He reached back over and trailed his hand over her shoulder and down her bare arm, wrapping her delicate wrist in his fingers. “Thank you. You can always paint tomorrow, right?”
She looked at him, and for a second he thought he saw the slightest flash of hesitation in her dark eyes, but then her face cleared and she smiled. “Of course,” she said. “There’s always tomorrow.”
Chapter 8
Don’t say anything to these Neanderthals, thought Bridget as she stood in her bosses’ office. You know you need this job. You’ve got a kid to support. You’ve got alimony to pay. Take deep breaths. Keep smiling.
She dug her nails into the palms of her hand and kept her face arranged in a friendly expression as she waited for her bosses, brothers Linus and Larry Ludley, to stop talking. Though one was supposedly two years older—Bridget could never remember which one—they were eerily identical down to their fake alligator shoes. It especially creeped her out when she had to deal with them both at the same time.
These days Bridget did a lot to get by. She was always on her feet, had several different side hustles and did whatever it took to pay her bills. But her main money came from working sales for Ludley Construction. It had been a year now and yet every day brought a new humiliation. She earned her pathetic paycheck, there was no doubt about that—she was bringing in the clients and projects—but that didn’t mean they treated her with any respect.
“I have to admit,” said Linus as he leaned forward in his chair and displayed his yellowed dentures. “I thought Larry was crazy when he hired you. How the hell was a lady contractor going to do sales for us? But,” he said, turning to his brother, “then I saw her and I thought, well, what the hell? At the very least we’ll have something nice to look at around the office.”
Larry chortled in agreement, his already ruddy face turning even redder.
The brothers were almost mirror images. They had the same iron-gray crew cut, the same watery blue eyes, the same droopy paunch that they tried to hide under expensive Italian suits. The only way that Bridget could tell them apart was that Linus had a large mole on his neck—one that she often thought a dermatologist should take a look at.
As the brothers laughed together, Bridget forced herself to smile, fighting down the lump of anger in her throat.
“So anyway,” said Linus, “you can imagine how pleased I was this morning when we got a call from Scarlett Hawkins. She asked for you by name, Bridget.”
Bridget felt a shock rocket through her gut. “Wait. Scarlett called here?”
Larry grinned. “Surprising, right? Considering what happened the last time you two worked together.”
Bridget shook her head, bewildered. “Did she say what she wanted?”
Linus nodded eagerly. “She said she wants to work on a project with you.”
Bridget stared at him for a moment. “She wants to work with me,” she repeated dully.
Larry patted her arm. “You and Ludley Construction!”
Bridget felt her heart start to race. Maybe Scarlett had forgiven her. She felt a surge of hope. This could be it. Her way back in.
“What work does she need done? Her offices in Manhattan? Oh, wait, her film studio in the Hamptons?” Bridget could hear herself gushing, but she didn’t care. “Oh, God, I read that she might be building something from the ground up downtown. Is that what she wants me for?” She felt like doing a jig right there in front of the Ludleys.
Linus and Larry exchanged uncomfortable looks. “Well,” said Linus, “that would be very exciting if she chose Ludley for such a prestigious job. And perhaps if we play our cards right, she will! But for now I believe she just wants you to come supervise the renovation of the master suite and bathroom in her apartment on the Upper West Side.”
Bridget felt the smile slide off her face. “A bedroom renovation? I haven’t done residential work in years.”
“It’s not a bedroom, it’s a master suite. Don’t forget the bathroom.” Larry squeezed one eye shut in a grotesque approximation of a wink. “And, honey, let’s remember that you haven’t actually done any kind of building in years. In any case, the Ludleys are delighted to do business with Scarlett Hawkins. So we’re going to send you over with Scott to check out the scope of the work.”
Bridget bit her lip. The last thing she wanted was to deal with Scott, a younger, even oozier version of the brothers, standing over her shoulder when she saw Scarlett again. “That won’t be necessary. She was my client for many years. I don’t need Scott to come with me. I can handle her on my own.”
Larry shook his head. “No. This is a VIP client. You’ll need someone more experienced to review the drawings and walk the site. She wants to start construction right away. We can’t have you holding anything up while you learn on the job.”
Right, because ten years of owning one of the fastest growing construction businesses in Manhattan was somehow not enough experience.
She took a deep breath, digging for patience. “She asked for me specifically, right? You said she wanted me to supervise the renovation. So you’ll have to trust me when I tell you that if she asked for me, she’s really not going to be happy if someone else shows up to do my job. I know Scarlett. Remember that I worked for her for years. If you’d like to call her and speak to her directly to confirm that, I have her number in my phone.”
She watched the brothers exchange a look, their beady eyes suddenly bright with interest. “You have her personal phone number?” said Larry. “So you’re still in touch?”
She nodded. A white lie, though she supposed that Scarlett’s old number might still be in service.
“All right, then,” cut in Linus. “You can take the lead. But I want you reporting back to us daily. You need to do a good job on this one, Bridget. She could be a very important client to us.”
“I understand.”
“And if you do a good job on this,” said Larry, “who knows what could be next!”
“That would be great,” she said automatically. Oh, goody. Maybe I’ll get to do kitchen renovations, too. She waited a beat. It was past five. “Is there anything else?”
“No, no,” said Larry as he bent over his desk. “That’s all. Go on home now, honey.”
Honey, she thought, inwardly shuddering, yet another perfectly good term of endearment I’ll never be able to use again.
She darted a glance over to Linus as she gathered up her briefcase. He was staring at her—but not in the face. His gaze had drifted decidedly south, a happy leer twisting his lips. Bridget’s fingers itched to fasten another button on her blouse, but instead she quickly made her exit, relieved to be out of their sight.
What was Scarlett up to? After the debacle with her offices, she’d told Bridget she was lucky she wasn’t suing her, and then cut off all contact. Why does she want me back now? Perhaps she was still nursing a grudge and wanted to humiliate Bridget. Asking her to supervise a bedroom renovation would certainly fit that bill.
Christopher Lee came out of a conference room and waved her down. Lee, a project manager, was one of the only people at the company that Bridget actually liked. He was half Chinese, half Mexican, all gay, and as much of an outsider at Ludley as she was.
Lee smiled at her as they stepped onto the elevator together. “I heard you’re working for Scarlett Hawkins. That’s major! Nervous?”
Bridget shook her head as the doors closed. “I’ve worked with her for years. She was my client before she called the Ludleys.”
“Oh,” said Lee. “Right.” He looked doubtful. “But wasn’t she the one—”
“Yes,” Bridget interrupted. “You know damned well it was Scarlett. Can we change the subject, please?”
Lee arched an eyebrow. “Fine... So which Ludley spent the whole meeting ogling your tits this time?”
She glared at him. “Don’t say tits. Just because you’re mar
ried to a man doesn’t mean you can’t be sued for sexual harassment.” She sighed in frustration. “And it was Linus. I don’t know if I can take this much longer. Larry told me that he thinks I’m scrappy—you think they’d call a guy scrappy?”
Lee shrugged. “Steele, you’re gorgeous, barely five foot four, and one of the only female contractors in New York City. Scrappy is pretty much your first, last and middle name.”
“Former contractor,” snapped Bridget.
“What?”
“I’m actually a former contractor.”
“Ah, right, you’ve been demoted to business development. Sucks for you.”
The elevator door opened with a little ping. “You’re really not helping, Lee,” said Bridget as she pushed past him.
“Aw, c’mon!” Lee scrambled to catch up with her. “I was just messing with you! Jeez!”
Chapter 9
Jay thought he’d surprise his daughter and pick her up from school instead of waiting for her to Uber home. He used to do surprise pickups when she was at her old school, Chapin, but since Alli and Hana had moved downtown and Hana had insisted that Alli transfer to the closer and more progressive LREI for high school, this was the first time he’d turned up unannounced.
He watched the kids stream out the front gates, heads bent over their phones as they walked. Seeing all the high school–age children with their dyed hair and torn jeans, he felt a pang of longing for the neat little green jumpers and white collared blouses that had been mandatory uniforms at Chapin.
Where Alli would go to school had been a long source of conflict between Jay and Hana. They agreed on private school, but Jay wanted Alli to go to someplace traditional and structured. What about getting into a good college? was his rallying cry. And Hana would shake her head like he was suggesting sending their daughter off to a military academy, arguing that an experimental, alternative education was the way to go. We don’t want to kill her creativity!
Jay won in the beginning. He himself had gone to Fordham Prep, so Chapin’s single-sex policy and its long tradition of excellence had felt familiar and safe to him. The best. But Alli struggled academically, and once she was diagnosed with dyslexia, the arguments only got fiercer.
After the divorce, Hana made her move, arguing that Alli was not thriving at her current school and claiming the commute uptown would be too much for the girl. She’d pulled strings with several different people in the Manhattan art community to get a slot in the freshman class at the progressive and in-demand LREI. As for Alli, she had always hated the school uniforms and the unending homework at Chapin, and was particularly delighted to be transferring to a coed class just in time for high school.
Jay didn’t have a chance when the two of them teamed up.
He had looked at Alli’s course load this semester and wondered what had happened to good old math and English. Alli used to take Latin and biology at Chapin; now she was studying Feminist Literature of the Twentieth Century and making lopsided pinch pots in her ceramics class. It cost the same, too. Jay was paying forty-five thousand dollars a year in tuition—more than some colleges—but he couldn’t help feeling that he was getting cheated. They didn’t even have grades or test scores—just long-winded reports about how Alli was or was not progressing and challenging herself.
He almost missed her as she walked by. As soon as she started school, she’d cut her waist-length hair to an absurdly short crop—almost shaved—and Jay still hadn’t reconciled her vulnerable, shorn head and the rebellious glint in her dark eyes with the dreamy, silly little girl he thought of as his daughter.
“Alli!” he called as she started to turn the corner. “Wait, honey!”
She glanced back and frowned, turning to the crowd of kids she’d been walking with and quickly waving them on.
He hurried over to her as she stood waiting, exasperation written on every line of her fierce little face. He tried not to remember how, when she was small, she used to launch herself into his arms with a delighted yelp whenever he surprised her.
“What are you doing here?” She sounded accusatory.
He looked at her and realized she was wearing a silver hoop through her nose. It made her look like an adorable, tiny bull.
“What is that?” He tried not to sound panicked. “Does your mother know you did that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Calm down. It’s a clip-on.” She yanked it out and held it up, and then clipped it back on again. “What’s up?”
He smiled, trying to change the mood. “Surprise! I thought we could go to the Milk Bar. Do cereal milkshakes and compost cookies?”
She snorted. “Gluten, Dad. And besides, I already have plans with my friends. We’re going to Free People. I need a new raincoat.”
“But I took the afternoon off.” Even to himself, he sounded pathetic. “Maybe we could stop at Free People or whatever it is on the way to the restaurant? Coat shopping could be fun.”
She glowered at him, pointedly ignoring his invitation. “You can’t just show up and expect me to drop everything. My friends are probably already halfway there by now. I have to go.” She turned in the direction her friends had disappeared. Her narrow shoulders were set in a stubborn little plank as she started to march away.
“Do you have money for the coat?”
She held up a dismissive hand. “Mom gave me her credit card.”
“Will you be home for dinner?” He raised his voice as she got farther away.
She didn’t look back. “Don’t worry about it. We’re going to get a pizza.”
“But what about the gluten?” he yelled after her.
No answer as she turned the corner out of his sight.
He sighed, feeling foolish. What had he been thinking? She stayed with him every other weekend and twice during the school week, but he couldn’t remember the last time she’d greeted him with anything more positive than a look of blank boredom on her face. The idea that he could just show up at school and charm her with sweets was beyond stupid.
Except that, of course, sweets used to work. Sweets, or a split pastrami on rye at the corner deli, an afternoon matinee, or a frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity—the promise of his uninterrupted time—had been a virtual guarantee that a delighted Alli would drop nearly anything else she had going on and suck up his attention like a love-starved puppy.
They used to have semiregular daddy-daughter dates, giving the nanny a surprise afternoon off, before Jay’s business had become so overwhelming that he had pushed everything else aside for work. Then suddenly, the nanny was working overtime and Hana was picking up the rest of the slack, and Jay hardly saw his daughter.
And now she’s making me pay for it.
He tried to tell himself it was only natural. That no sane teen girl in the world would choose a milkshake with her father over an afternoon with her friends. But he imagined all those other teen girls rejecting their fathers weren’t quite so brutal. There was an anger to his daughter’s dismissals that he felt was particular to their relationship, that he had to admit he had justly earned.
He had crushed his marriage the same way. Hana told him that he’d simply stopped showing up. That even when he was physically with her, she never had his full attention. And she had warned him, as she left, that it wasn’t just her he had hurt. His daughter had been scarred by his lack of attention, as well. He had taken them both for granted.
He balled his hands into fists. He knew that there was no getting Hana back, of course, but he was determined to fix things with Alli. He had four years before college. Surely that was enough time. He would just keep trying.
That is, if I can get her to hang around long enough to let me try.
He looked over at the empty corner. What now? he thought. He’d taken the whole afternoon off, planning on spending it with her. Instead, he’d ended up with a disastrous amount of unwanted time on his h
ands.
As if in answer, his phone buzzed with a text. He checked it. Right. Work. He could go back to work. He squared his shoulders. At least it gave him something to do.
Chapter 10
They were halfway through the nine-course meal at Per Se when Liam got sick of trying to pretend this was just another friendly dinner and decided to steer the conversation around to business.
“So the skyscraper project,” he said, cutting to the chase. “What kind of competition am I up against?”
Mark Harrington, the silver-haired real estate magnate they were dining with, smiled and took a sip of wine. “Who says you’re even up for it?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Liam could see Hana shake her head. Up until that moment they had all been pretending to be two couples enjoying a very expensive dinner together, but now Liam had spoiled it by rushing in.
Liam knew that there was an art to this. It was like a seduction—no matter how much you wanted it, you didn’t just reach over and grab a woman’s tit. You complimented her hair. You asked about her day. You made her a sandwich and held her hand first, told her that she smelled good. You waited for her to come to you. Jay had coached him, time and time again, that, at the beginning of negotiations, he should at least wait for dessert, and multiple glasses of wine, before ever bringing up a job. But Liam never bothered listening. Jay had always done all the foreplay and then Liam crunched the numbers with the estimators and sealed the project in the field.
And this crazy restaurant? This was Jay’s world, not Liam’s. Jay had grown up at ease in private clubs and fancy hotels; he’d been born to hang out on two-hundred-foot yachts and winter in St. Bart’s. Liam had been born in a three-story walk-up, to an alcoholic mother and a father who left before he turned two.
Actually, he mused, most of the men in this industry didn’t hold this against him. His South Side backstory played almost as well with titans of industry as it had with college girls. They liked Jay because Jay was one of them, born into the business just like the rest of them were, but they liked Liam because he actually was as tough and street-smart as they all imagined themselves to be. Plenty of clients had followed him out the door when he had split from Jason and opened his own place. Maybe not as many as he would have liked, but he was going to change all that tonight.
Heels of Steel Page 10