“I know what that’s like. What do you do?”
I send the message and force myself to watch the movie in order to distract myself from overthinking this whole thing.
My phone beeps and I check the message.
“I’d rather not talk about work right now. I hope that’s not rude of me.”
On most days, I’d find his message shallow: After all, who doesn’t like talking about work? (Okay, work is one of my addictions.)
Luckily for him, he caught me on the right day.
“I totally get that. Things are pretty messed up where I work, too. Do you live in the city?”
There is an odd thrill to being able to have a kind-of conversation with someone I’ve never met and probably never will meet. Obviously the conversation is of little substance, but it’s a nice outlet. Maybe this is why people used to go into chat rooms.
My phone goes off again.
The message says, “Yeah. I’ve lived here all my life. I don’t know if that’s because I actually like it here or just that I don’t have any real basis for comparison. You?”
I respond, “Not the city itself, but I’ve always lived in the state. What are you doing right now?”
Then, realizing that my previous message could easily be misconstrued as some kind of invitation that I’m certainly not offering, I send another one.
I write, “I’m taking care of my drunk-ass sister and watching Goonies.”
If ever there were a text that would convince a guy not to want to invite me anywhere or himself over here, it’d be that one.
My phone beeps a few seconds later.
“Sounds like a blast. I’m getting ready to move.”
“Where are you moving?” I write back.
A minute or so passes and he responds, “Just a few blocks from where I’m at now. New apartment.”
Then it starts to occur to me: This is someone that I’m never going to meet. I can ask him anything, tell him—okay, I can’t really tell him anything as my sister is apparently friends with one of his friends, but there’s a lot more I can do with this than just trudge through the usual small talk.
“If you could have the one thing you want most in life, would you give up everything else to get it?” I write.
It’s not exactly the kind of thing that I want to ask, but it should be a pretty good barometer of whether I’ll be able to get away with more interesting topics.
The phone beeps and I read, “I don’t know that there’s only one thing that I want most in life. If anything, I want too many things out of life and I seem to always be sacrificing everythin”
The phone beeps again a moment later.
The rest of his message reads, “g for things I don’t end up wanting anyway. So yeah, I guess if I found something that I wanted more than anything, I’d probably give up anything to have it.”
That’s a lot of honesty from a stranger. It’s actually kind of arousing in a weird way that I don’t begin to understand.
I answer, “I used to think I already did, but then, seemingly through no action of my own, I found more things to want.”
I write, “What makes you get out of bed in the morning?”
He writes back, “Knowing that no matter how bad yesterday was, today can always be better. At least that’s the bullshit I tell myself even though about an hour into the day, I r”
His next message comes through, finishing the thought.
“ealize just how full of crap that statement is. Yeah, today can always be better, but it can also be a lot worse. Still, it gets me out of bed.”
It’s not a bad response.
Another message comes in, reading, “What about you?”
I respond, “The thought that maybe, just maybe, something big is going to happen today, and that I don’t want to miss it lying in bed.”
“What ya doin’?” Kristin asks, effectively startling the hell out of me.
“Nothing,” I tell her, dropping the phone to my side. “I’m just watching the movie.”
“I may be drunk, but I’m not—what’s the word?” she asks.
“Stupid?”
“That’s no way to talk to your sister,” she says and lies her head back on the arm of the couch.
My phone beeps and I watch Kristin closely, hoping that there’s some way I can check my phone without her noticing that I’ve fallen right into her little trap.
For a moment, I think I’m going to be okay, but as soon as I pick up my phone, she says, “You are so fucking busted.”
“What?” I ask. “Someone just sent me a message. That’s all.”
“Yeah, but someone’s been sending you a lot of messages. That usually doesn’t happen unless you’re sending messages right back.”
For now, my unwillingness to prove her right outweighs my curiosity regarding what this guy just sent me, but drunk as she is, she can’t stay awake forever.
Chapter Six
Learning to Work Around Obstacles
Eric
It’s been a few days since the big blowup between Jessica and I, and we’ve only managed to keep the peace because we’ve completely avoided each other. Sometime today, though, I’ve vowed to myself that I’m going to get Alec his job back or I’m walking right the fuck off the job.
I won’t force the decision on my guys, though. If things go sour, I’ll simply let José—who narrowly avoided arrest due to the quick thinking and quicker words of Linda—know that he’s in charge and tell the guys to stay on the job.
They’ve gone long enough without a good payday.
Jessica comes out of her office, and I’m ready to put my cards on the table, but she’s quickly approached by a customer. As much as I’d love to put her in a position where she’d be forced by propriety to say yes, I don’t want to do anything to ruin her business either.
There are limits.
“Hey, boss,” Ian says, “we’re ready to put this window in. You wanna let Miss Davis know, or do you just want to chance it?”
“Go ahead and put it in,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”
Jessica’s dealt with the customer and I know she sees me coming. She doesn’t look at me, but I can see her deep breath from here.
I don’t want an argument, but I’m ready to give one if that’s what has to happen.
“Hey,” I say, approaching her. “Could we talk for a minute?”
“I’m kind of busy right now,” she answers. “Is it important?”
“Oh, I’d say so,” I answer.
“All right,” she says, “but we’ve got to make it quick. I’ve got a meeting with a supplier in a few minutes, and I’d really prefer not to have him come into a screaming match in my store.”
“I don’t see any reason why it has to go that way,” I tell her.
“Let’s go,” she says and we walk in silence back to her office.
I close the door as usual, but before I can start, she jumps right in.
“I thought about what you said, and you’re right: It’s not fair that that man lost his job for trying to stand up for one of his coworkers,” she says.
“Great,” I tell her. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What I do think is fair, though, is for you to fire whoever actually did break into my store. So I think if anyone’s being unfair here, it’s you,” she says.
“Me?”
“Yeah,” she says, “you. Once you told me he wasn’t the guy, I didn’t want to see him go any more than you did. I was angry, though, and I just let it go the way it went. That part was my fault. Knowing who broke the law and broke into my store, however, you shouldn’t have just let him quit like that. You should have held the right person responsible and that should have been the end of it, now I have to go. It looks like my supplier is here a little early.”
“No, we’re not done here,” I tell her. “Either my guys—all my guys—stay, or I go. They’ll finish out the job for you, but I’m not going to wor
k in a situation where you’re going to try to dismantle a group of people I’ve worked with and come to trust implicitly for years.”
“Hmm,” she starts, “you’d think that having one of your own people commit a crime against one of your clients might do something to that trust. Maybe you should think about your judgment. Now, unless there’s anything else—”
“What’s it going to be?” I ask. “Lose me and Alec, setting you and your plans, whatever the hell they are this hour, back who knows how long, or realize that a mistake was made, but it’s no reason to fire anyone and you can have me and my whole team working hard for you until this job is finished.”
“Neither,” she says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Here’s my predicament: She’s opening the door now, so anything else that I say to her has a good chance of being overheard, not only by my guys and her staff, but by this supplier of hers.
If I do something to screw with one of her business partners, chances are that me and my crew are immediately let go. If, however, I hold my tongue, Alec, a good friend of mine, either stays out of a job because he did a good thing for José, or I lose the best guy on my crew for making a mistake.
Fuck it.
“It’s going to have to be one or the other,” I say quietly and with a smile on my face.
“Now really isn’t the time,” she says, mimicking my actions, trying even harder than I am not to see the whole situation explode.
“Now is the only time,” I tell her. “Either make your choice or I walk now.”
“I don’t do business with people who hold a gun to my head,” she says. “Mr. Burbank, it’s great to see you again. This is Eric. He and his men are doing some renovations for us. Would you come into my office and we can talk about our future together.”
I wait for the older man to walk past me and then I give her my best “I’d make a choice unless you want me to really embarrass you” look.
She takes a step toward me and, still smiling, she whispers, “Call your guy and get him back here. Don’t think that I’m going to forget this.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “You made the right choice.”
Although Mr. Burbank is already in her office, we’re still too close for her to do anything but mouth her final thoughts on the matter.
“Screw you.”
I smile and walk back over to the work area.
“What’s got you so happy?” Tripp, the newest new guy asks.
“I’m going to call Alec and tell him to get his ass down here. He’s late for work.”
I glance back toward Jessica’s office as the crew claps and offers their congratulations, but I can’t see anything more than the door closing.
“Great job, boss,” Ian says.
Even José has a smile on his face.
I walk outside and make the call.
“What’s up, boss?” Alec answers.
“Good news,” I tell him, “José’s safe. The inquisition is over and you’re hired. When do you think you can get here?”
“Uh, I’m kind of busy at the moment,” he says. “Any chance I can just come in tomorrow?”
Right now, I’m glad I stepped outside for this.
“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you have no idea what I just risked to make this happen and the shitstorm that’s going to be waiting for me before the day is over because of it. So, do you want the job or not?”
“Of course I want the job,” he says, “it’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
“Well,” he says, “I’m kind of out of state.”
“How can you be kind of out of state?” I ask.
“Okay, so I’m in Delaware. There’s a pool tournament going on here and it’s fucking wicked.”
This is one of the guys I just risked my livelihood for.
“You’re in Delaware for a pool tournament,” I echo. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Well, it’s not like I knew that I was going to be rehired today,” he says. “Besides, I kind of, you know, already found another job.”
“You really could have told me that,” I scold. “I’m going to look like a fucking idiot when you don’t show up here.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” he says. “I’ll totally quit this job and come back to work for you, only…”
I’m waiting for the end of the phrase, but it looks like it’s not going to come of its own freewill.
“What?” I ask, “Only what?”
“Well, I kind of promised these guys that I’d stay on at least until the job at that store finished up,” he says. “I figured you’d hire me back eventually, but I didn’t know you’d do it so soon.”
“This really sucks,” I tell him. “You know you’re putting me in one hell of a position here.”
“Sorry, bro,” he says. “I need a job, and I didn’t think I was going to have one with you for at least a little while longer. I can talk to my boss here and see if we can—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I sigh. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks, boss,” he says. “If you want, I really do have the day off tomorrow, so I’d be happy to drive up there—you know, assuming that I can get a little reimbursement for gas money.”
I hang up the phone.
Fuck.
How the hell am I going to spin this so I don’t end up looking like the idiot I apparently am.
Sure, it makes sense now that I should have called Alec before giving that ultimatum, but in my defense, Alec’s one of the laziest motherfuckers I know. How was I supposed to know he’d actually go out and get himself a new job?
I walk back into the store, smiling at Linda as I pass her on my way to the newly sunken floor which, after a whole lot of back and forth and more wasted concrete than I’m prepared to admit, now sits level at sixteen-and-a-half inches below the rest of the flooring.
Really, unless Jessica comes out here with a list of changes sometime in the next day or so, we’re pretty much done here.
The old storage room was taken out weeks ago, the floor—well, we’ve already covered that—and my team is now in the process of setting the window.
There are a few more things left to do, mostly small and cosmetic, but maybe this won’t be the end of the world after all.
I really need to learn how not to be optimistic about anything.
Jessica’s door opens and Mr. Burbank comes walking out with a smile on his face. Jessica’s smiling, too, but hers is strained.
She waits for Burbank to pass hosiery before turning toward me and motioning for me to meet her in her office.
This should be fun.
I step into the office and close the door.
“You’re probably going to want witnesses,” she says. “In fact, knowing that someone could see what I would really, really like to do to you right now is probably the only thing that’s going to keep me from doing it.”
“I know I took a hard line before, and I just—”
“I’m not done talking,” she interrupts. “It’s bad enough that you forced that ridiculous decision onto me, but doing it where one of my most important business contacts could potentially hear you was beyond irresponsible and I can’t tell you how livid I am at you for it.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I tell her. “It was wrong of me to do that. So, to make it up to you, I’ve decided not to bring Alec back onto my team until we’ve finished up this contract.”
“Great!” she says manically. “That’s just great! I was so pissed off at you that I wasn’t paying close enough attention to what Mr. Burbank was proposing, and I just agreed to a cost structure that’s going to completely gut my profit margin on everything he’s going to supply for me.”
I wince.
“How much does he supply for you?” I ask.
“All told,” she says, “about a third of everything I carry.”
I’m about to tell her that a third isn’t that bad, but then I pull my head o
ut of my ass.
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” she says, “shit is right. Do you want to know what’s worse? Do you want to know what’s even worse than that?”
I cringe. “It gets worse than that?”
“Yeah,” she says. “You know how I wanted you to remodel the plus section so I could expand it?”
“Yeah,” I answer, confused. “That’s kind of why we’re here.”
“Oh, I know,” she laughs. “What’s worse than everything else is that I just agreed to make Mr. Burbank my sole supplier of plus-sized clothing. So now, all of the extra business I was going to do giving women something chic and sexy to wear for a price they won’t have to sell their firstborn to afford is fucked! I have two choices: Either I can keep the prices where I want them and lose thousands of dollars a month on clothes that I’m actually selling, or I can raise the prices on everything in the store—‘cause I’m sure as hell not going to make one demographic of women pay more than another—completely obliterating my whole mission statement, business plan and just about the only reason that I got into this stupid fucking business in the first place.”
It’s certainly not my fault that she blew it in her meeting, but I really didn’t help matters, either.
“But hey, at least you had a change of heart and decided not to follow through with the threat that put me in this position in the first place. That’s just perfect,” she says.
I don’t know what to say to her, but she’s waiting for me to say something.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
At least it’s a true statement.
“You’re sorry,” she says. “Well, that magically makes it all better. You want to know what pisses me off even more than everything else I just told you?” she asks.
“Do I?” I ask.
“Oh yeah,” she says. “It’s actually good news for you. I’ve already sunk so much into the whole remodel that there’s no way it would be cost-effective for me to just fire your ass once and for all. So, even after this situation which you and your men caused by breaking into my store, letting the wrong guy quit while protecting the one who actually did it, yelling at me in front of my employees—”
“Hey, we both did that,” I interrupt.
Costars (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) Page 56