Crimson Footprints (27 page)

He rushed Deena and hoisted
her over his shoulder. Laughing, she squirmed to get free of his
powerful grip. Paint smeared his shoulder and back as he carried
her through the living room, past the bedroom and into the
bathroom.

“
Sticking your tongue out
at me! Ruining my shirt! I’ll show you!”

Deena laughed fitfully as he
carried her away.

“
And didn’t I tell you that
you were making a mess?”

He dumped her into the
bathtub. Doubled over with laughter, she attempted to escape before
he turned the shower on full blast. Yellow paint seeped from her
now transparent shirt and lounge shorts, draining into the tub
beneath her.

With a determined expression
and a single hand, Deena snatched him in, and in seconds they were
saturated and giggling, her body beneath his. She kissed him as
cold water rained down.

“
Uh uh. Don’t try to
distract me. You still haven’t taken off my shirt.” The water
plastered razored black hair to his forehead and neck, as he
murmured between kisses.

“
That’s because I’m not
going to.” Deena traced the bridge of his nose with a single
finger, then kissed him again. He raised an eyebrow.

“
Oh yeah?”

“
Oh yeah,” she replied.
Suddenly they were struggling again, as he yanked at the shirt, as
she fought to keep it. But her fight was brief, and her laughter
long.

“
Deena, you made that way
too easy.”

Tak kissed her again,
tossing his sopping wet t-shirt of a prize from the tub. He
returned to Deena, heart pounding the way it always did when she
was within his grasp.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE

Deena ran the flats of her
palms across the broad dark table and tried to ignore the glares of
those around her. Jennifer Swallows, 69, with the firm twelve
years, in the industry forty. Sam Michaels and Donald Mason, each
in their fifties, had been with the firm over twenty years. Herb
West, at 67, had been with the firm ten, but in the industry forty.
There were others, twenty-five in all, and each had something Deena
did not. Decades of experience. And yet she was there, among this
elite group, with seventy-five other architects on the other side
of the door, snubbed from this all-important meeting.

Daichi entered the room with
a scowl and closed the door behind him. He held no briefcase, no
notes, nothing to indicate the meeting’s purpose. He allowed his
gaze to rake over each of the architects present, twenty-three men,
Jennifer and Deena, and spared no one the invasive appraisals that
bordered on molestation. Still, Daichi’s entrance conjured up
stirring images of Tak, flickering like an 8mm film—Deena’s office
door, a bare leg, his mouth at her neck, then lower. She cleared
her throat and shifted in her seat. This would be a long
meeting.

Deena’s cell phone vibrated
from its resting place in her purse. She glanced down at her lap
and willed herself not to peek. Turning to Daichi, she willed
herself to concentrate on the cut of his Armani suit, the polish of
his Prada shoes, the glare of his face. The phone vibrated again.
She peeked.

Thought of U. Thinking of
me? Call when U can

Deena ran a finger along the
screen, as if in touching the words she might touch Tak. Of course,
she was thinking of him. She was becoming incompetent from thinking
of him.

Hurriedly, she punched in a
response.

In meeting. Call after. Dad
looks mad.

Deena raised her gaze to
Daichi as he paced.

“
Whenever there is an
economic downturn you will find that the building industry will
suffer exponentially. A look out the window will show you that
construction has all but halted in this city. Our economic crisis
is a global one, with far reaching ramifications,” Daichi
said.

Deena’s phone vibrated. She
glanced down. From his seat next to her, Herb West scowled; his
distaste with her inattention clear.

Tell him you’d much rather
hear what his sexy ass son has to say.

Deena stifled a giggle, and
rushed to reply.

I’ll need his sexy ass son
to support me after this conversation is done.

Deena stared into her purse,
waiting impatiently for her phone to vibrate. The answer was
quick.

U got it.

“
Deena? Deena, I’d like to
hear your thoughts.”

She snapped to attention.
“Sir?”

“
Your thoughts. I find you
often have an opinion. I’d like to hear it now.”

Oh shit.

Each gaze turned on
her.

“
Well, Daichi, I agree with
you.”

“
You do?”

“
Yes, sir.
Absolutely.”

She had to stick firm.
Wavering now would invite more questions.

Daichi stared, everyone
stared, until beads of sweat wet Deena’s forehead. She thumbed the
phone in her lap, unwilling to move and draw attention to it. She
rushed to remember a snippet of speech. Something about
construction demand waning.

Deena cleared her throat.
“It’s…inevitable that our industry would suffer. A recession
prompts people to panic, to save, not spend. Without demand,
there’s no need for supply. That’s basic economics.”

They gasped. Deena looked
around, wondering what she’d said, only to see Daichi’s scowl melt
into quiet admiration.

“
I find your candor in this
matter a mark of maturity and confidence. A bold, yet necessary
statement, Deena, considering the numbers I’ve
illustrated.”

He turned back to the board,
using a wooden pointer for emphasis as he spoke.

“
The Miami location, our
largest as headquarters, will see the biggest layoffs at 20%. Our
offices in Tokyo, London, Mumbai and Mexico City will experience
major cutbacks as well, not only in architects employed, but in
support staff as well. As I’ve already indicated, I expect a
fifteen percent decrease in overall personnel, effective
immediately.”

Daichi turned to Deena with
a smile, oblivious to the horror dawning on her face.

“
Again, Ms. Hammond, thank
you for reiterating the need for this in plain speak. As always,
your candor and astuteness is appreciated.”

Lunch would have to be
brief. Daichi’s meeting had been an unexpected part of her day, and
as such, had eaten into time she would’ve spent on the project.
With a site selected and the design plans finalized, they were
scheduled to break ground at the start of the new year. That meant
that Deena was in project management mode.

She glanced at her watch.
She had forty minutes to eat and make to the meeting with the
Skylife investors. As Deena stepped out of the conference room
however, Daichi stopped her.

“
A moment of your time,
please.”

Deena moved out of the
steady stream of exiting architects and joined Daichi near his dry
erase board.

“
You’ll be meeting with the
investors alone today.”

Deena’s eyes widened. “What?
Why?”

“
Because I have a
scheduling conflict. And because you’re capable of doing
so.”

Deena’s breathing shallowed.
“Yes, sir.”

“
You’ll be fine,
Deena.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
You may go now. Unless
there’s something you’d like to say.”

She wanted to tell him that
she hadn’t been listening, that she never would’ve stated in such
cavalier terms the need to lay off so many people. Better than two
hundred of them, gone because she’d been text messaging his
son.

“
Deena?’ Daichi said when
she failed to respond.

“
Yes, sir?”

“
Something on your
mind?”

“
No sir. I’m
leaving,”

Deena scurried from the
conference room, head cowed.

“
It must be nice to know
you’ve got job security at what…nineteen?” Sam Michaels said from
his spot behind Deena in line at the lunch truck.

“
Ah, but what it must
cost,” Donald Mason sighed. “Still, some women find it easier than
others, I suppose.”

Deena swallowed hard in an
effort to keep her eyes trained on the selection before her. Tuna
on rye. Ham, turkey, bologna, all with American cheese. A Caesar
salad with wilted lettuce.

“
He’s got great taste
though. She’s young, firm, got everything in all the right places.
He could do worse,” Herb said as the line moved.

Donald laughed. “At this
firm? Easily!”

She would get the turkey.
She would get the turkey and an apple. With twenty-five minutes to
spare, she would take her lunch under a tree somewhere far from Sam
and Donald and gross speculation. The line moved again. Two more
until Deena’s turn.

“
Still, if she’s gonna be a
whore, he shouldn’t be the only one to benefit. Senior staff should
be able to petition for perks. Blouses with lower cuts…”

“
And hand jobs on the
side,” Sam added.

Donald hooted in
approval.

Hand jobs on the
side.

And so it was that Deena was
a whore again. With her grandfather, Eddie Hammond, in the ground
nearly a decade and a single lover in her life, she’d been reduced
to that emblazoned word once again. Whore. She brushed away hot
tears as she ordered turkey. Underneath her tree, she would find
the bread stale and the lettuce wilted. In this world as Daichi’s
prized protégé, nothing was what it promised to be.

CHAPTER FORTY

“
You know,” said William
Lewis Henderson, “I have a real problem with the way the bottom
line on this project keeps inflating. We’ve seen an additional
fifty million dollar increase since the initial
estimate—”

“
Well sir, we’ve made some
changes, changes that you were among the first to approve.
Remember?” Deena said.

“
Of course I
remember!”

Henderson was a pale and
portly man, red-faced in his anger, with sunken silver eyes and
never-ending beads of sweat. His suit was Versace, his shoes Armani
and his gold pinkie ring inlaid with diamonds. He rolled gray eyes
in impatience. “What time is Daichi arriving?”

Deena sighed. “I’ve already
told you that Daichi won’t be joining us.”

“
We’re paying top dollar to
work with Daichi Tanaka, not, not some intern,” said Maurice
Wilcox, the son of James Martin Wilcox of The Wilcox
Group.

The Skylife project was the
brainchild of William Lewis Henderson and his wife Maria Garcia, a
Miami socialite whose family made their riches during the Cocaine
Cowboy era. In the late 70s and early 80s, when the majority of
cocaine entered the U.S. through Miami, it was by way of families
like Maria Garcia’s. Years later, the Garcia’s reestablished
themselves as a respectable family with a history of philanthropy
and very deep pockets.

After marrying Maria Garcia,
William, a Miami attorney with a brief and spotty political career,
established Henderson Properties, the principal investor for the
Skylife project. He brought on two other development firms, The
Wilcox Group and Allen Young Investors, who provided additional
capital for the project.

“
I am not an intern,” Deena
said quietly. “I’m an architect, same as Daichi.”

“
Oh? Were you in
Time
magazine as well?
How about
People?
Were you in anything?” That was Maurice.

Deena rubbed her face
tiredly. Today was not the day for Maurice’s snide remarks. She
stared at him as he continued to bark, ruddy face seemingly
scorched free of facial hair, jowls jiggling as he
spoke.

“
Daichi is the principle
architect on this project, as you were promised. I work under and
answer to him. I can answer whatever questions you might
have.”

Maurice stared at her,
unconvinced. As he opened his mouth, William interrupted
him.

“
I’d like for you to answer
my previous question, which you’ve made every attempt to ignore.
Why has the cost of this project soared from $300 to $350
million?”

“
Sir, I’ve already told
you—”

“
No. I want you to go over
to that dry erase board and line itemize every expenditure for us
to see. Then I want you to justify every single expense until we’re
satisfied. Now,” William pointed a single long thick finger at the
board behind her.

Deena closed her eyes, tears
threatening her. She’d never seen them this way, impatient,
belligerent, condescending. She glanced at the door with a simple
prayer that she knew would not be answered. Daichi was in his
Mercedes en route to Orlando for talks of another major project.
She’d heard whispers that it was with one of the major theme parks.
He would not be walking through the door for a project he’d already
secured, when the enticement of immortality lay at the
precipice.