Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
She makes a sound of annoyance, and when I glare back, not budging, she rolls her eyes.
“Fine. Finish it how it is or whatever.” She waves her hand dismissively.
But that’s not it.
I sit back down. “Look, I’m your best manager on the sites, and my crews are the best. Treat us right, listen to us, and we’ll keep working our asses off. If not, I hear there are other construction companies starting up in the area that we could all go work for.”
Her eyes shoot daggers, and if this were any other situation, I bet she’d be demanding to speak to my manager. Bad news for her . . . she’s my boss. “Is that a threat?”
I meet her gaze, chill as can be. “Nope. A promise. We’re not the ones proving ourselves to you here. You gotta prove yourself to us, because you can betchur ass that Jed’s gonna try to poach off every good worker here as soon as he’s got his ducks in a row. Starting with Maggie and me.”
I don’t have an ego issue, and I’m not being dramatic when I say that. I’ve seen it happen time and time again. Hell, even a few of my quality guys quit when Winston left Ford Construction. Not to work for him, since he does more architect design work than construction, but because they didn’t want to do the cookie-cutter shit Jed builds. Construction is a big world, but it’s about as inbred as it comes, and skilled tradespeople can write their own ticket in a lot of ways.
Her expression morphs to terror. “Oh my God, is he already doing that? He can’t do that, can he? This is my company. He said so.”
“He hasn’t reached out to me. Yet. But I want you to understand the situation here. Don’t fuck up a good thing because you think construction is about deciding between shades of pink for the town houses or whether the flowers out front should be perennials or annuals. That ain’t what we do, and it’s not what you do if you’re running this company.”
“Sounds like you want to run it,” she mumbles.
I shake my head vehemently. “Hell no. Office work ain’t my gig. But you got someone who thrives in it. Treat her right, pay her at least double what you think she deserves, and maybe . . . maybe she’ll save your ass.”
Chrissy looks past me, out to where Maggie’s sitting and eating her second Buttery Nipple, and I can see that she’s getting it now.
I stand again, deciding this went better than I thought it would. A helluva lot better than when I first started working with Jed. Maybe there’s hope for Chrissy yet. “I’ll let you get back to it. Keep me updated on the contract negotiations. The moment you sign, I’ll be waiting in Bea’s office to file the permits so we can get back to work.”
She follows me out to Maggie’s desk and offers a sincere thanks to the both of us. “No problem, Chrissy. Hang in there. Maybe don’t commit any felonies for a few days, and do normal divorce celebration shit like drink too much wine, sell your ring, and fuck a younger guy.”
I almost say I know someone for that last idea, but I like Mike too much to screw him over that way. Chrissy laughs, and when she does, I can see the haze of hurt drop away for a split second. For all her bitchiness, I think she’s going through a lot she never planned on, and maybe Maggie’s right about giving a little bit of grace.
“Every good divorce starts with cake. Try that tie-dye one out. It’s Mom’s new recipe,” I tell her, shooting Maggie a quick wink of “watch this.”
Chrissy goes right for it, carefully pulling the cupcake from the box. “Ooh, it’s pretty!” she squeals before taking a delicate bite.
It doesn’t matter. There’s enough sour and spice to getcha even with a nibble, and Chrissy’s eyes go wide and her mouth drops open, showing the half-chewed food. “Aahh! I wadn’t ’pecting . . . ooh!” She chews a little bit, unsure but starting to get the sweetness. When she swallows, her eyes are a little watery. “Wow, that was not what I thought it was gonna be.”
“What flavor is it?” Maggie asks, eyeing the large chunk in Chrissy’s hand warily.
“FAAFO,” I tell them. “Grapefruit jalapeño.”
“That sounds awful,” Maggie says bluntly, wrinkling her nose.
Chrissy holds it out. “It’s actually good now that I know what it is. I just wasn’t expecting it. You wanna try?”
Maggie shakes her head, but I add to the sales pitch. “Mom shoved one in my mouth this morning. It’s pretty tasty.”
Still not sure if I’m pranking her like I was Chrissy, Maggie takes a teeny bite from the other side from Chrissy’s. She looks prepared for it to taste like medicine or ass, but she brightens quickly. “Huh, who’d have thunk it? Your mom is so amazing. Creative and talented, a deadly combination.”