The Fall Up (The Fall Up, #1)(13)

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 f*ck. 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, *, 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 f*cking 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 f*ck away from Jen.”

“Right. How exactly am I supposed to fix this with no tools?”

“I snuck a hammer, screwdriver, a pair of clamps—”

My eyebrows shot up. “Clamps?”

He tipped his head and lifted his fingers to mimic a pinching motion. “You know, the little things you use to grab stuff or pull it off.”

“Pliers?” I asked in disbelief.

He tapped the tip of his nose. “Bingo. Anyway, I snuck them all into the office this morning. They didn’t work for me, but I have faith in you.”

I stared at him for several beats. “How the f*ck are we best friends?”

“No clue. Now, put on a long-sleeve shirt to cover the ink and get your ass in my car.”

“Right,” I smarted, but I said it as I dragged my jacket off the chair and headed to his car.

One hour later, I pried my best friend’s filing cabinet open so he wouldn’t look like the bitch he really was.

Then I parked my ass at his mother’s dinner table for the best home-cooked meal I’d ever had. Well, since the last time I’d eaten there. All the while I was counting down the hours until I could head back up to the bridge—hoping and praying that it wasn’t too late for the designer shoes I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.