Within twenty-four hours, he’d gotten over it and was back on the chase after Jen.
He turned his attention back to the tub. “What’s this going to be?”
“A loveseat,” I answered on a puff of smoke.
“No shit?” he breathed, notably impressed.
“Well, once I manage to get the front off. After that, I have to smooth everything out, resurface the outside, then upholster it. I got this incredible chocolate leather. Cost me a fucking mint, but it’s unbelievable.”
“How much?” he asked, squatting down in front of it and running his hand over the guidelines I had etched into the side.
“More than you can afford.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Try me.”
Ryan Meeks had the money. I knew that much.
I’d known Ryan since we were scrawny kids playing basketball in middle school. We were two unathletic losers who merged a friendship during one season riding the pine. We remained tight through high school and eventually shared a dorm at college. For as many years as we had been best friends, we couldn’t have been more different. I considered myself the beauty in our duo, but there was no doubting that he was the brain. While I spent my days covered in dust with at least one power tool in my hand, Ryan was a criminal defense attorney at one of the biggest law firms in San Francisco. He was still making a name for himself, but his six figures were nothing to sneeze at.
However, neither were my prices.
When I had gone off to college, I’d originally planned to major in architecture, but Christ, that shit was boring. I quickly switched to graphic design and fell in love. I dabbled in the corporate advertising world for a year or two after graduation, but ultimately, I hated that life. One random Wednesday afternoon, as I stood staring at my office door, overwhelming dread filled my gut and bile rose in my throat. It spoke wonders to me that I’d become physically ill at just the idea of doing my job. I couldn’t imagine how that shit would affect me mentally over the course of the years. So, without another thought, I marched to my boss’s office and quit.
In retrospect, it might not have been the smartest decision I’d ever made. The nausea I’d thought was overwhelming dread turned out to be the stomach flu. However, when I finally quit puking three days later, I couldn’t even bring myself to regret my choice. I’d finally discovered my true calling.
I’d always loved working with my hands; it had been ingrained in me at a young age. My parents hadn’t been rich by any means, but they hadn’t been destitute, either. My dad had a series of mental health issues, but even in his darkest hours, he could’ve been found locked in his shop, repairing something. He’d been a firm believer that you used everything until you couldn’t possibly use it anymore. My parents’ microwave had to have been at least twenty years old, but my father had refused to replace it. He’d fixed that thing on a daily basis for almost five years. The amount of money he’d spent on parts and the time researching how to make the repairs was insane. But, as far as he’d been concerned, you didn’t throw anything away ever.
Even after he died, it was a lesson I applied to my adult life as well. So, faced with my newfound unemployment, I tried to figure out some way to put to use my love for graphic design and my experience in repairing and repurposing. I came up with the dream of opening an upcycle furniture store.
One month after I’d quit my job, I opened rePURPOSEd.
I had exactly one piece to show people when I opened the doors. I also had exactly one customer that first month. I just couldn’t gamble on the time and money it took to make a piece that may or may not sell. I did, after all, have to eat. And buy smokes.
Luckily, creativity wasn’t a problem for me, so I developed a plan. I closed the store for a week and settled behind my laptop. Over those five days, hopped up on coffee and cigarettes, I designed over a hundred unique pieces. I had a college buddy help me with the website, and by the following week, Virtually rePURPOSEd was born.
And it exploded.
Suddenly, I had orders flooding in from all around the world. They were far more than I’d have ever been able to fulfill on my own, so I hired two unbelievably talented carpenters, Shane and Travis, to breathe life into my designs. They were a godsend, but they were also expensive as fuck. The first month they were employed at the shop, I had to sign over half of my savings account in order to pay them. But, with my designs and their craftsmanship, we had no problem moving furniture for a hefty profit.
Shane and Travis eventually took over running the physical store, and my time was mostly spent designing on the computer or at the shop behind my house, building whatever project was calling to me at the time.
On this particular day, it was an old claw-foot bathtub I’d found at a thrift shop and was determined to convert into an art-deco loveseat—a project that would easily sell for over ten thousand dollars.
So, while I knew that Ryan could afford it, I couldn’t afford to give him my usual friends and family discount—free.
“Forty grand,” I lied so he’d drop the topic.
“Jesus Christ. That’s it. Next time we go out, you’re paying for drinks. I’m not buying the poor-struggling-artist angle anymore.”
I snuffed my cigarette out in my overflowing ashtray. “Don’t even try that bullshit. How many times have you accidentally-on-purpose left your wallet home in the last month?” I mocked his voice as I slid my safety glasses back on. “‘It’s in my other suit, Sam. I swear.’”
“One time. That happened one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.”
“One time my ass,” I said as I picked my angle grinder up, preparing to get back to work. “Did you need something?”
“Actually, I need a big favor.”
I motioned for him to fill in the blank.
“Okay. First off, my mom wants you to come to dinner tonight as a thank-you for making Morgan that bookshelf.”
I eyed him even more warily. He knew as well as I did that eating his mom’s cooking wasn’t exactly a hardship. “Okaaay,” I drawled suspiciously.
“And secondly, I need you to come fix the drawer on my filing cabinet,” he rushed out in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“I can’t get that son of a bitch open to save my life. I have a big meeting at three, and if I have to hire a goddamn repair man to come in there to open it, I’m going to look like a dumbass in front of the entire office.”
My lips twitched as I crossed my arms over my chest.
Ryan was three inches taller than I was, and while I worked with my hands to keep in shape, he visited the law firm’s private gym on a daily basis. He had me by at least twenty pounds—all of which were muscle. He looked like the clichéd all-American, even as he stood in front of me sporting a pink tie.
I couldn’t even pretend to stifle the laugh that escaped my mouth. “You can’t get your filing cabinet open?” I confirmed incredulously.
His shoulders fell in relief even though I hadn’t agreed to go yet. “Shut it, asshole, and just help me out.”
I continued to laugh as I, once again, dragged my glasses off. “You think me walking in there with a bag of tools is going to look any less conspicuous than hiring a handyman?”
He curled his lip in disappointment. “What a fucking novice.” Chuckling, he steepled his fingers under his chin like the evil genius he so obviously thought he was. “So here’s the plan. No tools. Just pretend you’re coming to say what’s up. They all know you.” Pausing, he narrowed his eyes and pointed an angry finger in my direction. “Stay the fuck away from Jen.”
“Right. How exactly am I supposed to fix this with no tools?”
“I snuck a hammer, screwdriver, a pair of clamps—”