young man’s eyes widened when he realized who was addressing him. “K-K-Kenneth Pike, sir.”
Derrick smiled. “Can I call you Kenny?”
Kenny grinned widely. “Yes, sir.”
“Derrick,” Tom interrupted, “painting the damn doors is not going to—”
Derrick put up his hand to silence Tom. “Kenny, Tom here is opposed to your idea of painting the doors to create an illusion of continuity. On the surface, it sounds feasible, but there is a slight flaw in your suggestion. Can you think of what it might be?”
Everyone waited, allowing Kenny time to discover his own mistake. Several of the architects there had run this gauntlet before. Having their brain pitted against the brain of the master. None revealed the answer, for they knew if Kenny discovered it for himself he would be the better for it. The next time such a discussion occurred, he would think the problem through, instead of just blurting out his first thought.
Derrick watched as Kenny’s face crumpled.
“The fire-retardant paint on the doors,” Kenny finally said. “We can’t paint over the fire-retardant paint.” Kenny slumped farther down in his chair.
Derrick smiled. “Very good, Kenny.” He winked. “We’re going to make an architect out of you eventually.” A few chuckles came from around the room.
Kenny hid a shy smile, secretly pleased by the praise.
Tom frowned at Derrick. “Derrick, no one appreciates your snatch-the-pebble-from-my-hand Kung Fu wisdom more than I, but we have to present completed plans to the Marquardt board of directors by the end of the week. So if you don’t mind—”
“Kenny, this is not the kind of architect you want to be, by the way.” Derrick poked his thumb toward Tom. A couple of playful affirmatives came from around the room.
“He’s not, sir,” Kenny said, with loving eyes for Derrick alone.
Ignoring Kenny’s smitten expression, Derrick walked over to the middle of the table, where the plans were spread out. Derrick briefly wondered if that was the look Royce Massey had seen in his eyes when Derrick was a young intern studying under him.
Of course it was, Derrick decided. No one had a greater respect and admiration for Royce than the young thug he’d taken in off the street and trained from the ground up at the request of his beloved wife. And no one envied Royce’s life more than that young thug. And now, twenty-five years later, that young thug was living the life…only not as well.
Despite the incredible wealth he’d accumulated over the years, despite all the marvelous structures around the city that were a testament to his great skill as a building designer, never did Derrick fool himself into believing he’d lived up to the legacy of Royce Massey. Never once did Derrick allow himself to believe that he in any way wore the mantle of greatness and dignity that even now enshrouded the memory of his idol.
Taking a quick look at the plans, Derrick made a decision. “Okay, here and here—” he pointed along the drawings “—I want a beam running the length of the frame, slightly overhanging. And then—” he turned the drawings, pulling up the interior blueprint “—we’ll put another structural beam here to support it, you see?”
Tom was peering over his shoulder. “Okay, I see what you mean. And the beams would also conceal the exits from the outside of the building.”
“Exactly.” Derrick nodded. By that time, Kenny along with several others had crept forward to examine the blueprints.
“Everybody got that?” Derrick quickly scanned the group. Once he was satisfied with their understanding, he pushed his way back through the group. “Okay, Tom, take the lead. I’ve got something I need to take care of. Oh, and Tom, I want Kenny on this project.”
Just as he was approaching the conference-room double doors, Derrick heard the voice of Kenny whisper, “He’s a lot nicer than I heard.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” a female voice whispered back.
As he walked along the plush carpeted hallway leading to his office suite, Derrick wondered just what Kenny had heard. He knew that rumors of his exploits, which were greatly exaggerated, usually made the rounds in the office. He thought he had a reputation of being a fair employer, but now he believed that his personal life was starting to put his work persona in jeopardy.
Not for the first time, Derrick considered just dropping out of the spotlight. Becoming a hermit and hoping that the media would lose interest in him. As quickly as the idea came, it was gone. For reasons he would not consider too closely, Derrick knew that part of him reveled in the attention. For a kid who’d been knocked around the system and basically ignored for most of his youth, the public interest was more than flattering; it was recompense.
He greeted his employees with smiles and the occasional nod as he passed through the open third-floor space that made up the Massey Architectural firm. Instead of going straight into his office, he turned into the adjoining reception area he shared with Camille.
“Morning, Marjorie.” He greeted the secretary they shared before glancing at the closed office door next to his. “Is she in?”
Marjorie shook her head. “No, sir. She called this morning and left this message for you.” She handed him a folded piece of paper.
Derrick frowned. “Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?” Derrick unfolded the note, remembering Camille’s slow, painful movements of the previous day.
“She asked me not to until your meeting was over.”
Derrick’s eyes quickly scanned the note.
Derrick, I won’t be in today. Not feeling my best. Camille.
“Get her on the phone.” Derrick balled the note and tossed it into the garbage can beside the desk. “And transfer the call to my office.”
Before Marjorie could respond, he’d entered his office and slammed the door shut. Derrick walked across the room and slumped in his waiting chair.
He was worried. He couldn’t help it. For Camille to feel bad enough to stay away from the office said a lot. Derrick could only remember her staying home a handful of days in the past year, and, considering her age, that spoke volumes about her strong constitution. Strong willed or not, Camille was still a seventy-year-old woman, and no one was more conscious of that fact than Derrick.
In fact, he probably thought about her mortality more than his own. Camille was the closest thing to family he had, and once she was gone…
His phone rang, and he snatched it from the base. “Yes?”
“I have Mrs. Massey on the line, sir.”
“Thank you, Marjorie. Put her through.”
After a series of clicks, Derrick heard Camille’s disgruntled voice, and it eased his troubled heart.
“You better have a good reason for waking me, young man.”
Derrick smiled, feeling more relieved than he could’ve ever explained. “Just making sure you’re
