It was dark when I packed up my work to finish at home. I used an app on my phone to call for a car to come collect me and left the office, switching off the light as I went because I was the last to leave.
I locked the doors behind me, feeling weary all the way to the marrow of my bones. Thank goodness Booker had been quick on his feet and stalled Miguel. It bought me the morning and I was going to need it.
The driver let me off at the gate. I used the security pad to enter, waiting until the gate closed behind me before striding up the walk. I didn’t want to let any more surprise guests inside the grounds. I still felt bad about that, and knowing that Mr. Daire—he’d gone back to being Mr. Daire after he yelled at me—was in a wheelchair only made it worse.
What if something awful had happened to him, and it was my fault for letting in the perpetrator? I thought of his muscled arms and chest and realized that it was highly unlikely that someone could get the best of him, but there was something wrong with his leg. I wished Soph could have told me more.
I arrived at my house, exhausted but knowing I needed to work well into the night to come up with a concept that really dazzled for the Schneider account. I had the work the team had already done and it was okay, but I knew if I wanted to redeem myself, it needed some wow factor. Ugh.
Once inside, I dropped my stuff, flicked on the lights, and crossed the room to open one of the French doors. There was no sign of Sir, which made me sad and a little worried. I was late; maybe he’d given up on me and gone to forage dinner elsewhere. I tried to remind myself that he wasn’t a pet, but right now he was the only source of daily affection I was receiving, and given that today had been the Mondayest Monday of all the Mondays, well, a little kitten love would not have been out of order.
I cleared off the dining table and set up my laptop and preliminary sketches as I was going to need to spread out a bit. I knew I was going to be working until my eyes crossed, but that was fine. I’d had plenty of jobs just like this one in Boston. The difference, of course, was that when I was working for myself, it was only my reputation on the line. Knowing that my work was reflecting on Vasquez Squared made the stakes feel that much higher.
The old logo was a traditional pretzel outlined in a vintage seventies yellow mustard color that did nothing for the pretzels except keep the design recognizable. I had done a background check on the family and discovered the Schneiders were from the Midwest and the company had been started in the 1800s. There was a lot of family pride in their corporate message but they needed more than that. They needed to catch the eye of the younger generation.
I looked at the layouts we had. I liked them. I liked them a lot. They kept the same vibe of the old company but looked fresher. It occurred to me that one way to kick off the new logo was to let the consumers choose. I checked out the company’s social media and noted that they had a solid presence. This would make my suggestion to take it to the public more viable. Cool.
I took another swing at each of the logos, making them pop. I tweaked the fonts, the size, and the color schemes. The only one I didn’t touch was one that I’d worked on all afternoon, after talking to our client on the phone this afternoon, which was also my favorite. I’d taken the old logo but redrawn the letters so that the S and the P in Schneider Pretzels looked like a tasty pretzel. Then I’d stylized the S and the P so that they were a new logo of intertwined pretzel letters. Hand-drawn on Adobe Illustrator but in white with an aqua background, they popped, which would be particularly important for the thumbnail image on their social media channels.
Of course, this was the resolution of only one of my problems. I still needed to come up with a huge client to impress Miguel and Soph and keep Carson off my back. Damn it. I was brand new to this city. I wasn’t networked or connected to anyone other than the people I worked with. How the hell was I going to pull this off? I had no idea.
Frustrated, I closed up my work for the night. I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was past midnight. I frowned. I glanced at the red throw on the sofa. No Sir. He hadn’t snuck in while I was working. I’d left the door open but he hadn’t appeared. Now I was worried. It was the first time in over a week that he hadn’t shown up.
I stepped out onto my patio and searched the area for him. I took in the chilly air and pulled my sweater more tightly about me. I could hear the faint sounds of the crickets, but that was it. There was a stillness to the night, as if everyone was tucked into bed. It was so strange to find such a pocket of silence in the heart of the city. I glanced at the big house. Did Nick know how lucky he was to live here like this? Then I thought of his wheelchair, and I doubted he’d view himself as lucky at all.
I turned to go inside and get some food as incentive to lure Sir in when I heard a sound from the other side of the citrus trees. What if it was the intruder Nick had warned me about? I almost ran inside and slammed the door shut. We were in a major metropolitan area, after all, but something made me pause.
And then out of the citrus trees, he appeared, in his wheelchair. My eyes went wide as Nick propelled himself down the walkway to my house. He was wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, zipped up, and I could see the muscles in his arms and chest bunch and ripple as he rolled toward me. When I glanced at his handsome face, all I could think about was the feel of him lying on top of me. Oh my.
“Hi, Annabelle,” he said.
“Hi.” I stood perfectly still as if he were a wild creature and I might scare him away with any sudden movements.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize he hadn’t wanted me to see him in his wheelchair the morning he’d called me up to the house. In fact, having me walk in on him, during his workout, was likely his way of disguising any weakness. The fact that he was here now in his chair was definitely him owning his bullshit by putting it out there. I could respect that.
“I found something that I believe belongs to you,” he said as he came to a stop in front of me.
“What’s that, Mr. Daire?”
He tipped his head to the side. “I’m Mr. Daire again?”
“Sorry . . . Nick,” I said. His hazel gaze was direct, making me feel as if he could see not just me but what I felt and thought as well. It was unnerving and made my sleep-deprived brain flatline, so naturally, I started to babble. “Unless you’d prefer Mr. Daire because that’s fine, too. Whatever you want, I’m good. I mean, name-wise whatever you want . . . oh god. Shut up, Annabelle.”
He laughed. It was a delightfully deep, dark, and delicious sound. I felt my face get warm and my nervousness ratcheted up. There was something about this man that made all of my usual coolness vanish into complete nerd girl.
“Nick is fine,” he said. “But ‘Sir’ is definitely not fine for this guy.”
He set the brake on his chair and unzipped his sweatshirt. Gently he pulled the black-and-white cat out of his hoodie and held him out to me.