~Victoria Richards~
Becoming a designer had been my passion, but I found very quickly that I was incapable of keeping my head on straight for long enough to design anything, so instead I decided to become a renovator. Or rather, the manager of a renovating team. I knew the basics of all the hard work my team did, but for the most part, I didn't help much with the actual process. I made the plans and came up with the ideas, then I supervised to make sure everything got done. It was my entire job and I'd loved it for the past three years since I got a lucky break working for Reeves Renovations.
It was by chance that I came across a flier posted in the middle of town advertising for the job. I was twenty-one and uncertain about whether I should go down this route now that I'd given up on my designing dream. And then I went in for the interview with Malcolm Reeves, the owner of the company, and he offered me a job that very same day. I was young so I got too excited about the opportunity and took it without thinking anymore of it. The first year was difficult, learning how to do a job I had no training for, but I found the bossy side of me within long and became the company's best manager. Malcolm liked to tell me how glad he was that he hired me, and I liked to tell him how glad I was that I took the chance.
Now, though, I couldn't help but regret everything that had led me to this moment. My comfortable small town was infested with dangerous, no-good bikers who thought they ran the place. The motorcycle club - known as The Lost - had been run to the border of the town a long time ago by the Police so that they didn't disturb the townsfolk too much with their antics. There, they took residence in a crappy little building they called the clubhouse, and now apparently - after the downfall of the Pilkins son everyone was waiting for - the club had enough money to renovate.
And as the best renovator in town, Malcolm just had to send me to complete the project. Whilst I was glad of my high status and the trust the town had in me, I hated having to go to such lengths. I'd avoided The Lost for a long time since coming home early from college and I didn't intend on changing that now.
But I had little other choice. Malcolm was my boss; I had to do what he said. Not only that, but transforming such a terrible little building into something worthwhile was a challenge that would stay on my resume forever. It would glow like a star for all future employers - or clients if I happened to stay with Reeves Renovations.
Driving to the clubhouse had taken me almost half an hour - a rather substantial amount of time in our small town. I pulled up on the parking lot next to dozens of motorcycles, some of which had burly men or women with leather jackets sitting on them, and stepped out to head to my trunk. As I pulled out my camera equipment, I noticed a biker with dark hair and a closely-trimmed beard hovering next to the door to the clubhouse glaring at me.
I tried not to think too much about him as I slammed shut the trunk and started walking up to the entrance. He had already moved by the time I reached the door so I didn't have to worry.
As expected from the mountains' worth of bikes out front, the clubhouse was filled with people. I was forced to shimmy around leather and helmets until I could reach the bar. The bartender, a woman covered in tattoos who looked like she'd had a tough life, looked up at me expecting to take an order, but her eyes drifted down to the camera hanging around my neck and she lifted her chin.
"I'm here to see Mr Kingsley," I explained, forcing myself not to respond to her rudeness.
"He's in his office."
I waited but she didn't say anything else. "And where is his office?"
She sighed heavily. "Damien will take you." She turned away. "Mathers!"
Next thing I knew, a huge man I estimated to be about six-foot-five stood up from one of the couches in the corner and strode over to the bar. His eyes were locked on me like he wanted to kill me, but he glanced at the bartender in questioning first. She looked to be amused.
"Can you show Miss Renovator here to Prez's office for me, hun?"
He nodded and walked away without a word.
"That's your cue to follow him," mused the bartender.
I gave her a false smile and then started to follow Damien. His figure was easy to spot in the crowd even though he was so far ahead of me. He walked through a hallway and around a corner, past almost half a dozen metal sliding doors, up to a door frame lacking an actual door. I was motioned into a tiny office with calendars of half naked women and the stench of cigarettes filling every inch. If I could have it my way, I would suggest completely gutting this whole place, but I'd already been quoted by Kingsley that I couldn't make too many changes to the structure of the building as that would be too much work and would require his "men" to have to leave. That wasn't an option.
A man starting to go grey at the roots lounged in a squeaky office chair behind a computer at the desk in the room, but he sat up when he saw us enter. I cast a short glance at the other two men in the room, one of which was the man who'd been glaring at me from the parking lot, another who didn't seem to fit in here.
"Damien?" Kingsley questioned.
"Janet told me to escort her," he explained shortly. I could feel his eyes on my back. "Let me know if you run into any trouble."
Kingsley snorted. "I think we have it covered. Don't be so rude to Miss Richards from now on, Damien. She's welcome here for as long as she's helping this place."
I noticed the glaring man scrunching his face up but didn't say anything about it. I needed to keep this job to put it on my CV and professional portfolio later. Starting fights was hardly going to help that.
"Miss Richards, my apologies for my members' behaviour," Kingsley said once Damien had left. The buzz of the clubhouse around the corner could still be heard through the open door. "I hope you can understand we're not a fan of outsiders."
"I understand," I replied shortly.
"I'm Karl Kingsley, the one you spoke to on the phone. I'm the president of this here club, and right there is the Vice President, Anthony Black."
I turned expecting to be looking at the one who didn't fit in, but instead I found the same blue-eyed glare as before. Still, I smiled politely at him and turned back toward his boss. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr Kingsley. I'm quite looking forward to what I can do for this place."
He smiled. "Oh, come on, Miss Richards, don't sugar coat it. You find this place to be a shithole, don't you?"
"I could never use such words to describe a client's building," I replied diplomatically.
"A fancy way of agreeing with me," Kingsley chuckled. "We are aware of the state this place is in. After we were chased up here, we didn't have many options, but we've made do with what we've got."
"You could say nothing needs to be changed," added another voice - the Vice President.
"I'm going to have to ask you to ignore my VP. He's not happy that you or our funding are here."
Casting another glance at the couch, I realised the other man was Joseph Pilkins, the one everyone in town had had hope for but had disappointed us all by finally giving in to his father's involvement in the club.
"Anyways, what is it that you can do here today?"
I pulled out a notebook from my backpack. "Well, Mr Kingsley, today I have to get together some information and then I should be able to provide you with a very flexible quote. Work won't start until next week at the earliest as I also have to come up with some ideas."
"What is the camera for?" he asked, glancing at the device hanging from my neck.
"It is easier to visualise the space when I have a camera, Mr Kingsley. Sometimes things can be overlooked in measurements, such as outlets and damages to walls. This helps avoid all of that hassle."
He nodded. "Okay, what is it that you need to know?"
"Well, first I'd like to cure my curiosity. What do those metal sliding doors lead to in the hallway?"
"Those are bedrooms."
I started. "Bedrooms?"
"Yes, for myself, my VP, my enforcer, and my road captain." He raised a brow. "What did you think they might be?"
"Garages, perhaps?" I shrugged. "Would you like to keep them as bedrooms or would you be willing to change them into something else?"
"I want them to remain as they are, Miss Richards. They are often very useful."
"Okay, I have a couple of questions and then I'll need to walk around taking some photos. Would it be better for me to do this at night when the other bikers aren't around? I can't have any people in the frame."
Kingsley thought for a moment, then nodded. "I'll close the clubhouse early tonight for you, but this can't happen too often. I know I've already stated the importance that the clubhouse is up and running during this entire process."
"I remember."
~~
I wanted to say I was pleasantly surprised by the clubhouse, but instead I was mortified. The restrooms were so rank that I could hardly stay in there long enough to take a photograph, and everything else had a weird aroma to it that I needed to get out as soon as possible. I had been sitting on one of the couches when I found out that Kingsley and the bikers never changed the furniture from whatever had been left before, they'd only created the bedrooms in the back.
By the end of the evening, I had too many photographs, a basic figure to give Kingsley, an idea of how to go about this whole thing, and sick in my stomach. I was able to leave to head back to the office in time for sunset and was already running through different options in my head.
I started on Pinterest with the hundreds of boards I'd made for my job, flicking through them in search of inspiration, whilst simultaneously designing new layouts for different rooms; like Kingsley's little office, which I wanted to get permission to transform into a storage room for spare helmets and biking equipment; I'd already made a plan to rearrange Kingsley's bedroom so I could split it in half, one side for him to sleep in, the other for him to work in. As his room was closest to the rest of the bar anyway, it just made more sense.
My plans got the best of me for hours until finally someone came to rescue me. Malcolm leaned against my office door with his arms crossed and a soft smile on his face I only really saw him give me.
"You're still here," he stated.
"I'm working on the clubhouse," I murmured, distracted by a sketch for the bikers' meeting room.
"It's passed dinner time, you should head home and eat something. You've worked hard today."
I waved him off. "I'm okay, thanks."
"Do I have to order you?" he warned, and finally I looked up from my designs. I had to blink against the lights as I was so used to the dark crevices of my desk.
"No," I sighed. "This is just such a big project, I want to get it right."
He smiled wider at me. "I know you do, that's why I sent you to do it. However, it's too late for that now. I need you to go home."
"I know, I know. I'll get my stuff."
Malcolm always trusted me to listen to him, so he turned around sending a polite goodbye back at me. I hardly even responded as I finished my design, shoved everything into a folder or onto my notice board, and then grabbed my coat and started to head out.
I had to admit, as horrible as my newest project had originally seemed, I couldn't help but feel excited for the finished product. The whole place would be transformed into something that ordinary people might even want to be a part of, and to be on the good side of The Lost could really work in my favour.
At least, I hoped it would.