Heels of Steel

by Barbara Kavovit

  Maybe that was why the older woman had come all the way up to the Bronx to help Bridget this morning.

  Harrington & Kim had emailed a set of the preliminary plans to Bridget that morning, and she printed them out and now had them spread all over Danny’s kitchen table.

  Developing a comprehensive budget was always complicated, but this was even more so because of the magnitude of this project. But Bridget also knew that this was the first step. Doing the budget properly would help them get invited to present to the development and investor team—which was the golden apple, the real way in.

  Even with smaller projects, it could take a couple weeks to put accurate numbers together. Done right, it could cost a company thousands of dollars in estimating time. Every trade and material cost, from the largest to the smallest, had to be checked and rechecked. All direct costs paid by the construction manager had to be accurately estimated as part of their general conditions. In the end, there would be hundreds of line items that Bridget herself would go over before they brought it back to Harrington, and no guarantee that their team would be called in to present. They would necessarily do it on a shoestring, but it was still a risk. It could be nothing but money down the drain.

  “Okay,” said Bridget, accepting the hot mug of coffee that Danny offered her and making room for Mrs. Hashemi to stand next to her. “I need to get this budget in fast, and it’s got to be perfect, no box left unchecked. What do you guys think?”

  Mrs. Hashemi adjusted her glasses and bent to look at the thick sheaf of papers. She was silent as she meticulously worked her way through the stack, only occasionally letting out a little whistle or hiss when she came upon something particularly interesting.

  At last, she straightened up and looked at Bridget and Danny, worry in her deep brown eyes. “I don’t mean to question your judgment, my dear, but do you really think that you are capable of taking on such an extensive project?”

  “Mrs. Hashemi,” said Bridget, “this is exactly where I left off when I lost everything. This is my dream. It will bring Steele Construction back.”

  Mrs. Hashemi considered this for a moment. “And do you have the resources for this project? The infrastructure? The office space?”

  “Not yet,” said Bridget. “But if we can get this project I’ll pull the rest together.”

  The older lady hesitated.

  “Listen,” said Bridget, “I know this may seem absolutely crazy. I know everyone thinks I should be starting small and building my company back up. This is obviously an enormous long shot. And I know that you all have other jobs and responsibilities, and it’s not even remotely fair for me to be asking for this help. It’s a ton of work and time and, honestly, I can’t pay you guys anything yet—”

  “Wow. You’re making this sound better and better,” muttered Ethan.

  “And I absolutely get it if you can’t help. You can just say no to me and I will understand, no hard feelings at all. But you guys were the core of my team. You were the people I trusted more than anyone, so I wanted to come to you first.”

  “And you need our help,” said Danny. “You can’t do it on your own.”

  Bridget nodded, humbled. “I do. I need you guys. I don’t know what Steele Construction would look like without you.” She choked back tears.

  “And you won’t have to, dear,” said Mrs. Hashemi. “Of course we will help. You took a chance on each of us once upon a time, and now we will take a chance on you. It’s an investment opportunity for us. With the prospect of excellent returns.”

  “If we get the job, guys. There’s no guarantee.”

  Ethan laughed. “Oh. You’ll get the job, Bridget. I’ve got a gut feeling about this.”

  “He’s right,” said Danny. “You’ll get it.”

  “I’m definitely in,” said Ethan. “I hate my boss. Not nearly as fun as you were.”

  “And I am also in,” said Mrs. Hashemi. “I regard this as an excellent business opportunity, and frankly, I am a little bored at my new job. I could use the challenge.”

  “And you know I’m with you, kid,” said Danny hoarsely. “I always am.” He reached over and ruffled Bridget’s hair.

  Bridget nodded. “Thank you, guys,” she said softly.

  Mrs. Hashemi took off her glasses, removed a handkerchief out of her pocketbook and slowly polished first one lens and then the other before putting them back on. “Then this is what we will do,” she said at last. “We will bring back Steele Construction.”

  Bridget swallowed. She could feel a small ping of hope in her chest. “How long do you think it will take to come up with the bid?”

  “Well...” Mrs. Hashemi smiled a slightly pained smile. “The good news is that my current job is very slow. There is little to do. So I have plenty of time to work on this.” She looked at the plans again. “I think we can do it in three weeks.”

  Bridget blinked. It was way more than she’d hoped for. “Seriously?”

  Mrs. Hashemi nodded, looked at Danny and Ethan.

  “We’ll get it done,” Danny said.

  Bridget looked at them all for a moment, choked with emotion. She reached out and grabbed their hands. “You guys. Thank you so much.”

  The three of them smiled back at her.

  “Now, let’s have some lunch,” said Danny.

  * * *

  Bridget took the train back to Manhattan with Ethan. “So,” he said as they gently swayed back and forth, “I heard you’re sleeping with the enemy.”

  “God damn it. When did you see Ava?”

  Bridget had called up Ava on her way to the train that morning in a fit of anxiety and spilled the whole story before she’d even had her first cup of coffee.

  “She came in this morning to drop off some plans,” said Ethan, laughing. “Anyway, you were going to tell me eventually.”

  “Just not yet,” muttered Bridget.

  “Well, I think it’s brilliant. Like some high-level Mata Hari shit. You’ll have total access to all his secrets. You’ll know what makes him weak. You’ll keep him distracted with your magical—”

  “I do not have a magical anything,” she interjected.

  “You’re missing my point. My point is, you’ve got an in on the competition. You can get him to talk and then exploit his weaknesses, knock him out.”

  She shook her head. “Work is off the table with this guy. We’re trying something else.”

  Ethan laughed. “Work is never off the table for you, Bridget. And don’t even try to pretend it can be.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Anyway...”

  “Anyway, steal a copy of his budget. We can undercut his fee.”

  She threw up her hands. “I’m not going to steal anything, Ethan. Calm the hell down.”

  The woman across from her on the train glared at her and covered her young daughter’s ears.

  “Sorry,” Bridget mouthed.

  Ethan sighed again. “The Bridget Steele I know would use this to her own advantage, putting her work before anything else like the good Lord intended her to do.”

  She shook her head. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. Listen, I’m not going to do anything to endanger this project.”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but how is sleeping with the competition not endangering this project?”

  “We’re keeping things separate. Surely, you can understand what that means?”

  “I only understand the fact that there is a god damned skyscraper dangling in front of our faces, which could mean you could finally stop selling for Gross and Grosser and get back to what you were meant to do, but you won’t steal anything or do anything fun to make this any easier for you to win.”

  “We don’t need to cheat or steal anything. We just need to put together our team and be the best.”

  She could practically hear him roll
ing his eyes. “Well, I hope you’re right, boss. And if not—at least you’ll have a way to get behind enemy lines.”

  Chapter 30

  “Dad... Dad... Dad!”

  Jason blinked and looked at Alli. She was on her bike, riding next to him as they made their way through Central Park. It was their weekly afternoon together after school—a miracle that he’d convinced her to take a bike ride with him—and he had been thinking about...well, he had been thinking about Bridget’s legs. Again.

  Jesus, his daughter was right there. He had to get a hold of himself.

  “I’m sorry, honey. A lot going on at work right now. What did you say?”

  She rolled her eyes under her helmet. “I said I think I like Shake Shack better than In-N-Out burgers.”

  “When did you have In-N-Out?”

  Her voice rose. “I already told you. Liam had a big meeting so he took me and Mom to LA last month. We stayed at the Beverly Hills Hotel. I had my own room. And you can order anything on room service. I mean, anything. It was so cool. One night I had In-N-Out.”

  He stared at her for a moment, desperately trying to bite his tongue. He had things he would’ve liked to say. He very much wanted to say that it was a waste of good room service to order fast food. Even if it was very good fast food. He wanted to say that a fifteen-year-old had absolutely no business having her own suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel—and that Liam was obviously trying to buy her affection. And that maybe it was working, judging from the way she was talking about him. But mostly he wanted to say that he was furious with Hana for taking Alli out of the state and not even bothering to tell him. He’d had no idea that his daughter had even been gone.

  But he didn’t say any of that. He just kept pedaling.

  “Dad, stop being so extra. Chill.” Alli always knew when he was upset, even when he tried to hide it. “Liam surprised us at the last moment. I mean, we didn’t even know we were going anywhere until we all got to the airport.”

  Jason shook his head. That used to be one of the things he liked best about his former friend; he was spontaneous and wild and filled with crazy plans. A week before Jason and Hana got married, Liam had literally put a pillowcase over Jason’s head, chartered a jet and taken him to Saint-Tropez for the weekend.

  But it was harder to appreciate these qualities when they were being applied to win the affections of his daughter and ex-wife.

  Maybe if I had been more like him. Surprised them more...

  He shook it off. Second-guessing had become a torturous habit for him and he didn’t want to do it anymore. Instead, he turned to his daughter. “Hey, we still on for the Hamptons house next weekend?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Do we have to? I made plans with some friends.”

  “Bring ’em,” he shot back. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

  Her face lit up. “Really?”

  “Sure,” he said. See, I can be cool, too! Suck it, Maguire.

  “Awesome! Hey, can we pull over for a second? I need to text everyone.”

  They pulled over and he felt a little twinge of apprehension as he watched her speed-text. I wonder how many kids she’s actually inviting... She looked up at him and flashed him the rarest of things—a happy smile. Don’t ask. Don’t screw it up.

  Chapter 31

  Liam was playing tennis with Mark Harrington’s business partner, Henry Kim, at the Manhattan Plaza Racquet Club. Men who actually knew how to play tennis liked to play against Liam—he was just good enough to make them work a little, but almost never good enough to win. Like golf and racquetball, Liam had learned tennis as an adult, after he moved to New York. Jay had insisted he take lessons. Along with strip clubs, cigar bars and overpriced restaurants, they were the cornerstone of business world socializing in Manhattan and absolutely necessary in order to break in to the inner circle. Liam suspected that, with a little practice and effort, he could be much better at all of these games, but why mess with a good thing? Passable was fine. He didn’t mind losing if it meant cultivating clients, and he got a workout either way.

  But today, distracted by his problems with Hana, he was playing like it was his first time. He could see the frustration in Kim’s eyes as he missed shot after shot and botched serve after serve.

  “Love–game point!” called a clearly annoyed Kim as he lofted the ball into the air and sent it spinning directly at Liam. Liam managed to hit it back, right into the net.

  “Jesus, Maguire!” yelled Kim. “Where is your game today?”

  Liam shook his head as he approached the net to shake hands. “Sorry. Just a little distracted. Let me buy you a drink and make up for it.”

  In the locker room, after showers, the men toweled off side by side. As always, Liam noticed how fit Kim was. He had to be in his late fifties, but with his broad shoulders and taut, muscled belly, the man looked like a professional athlete with his shirt off.

  “Sorry about the shitty game today,” said Liam as he packed up his gym bag. “At least you won.”

  Kim shot him a comical look. “No joy in winning that game, Maguire. My ten-year-old daughter could have beat your ass. What’s your problem, anyway? Or do you need a beer before you can spit it out?”

  “No beer,” said Liam. “Whiskey.”

  They took Kim’s car to Bemelmans, a piano bar in the Carlyle Hotel. It always made Liam feel slightly uncomfortable with its fashionably worn and exclusive atmosphere. He liked the food just fine, but he would never feel okay about having another man squirt the soap into his hands, as the bathroom attendant was solely there to do.

  He and Kim took a seat in a booth, ordering drinks, shrimp cocktail, smoked salmon and a cheese plate. But just before their orders arrived, Kim’s phone buzzed and he looked at it, annoyed.

  “Ah damn, sorry,” he said. “Apparently, Harrington pissed off an investor again. I gotta go do clean-up duty. You want me to cancel the order?”

  Liam lifted a hand. “It’s okay. I’ll stay.”

  “All right. Rain check. And next time you better hit that ball like you actually know what you’re doing, all right?”

  The waiter cleared Kim’s place settings and offered to return his drink to the bar, but Liam told him it was okay, he’d double-fist it. Suddenly, spending the afternoon sitting in a cushy leather booth slowly getting drunk seemed like a better option than going home to a woman he didn’t know how to please.

  The place was only half full, but the guy at the piano was softly playing “My Funny Valentine,” and the lights were warm and low. Liam knew that if he looked hard enough he’d find the usual old-school New York celebrities, safe and unbothered in their exclusive little clubhouse.

  Liam sipped his Macallan 12 scotch and casually glanced at the blonde at the table next to his, who, judging by the outraged look on her face, had been stood up. She frowned at him, but then did a double take and sent a hopeful smile in his direction, which he answered with a practiced look of blank boredom. Beautiful, rich women hitting on him had been a dizzy novelty when he first came to town, but once he paired up with Hana, he gave up all his extracurriculars. Screwing around wasn’t classy.

  The waiter hovered over the table. “How is everything, sir?”

  “Fine. Great.” Suddenly, Liam desperately wished he was back in the corner dive in South Side where the bartender always made him pay up front and it smelled like stale beer, pickled eggs and mouse piss.

  “Very good, sir.” The guy all but bowed as he backed away from the table.

  He took a gulp of the scotch, giving up the pretense of sipping. How was he going to fix things with Hana?

  He wished he knew even one woman he was friendly enough with to get a female opinion on all this. Hell, these days, he wished he even knew a guy that he could really call a friend. He had been ready to spill his guts to Kim, of all people. A decent enough dude, but not exactly his bosom bud
dy.

  It’s not like he’d ever had lots of friends. Even back in the hood, he was on good enough terms with everyone, he could always find a pick-up game of basketball or someone to shoot the shit with, but when he really thought about it? His first, and maybe only, real friendship had been with Jay. And then he’d blown that by running off with Jay’s wife. And now here he was—having chased them both off, apparently. Jesus Christ, he’d even be happy to talk to Alli right now. He shoved aside his empty glass and started in on the other as he shook his head. What a pathetic asshole he was.

  You could call your mother. The idea made him chuckle bitterly. Aside from his monthly call to make sure she got the check he sent that kept her in booze and, he hoped at least, kept her lights on and fridge stocked, it wasn’t like he and his mom had much to say to each other.

  But the hell with it. He had to talk to someone. He downed the rest of the scotch in one gulp, threw a couple of hundred-dollar bills on the table next to the untouched plates of food, and wound his way out of the bar, pulling out his phone and dialing Chicago as he walked outside.

  “Li?” said his mom. She sounded out of breath, but a two-pack-a-day habit would do that to you. “Everything okay? Why are you calling?”

  “Hey, Ma. Everything’s fine. Just checking in.”

  “What? Why?”

  He laughed. Fair enough. She wasn’t even going to pretend like this was normal. “No reason.”

  “Bull. What’s wrong?”

  He paused. She always could see right through him. “Ma, if you were a woman—” He heard the little huff of protest. “Sorry, I mean, how do you...what does a woman need to stay in a relationship?”

  “You and that Chinese girl having trouble, huh?”

  “Don’t be an asshole, Ma. She’s Japanese-American and you know it.”

  “Same difference. She dump you?”

  He shook his head and sighed. Why had he called her again? “No. She didn’t dump me. But she’s not happy, okay? I’m not sure I can make her happy.”