Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Can I see what you’re talking about? You mind?” I lift my chin, indicating she should invite me in to show me the problem. Our meetings to discuss her project were in her back yard, with me walking around and holding my hands out to indicate pool size while she tilted her head, considering my suggestions, so this will be the first time I’ve actually been inside.
“Oh, uh… this way,” she offers.
I follow her through the door, knowing exactly what to expect. Except… her home doesn’t look anything like what I thought it would.
In taking this job, I know exactly how old her house is because I had to pull permits. It’s a turn of the century, two-story, American Foursquare-style home with two thousand, three hundred square feet of interior space, a spacious front porch with a smaller rear porch that’s been enclosed to create a sunroom, four bedrooms, a living room, and even a parlor-slash-dining room.
I would’ve thought it’d be decorated classically, especially given Kathy’s formal, traditional vibe. But the inside of her house looks like something from Modern Home Design. The kitchen she invites me into has been completely gutted and replaced with a long line of flat-front white cabinets, accented with shiny chrome pulls and glossy, white stone countertops, broken up by sleek stainless appliances. It’s nice and updated, but not in the way I thought it’d be for this style of house. The move from timeless exterior to modern interior is jarring, clashing dramatically, and if someone told me Kathy uses the kitchen island for her embalming hobby, I’d believe it. It’s cold and soulless in here, much like the inhabitant.
“First off, I’d like to apologize for the mess,” I offer, not the least bit apologetic as she goes over to her Keurig and puts in a pod. I doubt she’s making coffee for the help, so it must be time for her second—or third—cup of caffeine. No, scratch that—she probably drinks decaf, which is nothing more than bitter bean water as far as I’m concerned. “Heard it was a bit unexpected this morning.”
She nods primly, acting like an apology is the least she deserves. “Your men were quite rude about it.”
I lift a brow at her pompous act. She probably thinks my reaction is one of surprise or concern. Truthfully, it’s in doubt. Wayne, rude? No way. He was probably falling all over himself to apologize and smooth things over. At least to her face. Behind her back, with the guys? That’s a whole different thing. There, I’m sure he had some choice words about the situation. Maybe she overheard that?
I wait for her to demand a discount, my firstborn, or whatever ass-kissing she thinks she can get from me. When she stays silent, I continue with my professional spiel, dropping the charm and smiles in favor of flat information because I’m expecting this to go south and it’s preferable to baby step her toward my wrecking ball style, rather than hit her with it out of the blue. “As we discussed, putting in a pool is a process. One that’s worse before it’s better. What were your specific concerns this morning?” Keeping my face neutral and my hands behind my back, I wait for her to unleash on me.
I can almost see her analyzing how to approach this. Histrionics? No. Bossy demands? Maybe. Waterworks? Oh, she’s holding those in reserve.
For now, she goes with slightly snotty. “The dirt. It’s so unsightly. It disrupted my morning. How am I supposed to enjoy my morning coffee when all I see out my solarium window is dirt?” She makes ‘dirt’ sound like ‘shit’ and even crinkles her nose as if she’s actually smelling something foul when she glares out the back window.
Because you always see dirt when you look out the window. It’s just grass covered dirt, I want to comment, but I bite it back. I look out the window too, glancing over to the pile in question, but it barely intrudes on the general view. If anything, the only thing it seems to be blocking is a view of Dani’s yard, specifically, the patio area where the grill is located.
“We have to put the dirt somewhere when we take it out of the ground. It’ll be hauled off after we finish the grading,” I explain, not going into the details of how the dirt we haul out gets reused in our projects in order to create the right grading for the bottom of the pool. “Your choice is whether we put it in the yard or the driveway.”
It’s not actually a choice and we both know it, but couching it as such gives her a tiny modicum of control, which is important to a woman like her. Especially when we’ve barely started this project and have weeks of dealing with each other laid out in front of us.