Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
The line moves forward and dread fills my stomach. It feels like I’m doing something wrong, but nowhere on the application does it specify that women aren’t allowed to apply for jobs today. It’s just heavily implied. When’s the last time you pulled up to a construction site and saw a bunch of ladies rockin’ hard hats? Oh right, never.
To be clear, I’m not pretending to be a man. I’m just trying to blend in like a chameleon. Yup, don’t mind me, just your average red-blooded American construction worker with a heart-shaped face, button nose, and pouty mouth.
“Next!” one of the recruiters shouts.
The line moves and we’re only a few people away from the front now.
My hands start to tremble, and Jeremy notices.
“You okay?” he asks, keeping his voice low.
I nod, but I’m not…really. A strange sensation grips hold of my spine and I swear I’m being watched. No shit, Sherlock. You look like a doof. I glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a bunch of guys shuffling around in line, bored. Some of them are chatting amongst themselves. Some are on their phones. One guy is ferociously tearing into a cinnamon roll, and I think I like him the best of all. If I get hired, I hope we work together.
Jeremy nudges me forward as the line moves and when I turn back around, my attention catches on the trailer behind the tables where Lockwood Construction staff is presumably watching the events of the morning take place.
That’s why I feel like I’m being watched—we probably all are.
Before I know it, I’m at the front of the line, heading toward a recruiter who looks like he’s ready to call it a day. I don’t blame him. He’s dealt with dozens of guys already and he doesn’t even look up right away, just asks for my ID and application while he continues typing on his laptop.
“Name?”
“Taylor Larson.”
He confirms that’s the name on my ID and application then continues typing, filling in things like my date of birth and address, asking me to clarify the name of my current employer since my handwriting is so bad. Then he turns back to my ID for some other piece of information and stalls, hands hovering above his keyboard, no doubt finally noticing my photo. Was it really so important that I wear my hair down to the DMV that day? No one on Earth would confuse me for a dude in that photo.
His eyes cut up to me and then narrow, studying my face. I sit perfectly still, waiting. Hoping. Prepared to call his bluff. I know he’s about to say something like, Uh, lady? Scram and stop wasting our time, but then someone walks up behind him. He’s a short, squat guy with a thick beard, wearing a Lockwood Construction shirt. He leans down and whispers something into the recruiter’s ear. The man behind the table nods quickly and reaches for my application without hesitation. Then the bearded guy turns on his heel and climbs the stairs to the trailer so he can disappear inside once again.
“What was that about?” I ask, more paranoid than ever. There’ve been no whispers in ears about any of the other applicants, at least none that I’ve seen.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” he says with a clipped tone.
I laugh. “Oh, well…that sounds slightly ominous.”
He doesn’t find me funny.
“You know you’ll be the only female on the crew,” he says, stamping one of my forms with a green check and then shoving the papers back in my direction along with a sterile cup. “The only female staying in the bunkhouses too. You must really need the job.”
I frown, having a hard time keeping up. “What do you mean ‘bunkhouses’?”
He holds up his hand, looks over my shoulder at the line of people behind me, and shouts, “Next!” so loudly that I get the gist. If I have questions, I should direct them elsewhere.
Chapter 6
Ethan
“There’s a ton of guys out there,” Hudson says, standing at the window and peering out at the parking lot. He’s tapping the windowpane with his finger like he’s actually performing a head count. It’s annoying as shit. “Yup, over a hundred, though I think I missed a few.”
Good God, if he tries to start over with his count, I’m going to break his finger off.
Ignorant of the daggers I’m aiming his way, Hudson goes right on rambling about the turnout, and I go right on ignoring him. I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it so far this morning. I’m sitting at a desk in the trailer, working, and Hudson should be doing the same seeing as he’s my assistant project manager for this build. Off the top of my head, I can think of five things he should be doing right now, none of which include standing idle at the window.