Heels of Steel

by Barbara Kavovit

  He helped himself to some carrot and mint salad. “And I think I already know most of your story.”

  She snorted. “I doubt it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re a bit of a legend.”

  She shook her head. “Let’s see, so I’m guessing what you heard is that I’m a Bronx girl who bit off way more than I could chew, and I got what I deserved.”

  He sipped his wine. “Pretty much.”

  She shook her head. “Well, screw you.”

  He laughed. “You fit right in, don’t you? Are you really looking to leave Ludley Construction?”

  “No,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m not.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you were. Linus and Larry are a couple of assholes.”

  “Yeah, well, they hired me when no one else would. And I bring in a lot of business for them.”

  “Let me ask you something,” he said. “Are they up for the Harrington job?”

  Her heart raced. She didn’t break eye contact as she lied. “What job is that?”

  He smiled, dabbed at his face with his napkin. “Nothing. Just a little reno.”

  “Oh? I didn’t think your company did such small jobs.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say we were up for it.”

  So he was a good liar, too. She understood. She hadn’t told him anything, either. But if, once more, he was her direct competition, that ended the chance of anything serious between them. Which was fine. What the hell, right? Maybe he’d be fun for a fling and a couple of trips to the Hamptons in his Ferrari before they squared off over the job.

  “Do you know Harrington?” she asked in what she hoped was a casual way.

  “Yes, but I haven’t actually worked for him before. Why do you ask?”

  She turned up her hand. “Well, he’s a pretty big developer. He’d be a good guy for me to know.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sure. Connections aren’t always the easiest thing for me to make.”

  “No? Why not?”

  She had more wine, a longer drink this time. “I wasn’t exactly born into the business like some people.”

  He laughed. “Point taken.”

  “Lots of places I’m not invited in due to my lack of a penis. Dinners, athletic clubs, strip clubs, golf courses...”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I never thought of that. I make a lot of deals playing racquetball.”

  “Exactly. No one ever asks me for a game. And I’m damned good.”

  “Maybe we should play together sometime.”

  She looked him in the eye. “I’m pretty sure I’d kick your ass.”

  He didn’t look away. “Oh, yeah? I think I might enjoy seeing you try.”

  She felt a warm shimmer in the pit of her stomach. She groped for her glass and hastily gulped down most of her drink.

  Damn, he was hot.

  The moment was broken when a slim young man with shaggy dark hair under his chef’s toque arrived at the table bearing an enormous conical serving dish.

  “Omar!” said Jason, beaming. “Is that a lamb tagine? You didn’t!”

  The chef smiled modestly as he placed the dish on the table, lifted the lid and revealed the glistening lamb and vegetables inside. “No soggy spaghetti for you, my friend.”

  Jason laughed. “Hey, spaghetti is fine when it’s done right. Omar, this is Bridget. She now knows to never order your lasagna.”

  “Hello,” said Omar, giving her a curious look. “Jay must like you very much if he brought you to me.”

  Bridget laughed. “We just met, actually.”

  Omar smiled and gave a little nod as he turned away. “I must return to my kitchen and make chicken parm for those who don’t know better. Enjoy the meal.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Bridget, leaning over the tagine and helping herself to the steaming meat and vegetables. “This smells amazing.”

  Jason smiled at her. “A woman who likes to eat,” he said.

  She shot him a look, her fork midway to her mouth. “Contrary to popular belief, we don’t live on air.”

  He held up his hands in defense. “I just meant, my ex was not into food. She was definitely more ‘eat to live’ than ‘live to eat.’ It always made me kind of sad—that we couldn’t share that interest.”

  Bridget relaxed and brought the forkful of lamb to her mouth. It was delicious. “I’m Jewish,” she said after she chewed and swallowed. “Food is important.”

  He laughed. “And I’m Italian, so I understand.” He helped himself to more bread. “My daughter likes to eat, too, which I’ve always been grateful for.”

  She looked up at him. For some reason she hadn’t expected him to have kids. “You have a daughter? How old?”

  “Fifteen. Her name is Alli. Want to see a picture?” He already had his phone out and was scrolling.

  “Really? You don’t look old enough to have a teenager.”

  “I’m forty-two. Got married young.” He turned the screen toward her and Bridget looked at the picture of a pretty girl with short black hair. Bridget could see that she had her father’s broad smile.

  “She’s beautiful,” she said.

  He took the phone back and smiled fondly at the screen. “She is, right?” He looked back up at her. “How about you? Kids?”

  She smiled. “I have a son, Dylan. He’s seven.”

  “Picture?”

  She took out her phone and scrolled until she found a picture of him just after he lost his first tooth.

  Jason looked at it. “He looks like an adorable little jack-o’-lantern.”

  She smiled. “He’s the best.”

  He handed the phone back to her and their fingers touched. She could feel the heat rushing through her body.

  He smiled at her. “So you going to tell me the truth about Harrington now?”

  She blinked. He’d surprised her. “I told you the truth. The Ludley brothers aren’t being considered.”

  He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “But...you are.”

  She choked on the bread in her mouth. Reached for her wine.

  He watched her gulp her wine. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  He took a sip of his own. “To be honest? I have a hard time seeing Harrington hiring a woman builder.”

  Bridget felt a cold lump of anger swell in her chest.

  Every god damn time.

  “Huh. Well, pretty strange that he would reach out to me then, huh?”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. “So he did.”

  She glared at him. “You know he did. Just like I know that you’re up for it, too.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a little weird. I mean, why you? You don’t even have a construction company anymore.”

  Bridget felt the anger grow. “Gosh. Right? Why ever would anyone want to hire little old me? I was only the CEO of one of the best construction companies in New York, with over a dozen years of experience. I’ve only built millions of square feet of space, countless projects for major corporations—”

  He held up his hands, interrupting her. “Listen, I’m not questioning your credentials. I’ve never heard anything but good things about your company. I mean, before it all went to hell, of course. But it’s what you were saying before—this is a boys’ club, and Harrington is pretty much the president. I’m not saying this is fair or right, but he’s got his people. He’s old-school. He only works with a select group of companies from his network. People who’ve been around forever. I mean, this is actually the first time he’s even put me up for a job, and I’m pretty sure the only reason he’s doing it is because he knew my dad.”

  “Lucky you,” Bridget said drily.

  “I just don’t get why he’s reaching outside his usual people. It’s not like him.”

  “W
ell, maybe this project is going to be different. Maybe he needs to build a team that’s outside his typical network. Maybe he wants a different approach.”

  He laughed. “Maybe. And you think you can handle it?”

  She stuck out her chin. “I don’t see why not.”

  He didn’t believe her. She could see it on his face. And she knew she shouldn’t give a damn whether he believed in her or not, but for some reason, she did. She really did.

  She checked the time on her phone. “Hey, this has been fun, but I have to get back home to my son. The babysitter isn’t expecting me to be late. But—” she hesitated for a moment and then decided to go for it “—what are you doing tomorrow?”

  “What have you got in mind?” he answered.

  Chapter 18

  Numbers were Liam’s toys. Ever since he was a little kid, when his mother brought home a pocket calculator, and he realized that he could do simple sums in his head faster than she could punch the numbers in, he’d felt like math was his language. He could have gone in all sorts of directions with it—programming, robotics, physics...but even more important to him than the joy of working with numbers was the need for him to convert that math into cold, hard cash. He always knew it was an MBA or nothing. He knew he would run a business, he didn’t really care what kind, just as long as he made a ton of money doing it.

  It wouldn’t have surprised anyone who knew him to find him at a party on a two-hundred-foot yacht, hiding in the guest cabin, smoking a joint and running numbers for Harrington’s skyscraper job.

  The Per Se dinner had paid off; the official request for proposal, RFP, had come in earlier in the day, and his chief estimator was already starting to put together the budget. Liam had hired an excellent chief estimator but he knew he wouldn’t rest easy until he double-and triple-checked every digit himself. In the end, he’d only trust his own numbers. They hadn’t failed him yet.

  He took off his jacket and sprawled out on the bed, smoking and scrolling through charts on his iPhone, almost forgetting where he was, except for the mild bobbing sensation of being on the water. They were berthed in the Chelsea Pier. The developer who owned the boat never took it anywhere, just kept it docked, his own private tax break, and threw blowout parties every month so that he could write off the yacht as a business expense. They were always the same: Katz’s Deli and Jean-Georges would cater, pastrami sandwiches and half-sour pickles at one table and caramelized foie gras brûlée and egg caviar at the other, the open bar was all top-shelf and the champagne would be flowing. Little silver candy dishes of rolled joints, edibles, pills and coke were left out like so much potpourri, just there for the taking. Some B-list pop star would be performing on deck, and everyone who was anyone in the industry, plus a bevy of scantily clad models, actresses and socialites, would be there.

  Liam had enjoyed these parties a lot more when he and Jay used to go together. In the beginning of their partnership, when Liam was still learning the ropes of the business, Jay used to force him to go to every party, lunch, golf game and strip joint that they were invited to. “It’s all about networking,” Jay had told him. “It won’t matter if you’re a financial wizard if these guys don’t like you. And they’re not going to like you unless they know you. You’ve got to show up and play the game, my friend.”

  And Liam did. He showed up and, with Jay’s help, he pressed flesh and laughed at jokes and kept his secret derision for most of these guys buried. And if he ever got too quiet, or tried to retreat to some dark corner, Jay was always there to drag him back into the light again, make him rejoin the party and engage with the sweaty masses, as he jokingly called them.

  Liam knew he should be doing the same thing right now. He should be up on the deck, getting coked up and dancing with a stripper/actress. He should be telling dirty jokes and bragging about his cars and beach house and his last trip to St. Bart’s. But he’d put in a good couple of hours already; he’d made the rounds, he’d shown his face, and without Jay there to tell him otherwise, he’d decided he’d earned a little bit of a break to do something he really enjoyed.

  He took another hit off his joint, closing his eyes for a moment, and felt the sway of the boat, heard the thump thump thump of the bass playing on the deck and the sound of people laughing and yelling just outside the cabin in drug-and alcohol-induced glee. He wished Hana was here. She absolutely refused to go to these parties anymore after she had her ass grabbed by a local politician and Liam had tried to break the guy’s nose. But she understood that he needed to go.

  Liam smiled to himself, imagining her sitting up in bed, wearing that long white nightie that he liked, thumbing through the stack of back issues of The New Yorker she kept on her bedside table. She wore her glasses in bed. They were big and clunky and constantly slid down her nose. Her feet were probably cold. She always complained that she couldn’t get them warm if he wasn’t in the bed with her so she could tuck them under his thigh. He kept quirks like this about her cataloged in his head and enjoyed pulling them out to examine every now and then.

  He opened his eyes and sighed. It was near midnight, but really the party was just getting started. He should get out of this room and join in some more if he wanted to stay on the radar. After all, he still had the money he’d made with Jay, which was a fortune by most standards, but that didn’t mean he could sit back and relax while he was launching this new business. Never rest, stay on your feet, keep your eye on the ball, Jay had repeated it like a mantra. And Liam was sure his old friend was doing just that—maybe he wasn’t here tonight, but he was definitely somewhere, working the crowd, remembering everyone’s name, making sure everyone liked him. And Liam couldn’t fall behind.

  He took one last toke and then stubbed out his joint and pocketed his cell phone. The cabin opened up into a huge room, complete with bar and lounge and a great view of the water. Everywhere he looked, overly tanned men with slicked-back hair and expensive suits sat with scantily clad women, drinking and laughing and groping. One guy was doing blow straight out of a woman’s cleavage. Liam would bet there wasn’t an actual wife or even a girlfriend in the place.

  He grabbed a glass of champagne as he made his way through the room to the upper deck. Tonight’s pop star, someone he didn’t recognize, a young, pretty woman with a huge pink Afro of a wig, writhed on stage and shout-sang all about her broken heart as a dozen guys stripped down to their shirtsleeves and undershirts sweated and danced with a bunch of women who Liam was pretty sure were hired strippers.

  “Hey, Maguire, what’s going on, my man?”

  It was Sal Delmonico, the union head, smoking a fat cigar and wearing the ugliest tie Liam had ever seen. Liam bit back the urge to turn his back on the guy and walk away.

  “Hey, Delmonico,” he answered instead, finishing his drink.

  “So I heard you got the official request for proposal on the Harrington job?”

  Liam shook his head. How did this guy always know everything as soon as it happened?

  Delmonico grinned, guessing what Liam was thinking. “Just got my ear to the ground, my friend.”

  “Apparently so,” said Liam. “You know so much—who else got invited to the table?”

  Delmonico took a drag on his cigar and then let the smoke trickle out of his mouth. “The usual crowd.” He shrugged. “The only one I can’t figure is that Steele chick. Remember her? For some reason Harrington’s bringing her in.”

  Liam lifted his eyebrows. He did remember Bridget Steele. They used to bid against each other before the whole Scarlett Hawkins thing hit the fan. He didn’t know her personally, but she was an outsider like him, and if the stories were true, she was funny and tough and a real boss lady, not afraid to mix it up with all the assholes in this industry. But if she was up for the Harrington job, she was just one more person he needed to get rid of. “She’s good,” he said. “Why shouldn’t she come in?”

  Delmonico s
neered. “She’s a bitch. Someone ought to tell Harrington that she’s poison to work with.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Don’t tell me. You must have had something to do with shutting down her work on Scarlett Hawkins’s project.”

  Sal smiled and it was just about as ugly as his tie. “Maybe,” he said slyly. “But whatever happened, trust me when I tell you that the bitch brought it on herself.”

  Liam once again held back an urge to walk away. He knew guys like this. He’d grown up with them. The kind of guys who simply didn’t believe that a woman, no matter how smart or accomplished, could ever be as good as a man at anything that really mattered. Women were bitches, whores or wives, and that was it.

  Delmonico disgusted him, but he might be useful.

  He flagged down a passing waiter and handed Delmonico a fresh glass of champagne. “Tell me more.”

  Chapter 19

  Before his appointment the next afternoon, Jason sat down with the RFP on the Harrington job. He’d already gone over it once after Leela had confronted him in his office, and his team had combed every angle and given him a dozen different ways to approach this project and presentation. But since his conversation with Bridget the night before, he was suddenly more interested.

  He assumed Russo Construction would get this job. They were the number one construction management company in Manhattan, and when they went out for a project of this magnitude, they generally got it. But now he wondered...how much did he actually want it?

  He pushed the paperwork away and walked through his living room out onto the terrace that overlooked the park. His mind was whirling. The anchor tenant for the building, HealthTec, had risen out of nowhere in the past five years as an online site to address the public’s health-care needs. You could search your symptoms, be linked to a doctor who was standing by, ready to Skype at a fraction of the cost of a face-to-face visit, and then either have a next-day appointment scheduled at one of their nationwide clinics to follow up, or, if your symptoms were declared mild enough, have your prescriptions emailed to your pharmacy. They were a huge, immediate success and had changed the face of the health-care industry in America. Jay didn’t use their services, and he’d certainly never let Alli get diagnosed for anything over the internet, but he knew that, for some people, it was their best, and sometimes only, option. Still, he wasn’t particularly excited about building for them.