Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
That gives me an idea. A seasonal cocoa bar.
A warm drink and marshmallows for the fire in the lobby could add to the cozy atmosphere here, especially in winter. From what I’ve gathered, keeping up good traffic during the colder months is high on our priority list.
If the cocoa stand is well received, I’m sure we could come up with something similar and refreshing for summer. Fresh juice, smoothies, or iced teas.
Satisfied, I lean back in my chair and hash it all out in my head, looking out the window.
How they managed to get such prime land for this place when they’re a smaller start-up, looking out over the Missouri River like that, I don’t know.
Patton Rory might be a perfectionist asshole, but he’s clearly doing something right. This venture is worth a few nightmares for his mentorship, I suppose.
If he continues to mentor me, that is.
There’s no ignoring the fact that I’m one more disaster away from a pink slip, I’m sure.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s go exploring,” I say to Arlo a little later, who looks like he’s on the cusp of death by boredom again.
The Cardinal is good for a walk since it’s absolutely huge.
Besides the rooftop pool with its fancy igloos, there’s a basement gym and a bar. Everything is exquisitely presented, though some of the décor looks a little bland and too neutral. Almost like it’s trying to appeal to everyone and doesn’t stick with any style.
I make a mental note to study up on modern interior aesthetics when I get home. Art and design aren’t my forte, but if a place ever looked like it could use more accents, it’s The Cardinal.
I know I can’t make that decision alone, but I can add weight on bringing in a good designer.
I buy Arlo a club sandwich and hot chocolate for lunch from the deli down the street, noting the many shopping opportunities right outside.
Location is everything and The Cardinal nailed it. The place has all the right Kansas City amenities with none of the bustle and noise of downtown.
By the time we’re ready to go home, my life feels a little less daunting.
Not that I know what I’m doing.
I may be on knife’s edge of getting fired, but at least I’m less likely to get lost, and that’s an important first step in managing an entire freaking building.
“That was fun, Mommy,” Arlo chirps happily from the back of my car as we head home to our apartment. “I wish I could come to work with you every day.”
I give him a surprised look in the rearview mirror. Can he feel that pang in my heart?
He’s like that sometimes, becoming the sweetest little angel when he knows I’m upset.
“Don’t you like it at Mrs. Gabbard’s house, sweetie?”
“She’s nice,” he says after some thought. His tone hints he’s bending the truth for my sake. “But you’re way nicer.”
“I suppose I have to be. I’m your mom and you’re stuck with me.”
He giggles. “I had more fun this morning than I ever had with Mrs. Gabbard!”
Mrs. Gabbard, the sitter, lives in the apartment below us, and she’s always been amazingly reliable—aside from today, when her daughter went into emergency surgery for a premature baby.
“I’m glad, Arlo, but it was just for today. Tomorrow, you’re back to kindergarten.”
“Aw, no. But Mom—”
“No, don’t you ‘Mom’ me. I have to work if you ever want to see a new toy. Never mind keeping us fed with a roof over our heads. We don’t make the rules of the game called life, honey, and sometimes you just need to play it.” I pull up on the street outside the apartment and start to help him out of his car seat.
“This game isn’t fun.”
Well, no argument there.
I try not to laugh as he springs out the second he’s free from his car seat and hurries ahead of me to the front door. “I don’t wanna be stuck with Mrs. Gabbard, Mommy. I wanna go to work with you.”
“But work gets boring, sweetie. You were getting tired drawing, cooped up in the room.” I unlock the door and it clicks shut behind me. Like always, the small lobby is empty, and I usher Arlo to the elevator. We only live on the second floor, but I’ve taken him up and down too many staircases today.
“I thought it was fun,” he insists matter-of-factly.
I boop his nose gently.
“A little too much fun, if you ask me. No more grabbing food and drinks without my permission. Definitely no more jumping around on furniture. Oh, and no more drawing people you know—unless you draw them the nice way.”
“Hmph. Grumpybutt wasn’t nice. And his hot chocolate was yucky.” He’s devastatingly honest in the way only kids can be.
“I don’t know how you’d know,” I say with a shake of the head, “seeing as you spilled it all over his shirt.”