Underneath It All (The Walsh Series #1) (15 page)

Throwing my phone at Sam would be bad, and I kept telling myself as much. There was no separating family from the business, and these were the moments when I craved the anonymity of a typical workplace. One where no one would stop to verify I was sleeping with women.

Make that
one
woman.

“Yes,” I said at length.

My stomach sank, remembering that Lauren was coming
here
. She wouldn’t need to invent reasons to flee once she got a look at this crew.

For the most part, my brothers and sisters and I counted each other as friends, and we rarely looked beyond this circle. We were masters at covering up the broken, angry parts of our business and upbringing, and no one was the wiser. It was exhausting, and we diverted most of our energies into old buildings rather than friends or relationships. It was better that way, safer. It protected us from obligatory questions about family and childhood—too complicated, too cluttered, too depressing.

I spared Lauren the goriest details when we talked about the business and my family’s inextricable ties to it on Friday night: the sisters who hadn’t spoken in five years, the father who systematically expelled Shannon, Sam, and Erin from the family house and spent the majority of his miserable existence berating my siblings and desecrating the memory of my mother.

Regardless of the fast-approaching end—maybe in spite of it—I wanted to see her again, and I wanted to make good on that promise to take care of her building. Outside of the best sex I’d ever had, it seemed like the one tangible thing bringing us back together.

“Shut the hell up, Samuel Aidan. We have actual work to do here,” Shannon said. “You don’t have to be shameless all day, every day.”

Chastened, Sam pressed his fist to his mouth and studied his laptop screen. Patrick talked through updates on a handful of projects, and I stole a glance at my phone. Texting was forbidden during our Monday morning status meetings.

07:34 Lauren:
as long as that’s still ok with you

07:36 Lauren:
I might be able to do later but not earlier

07:40 Matthew:
3 will be fine

07:41 Matthew:
i want dinner with you tonight.

“What’s the story on the Bunker Hill properties?” Patrick asked, his eyes rounding the table before stopping on me.

“I pulled everything the city has. Each in the ballpark of three thousand square feet. Three to four levels. All multi-family. City had only a few work permits from the past fifty years. Mostly new water heaters, some main drain work. Nothing structural. Without walking the properties, I’m fairly certain we’re talking original design and infrastructure, and full retrofitting.”

Annoyance passed over Patrick’s face. “Are you waiting for an invitation to get over there? Do you need someone holding your hand while you draft restoration plans or throw together a budget?”

And that’s why we called him Optimus Prime. Serious about everything, perfectionist to no end, impatient as hell, and the most reluctant warrior I’d ever seen.

“Patrick, we acquired these properties on Thursday. They were relatively cheap, in decent shape, and won’t take much to restore. They won’t sit on the books for long. Unless I hear a compelling argument otherwise, I don’t see why these are priorities. The Back Bay projects are far more urgent.”

Patrick arched his eyebrows and stared at me for a long, hard second. “Fine. I’ll let Angus know to check in with you directly when he wants updates. What else do you have?”

A sparkly blonde who will run screaming the second she meets this tribe.

“Shan, I have a client who needs representation on the acquisition of Trench Mills. Also looking for rehab. Conversion to a school. Can you meet after three today for that?”

Shannon scanned her calendar, nodding. “Three. Yeah, tight but I’ll be here.”

“We flip mills into schools now?” Riley asked.

“Apparently Matt does,” Patrick said.

“My client came to us for rehab and restore on Saint Cosmas in Dorchester. School conversion. We discussed that
last
Monday,” I said. “After the walking the property, it was clear Saint Cosmas would be a complete teardown and not within the client’s project parameters. Walked a few more properties and Trench Mills is the best option. Floor plans drafted and approved by the client.”

They didn’t need to know the client and I discussed those floor plans in bed Sunday morning, or that she sat in my home office wearing only an old UCSD t-shirt, her legs folded beneath her and her hair tucked over her ears while I drafted them. They didn’t need to know I checked every measurement three times because those swaths of bare skin were too distracting to be safe. She asked lots of questions, her finger tracing every line on the screen before tugging my shorts down, taking me in her mouth, and demanding—fucking
demanding
—I fill her throat with my orgasm.

And after she sucked me dry, I realized there was far more to Lauren than I first thought. More than the sweetness, the softness, the naughty schoolteacher. Maybe I knew it earlier, but a certain clarity came with an orgasm that blew through me like a goddamn tsunami. She was the size of a freaking fifth grader, but she was a force of nature.

“But we do residential, right?” Riley’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yes,” Patrick responded. He leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully unbuttoned his cuffs and folded his sleeves to his elbows. “But contributing to the community from time to time won’t kill anyone. We should attempt to make more friends than enemies.”

Patrick turned his attention to Sam’s projects and I unlocked my phone under the table.

07:44 Lauren:
that was a statement. maybe you meant to ask me a question, caveman.

I rubbed my brow and grinned. There was something about this girl I liked. Maybe numerous somethings.

07:53 Matthew:
my apologies, Miss Halsted. Would you have dinner and drinks with me tonight?

07:53 Matthew:
I actually mean dinner. You’re absolutely welcome to suck my cock, but let’s eat first.

07:54 Lauren:
I’m not sure about that. My day is jammed. I fly out at 7 tomorrow morning and I haven’t packed a thing, and most of my life is being held hostage at the dry cleaner

07:54 Matthew:
here are the givens: you need to eat. I need to eat. We both work too fucking much.

07:54 Matthew:
You’ll be with my sister a few hours this afternoon and you probably need a ride to the airport tomorrow.

07:55 Matthew:
and you really like my cock in your mouth.

07:55 Matthew:
as I see it, we should hang out tonight

07:55 Matthew:
get dinner with me and I’ll bring you to the airport. Problems solved, cocks sucked.

“Patrick and I have been talking, and there some major things to iron out,” Shannon announced. She shuffled some papers and closed her laptop, her hands folded on the lid. “First, we need to hire some help. There’s too much for us to do with just the five of us, and two assistants. We can afford it now, and we can’t keep doing ninety-hour weeks.”

“Preach,” Riley responded.

Shannon glared at Riley for a beat before continuing. “And second, some of the architecture schools—Cornell in particular—have been hitting us hard to take apprentices or interns. Problem being that an apprenticeship requires a lot of time and attention. Those baby birds usually need lots of support before we can let them fly alone, and we can barely get out of our own ways on most days.”

“And what is your recommendation?” Sam asked.

“Patrick and I are going to work on an intern or apprentice development model before we accept anyone, but expect to start seeing candidates in the office. Obviously,” Shannon gestured to Sam while my leg bounced under the table in an attempt to distract myself from the vibrations pulsing off my phone. “We still have more demand than we can meet, even with some additional intern-level support. Thoughts on all this?”

“Why not just hire a couple architects?” Riley swirled his cup as uneasy glances darted across the table. Silence lingered, and I wondered how Riley could know so little about the firm. And it wasn’t just that—how could he know so little about
us
? Hadn’t he seen us busting our asses for years? Watching every last penny during those first years when it seemed like we weren’t going to stay above water?

“This has been a family operation for nearly seventy years,” Sam countered. “You weren’t even in high school when we decided we were telling Angus to go pound sand and taking over this place. But we made a plan to do this, and put everything into it
together
because we wouldn’t let him run it into the ground. It should stay that way. Having a lot of inquiries,” he waved his call sheet, “doesn’t mean we should take every project. The money’s great but I wouldn’t trade that for the control we have over what we do and how we do it. We’re the only firm in the region doing this, and I don’t want to see us change. This is our place, and it needs to stay our place.”

Patrick nodded. “I’d rather take on less work than take on new partners, but after everything we’ve been through, I can’t believe I’m saying we should turn away business.”

“So we agree?” Shannon paused for dissent, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “We’ll look into interns and associates, but we’re not hiring partners. Family operation. Sustainable prez for the win, like we planned.”

“I agree with Sam, but what about you? If anyone needs more support, I think it’s you, Shan,” I countered. “And not interns. People who know what they’re doing. You manage all the accounting, taxes, payroll, and real estate, and probably more that I don’t even realize you do. You’re great but it’s too much.”

Patrick closed his computer and leaned forward. “We’re working on that.”

“Get me some interns. I’ll show ’em how it’s done,” Riley said.

“Speaking of which,” Patrick barked, his coffee cup pointed at Riley. “RISD is riding with you, Matt. Maybe you can teach him to add or hold a ruler.” Patrick jammed his phone into his slacks and collected his laptop and coffee before heading down the narrow stairs. Shannon and Sam followed, deep in conversation about the number of interns they could manage.

We all went through the Cornell architecture program—me and Patrick and Sam, and all the architects in my family back to my grandfather and great-uncles—everyone except Riley. I respected the hell out of the Rhode Island School of Design and their program, but I suspected his choice to head south to RISD was driven mostly by Angus’s assholery.

I checked my watch to confirm the date. Just about four months. I was impressed Riley lasted that long with Patrick. He spent his first months on the job filing bluelines, waiting on permits, and picking up the scraps Patrick threw his way, and it had been a ticking time bomb.

I turned my gaze to Riley. “What did you do now?”

Riley blew out a breath as he collected his things. “I missed a few beams on a couple of designs. Screwed up a few cost estimates. Lost some progress tables. Forgot to run ratios on a couple others. Strayed from some parameters.”

“As in, the parameters that would determine whether the building would withstand its own weight?”

“Yeah,” Riley nodded, hipshot and hands fisted. “Those.”

“What the fuck, Riley?”

“Maybe you could save me some time and tell me what you want me doing instead of telling me how much of a fucking moron I am?”

“Yeah. My office. I’ll be there in ten. And Riley? Zip your pants. And get rid of that bracelet.”

I pocketed the rubber ‘Save the TaTas’ wristband Riley tossed to the table. Once his footsteps on the stairs faded away, I swiped my phone’s screen and read the new messages from Lauren.

08:06 Lauren:
why am I not surprised you responded with some elaborate theory?

08:07 Lauren:
and am I reading this correctly – you’d like me sucking multiple cocks?

08:07 Lauren:
I signed up for drinks, not an orgy.

08:17 Lauren:
but no, I really need to pack.

I wanted to respect the rules: raw, dirty sex, and sometimes partying with her friends or hanging out, and all of it on her highly random terms.

Easy, stingless sex—just the way I liked it.

But more than that, I wanted to demolish those rules.

LAUREN

I
burrowed into
my red wool coat, the wind howling between the narrow streets and sending a chill through my bones as I rounded the corner to Matthew’s office. An early winter was setting in but the threats of frost did nothing to dampen my spirits. My fellowship program signed off on acquiring the abandoned button mill, pending environmental and other standard safety inspections. My start-up facilities financing was approved and I only needed Matthew’s sister—the CFO, not the volcano doctor—to write up an offer on the property.

As far as today was concerned, I had it all under control.

Everything except Matthew.

Waking up beside him for the third day in a row was a startling reminder that I couldn’t do this. It was irrelevant whether I liked Matthew, and it only made it worse that I did. His sense of humor, intense vibe, nerdy quirks, bottomless blue eyes—I liked it all. But my ladybits were not in charge. I didn’t have fuck buddies, and I couldn’t carve any time or space for Matthew, not when everything else was barely held together with bubblegum and duct tape.

And he was a nice guy. He deserved a fuck buddy who could commit to regular, freak-out-free sex.

The kindest option for everyone was letting it fizzle out.

I pressed the buzzer at the Walsh Associates building and announced my appointment, and promptly heard the lock click open. Unwrapping my scarf and smoothing my hair in the office vestibule, a blur descended the stairs and pushed me against the door. My faux-combat training instincts kicked in, and my elbow pressed into his windpipe and my heel connected with his foot.