, allowing group discussions on possible solutions.

Cooper was merely an observer, he never said anything unless spoken to. His answers were well-thought-out and calculated. It showed a professional maturity that surprised me, considering his age.

The other staff came in and out, all busy with their own schedules, and by the end of the day, I found myself sitting alone with him at the large oval table.

“So, how are you finding your time here?” I asked him, just as the last person was walking out.

“Oh, I love it,” he said quickly. “Everyone’s great, very helpful. I tend to ask a lot of questions…”

I smiled at him. “An inquisitive mind.”

“When I’m learning something, yes,” he said. “And there’s an awful lot to learn. I think I’ve annoyed a few of your draughts people.”

He made me laugh. “Good. Pick their brains, ask them anything.”

“I have already,” he said. He shook his head, as though he couldn’t believe something. “It’s surreal, you know, that some of the most recognised buildings in New York have their blueprints framed on these walls. That I’m walking past them like they’re just pictures…but they’re not. They’re real.”

I was still smiling at him. “Some of them are incredible.”

“Oh, they are,” he said. He was so excited. “The Woolworth building is amazing. The original blueprints are on the wall,” he said, shaking his head again. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, that’s a little before my time,” I told him.

“Have you designed any?” he asked. “That are framed on the walls?”

“Sure,” I told him. “Come on, I’ll show you.” I stood up and by the time I got to the door, he was right beside me. “All of the blueprints framed on walls were at some point either designed from original concept or had some work done on them by Brackett and Golding,” I told him as we walked down the hall. “The company’s one of the longest continuously trading architectural firms in New York. We’ve put our stamp on quite a few.”

“Very traditional, very prestigious,” Cooper said. “In design and in reputation.”

I stopped walking and stood in front of one particular set of framed blueprints. Cooper stopped with me, but looked at me as though he might have said the wrong thing. I pointed to the gilded frame.

His eyes popped. “The Radiator building?”

The fact he knew the name of the building as soon as he saw it made me smile. “It’s now called the Bryant Park Hotel, but yes, the Radiator.”

“You worked on it?” he asked in a whisper. His eyes were still wide and staring straight at me.

“Not when it was originally built in the nineteen-twenties. I’m not
that
old,” I told him, and he smiled. “But I worked on it in the late nineties, when it became the hotel it is today.”

Cooper’s mouth fell open. “It’s stunning.” He looked from me to the blueprints, as though he was mesmerised. He lifted his hand to trace his fingers over the drawn lines. “The black brickwork is brilliant. How it minimises the contrast between walls and windows, and in the nineteen-twenties. It was such forward thinking. And the gold on the tower…” His words trailed off, he shook his head again and pulled back his hand. “Sorry. I get carried away.”

I was staring at him. The way he spoke of architecture, of buildings, of the art in them, was something I did. It was a passion in me, something that no one else really understood.

“Don’t ever apologise,” I told him. My voice was barely a whisper.

Cooper’s eyes stayed on mine and it wasn’t until someone walked past us that the connection between us was broken.

Something had just passed between us. A familiarity. An understanding. A moment.

I exhaled loudly and took a step back from him. I needed to put some distance between us. “Here, look at this one,” I said, pointing to another frame down the hall. “It’s more modern.”

“The Citigroup Center?” he asked with an amazed laugh. “You worked on it too?”

“Not me personally,” I told him. “Hard to believe, but even the seventies were before my time. But it’s one of my favourites.”

Cooper laughed out loud. “I didn’t mean anything about your age,” he said, still smiling. “I just can’t believe all these buildings came from designs out of this office.”

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” I asked. Then I nodded to the blueprints in front of us. “See the angled roof line? They wanted to setback penthouses in the angled roof, but couldn’t due to zoning restrictions. Now it houses a computer-controlled tuned mass damper, a four-hundred-ton block of concrete that slides on a thin layer of oil. The inertia of the damper reduces the swaying of the building by up to forty per cent.”

I stopped talking when I realised now it was me who was babbling on about the wonders of architecture. “Sorry, I get carried away,” I said, repeating his words back to him.

Cooper smiled at me, but his eyes bore straight into mine. “Don’t apologise,” he said quietly. He stared at me. His gaze never faltered, and I was unable to look away. After a long moment, he broke the connection by turning back to the blueprints. “That is some incredible engineering.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, it is.”

Then I looked around to find nearly almost everyone else in the office had gone. I checked my watch. “I hadn’t realised it had gotten late.”

“Is there anything you need me to do?” he asked.

“No,” I answered. I had work to take home, but didn’t mention it to him. “I think we might call it a day.”

Cooper looked around, as though checking we were alone. “Can I ask you something?”

I had a feeling this was not a work-related question. “Yes,” I answered, hiding the caution in my tone.

“Did you take me on because of Ryan?”

I blinked at his blatant question. “No,” I half-lied. “I took you on as an intern because of your credentials. You were top of your class.”

He nodded and smiled. “I didn’t want to be here on some favour, that’s all. I mean, it’s a dream to work here. I’d just hoped that I earned my place.”

Cooper was honest, almost to a fault. He spoke transparently. If he thought it, he said it. I liked that trait in people. I liked it in him.

“I’m sure you have,” I told him. “I’ve been watching you. You have a very good eye for detail.”

His face brightened and he tried not to smile. “Really?”

If he was asking if he really had an eye for detail, or if I’d really been watching him, I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t believe I’d just admitted to it. Instead of answering him, I gave him a smile and turned to walk back to my office. “Have a good weekend, Cooper.”

“Same to you, Mr Elkin,” he called out behind me.

I packed up my satchel and walked out of the office with Jennifer. “Any plans for the weekend?” she asked.

“No, just the usual,” I told her. Which meant work. My usual was work.

“If you need anything,” she said, “you have my number.”

I smiled. Dear Jennifer was the sweetest woman. She organised my entire professional life, and sometimes my personal life too. She knew what food I liked from which restaurants, she knew what cologne I wore, she knew birthdays, anniversaries and did it all without looking up from her computer.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I told her. “But thank you. You’re really worth more money.”

She smiled, and just before we went separate ways on the sidewalk, she said, “Don’t work too hard.”

Every weekend, and most nights, was about work for me. I’d had a slew of one-night stands, I’d tried dating. And in the beginning, after the separation from my wife, it was exciting. It was new and exciting and everything I dreamt it would be.

I tried
everything,
once, sometimes twice, I did it all—safely, of course—but four years on and I was looking for something else. I just didn’t know what. I’d met a guy, Peter, and theoretically, he should have been perfect for me. Similar age, similar interests, similar everything. But he was too passive, too agreeable to everything. I had ended things with him a few weeks before and had happily dived headfirst into work.

I had every intention of spending a quiet weekend at home, finalising two case files. I went to the gym once, treated myself to some online porn and ordered in food. It was perfect.

Except on Sunday night, I dreamt of Cooper.

It was vivid and hot. I dreamt I was fucking him. His head was thrown back and his mouth was open and I was inside him. He groaned with every thrust.

It was so real, I woke up so fucking hard, I could almost taste his cologne on my tongue.

I got to work a few hours later on Monday morning and almost tripped over my own feet when I saw him.

It was absurd. Ridiculous. Wrong, even. He was the same age as my son!

And yet there he stood, wearing grey suit pants and a matching vest over a crisp white shirt. His vest pulled in at the waist and showed the shape of his ass. He was talking to someone else, but he smiled at me and my heart thumped in my chest.

Fuck.

“Good morning, Mr Elkin,” Jennifer said with a bright, wide smile.

I cleared my throat and still croaked when I spoke. “Morning.”

“Busy schedule,” she said matter-of-factly. “First meeting at nine.”

“Good.” I needed the distraction. I needed work and meetings and appointments, difficult clients and over-budget builders. Anything to distract me from a certain twenty-two-year-old man, whose eyes I could feel on me, burning into my skin, from across the room.

Chapter Three

I managed to avoid Cooper all day. Mondays were always busy, and I told myself I was imagining the attraction. The thought of me being attracted to him was preposterous. He was twenty-two, and I was forty-four. He was just a kid!