Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
It’s after five when we call it a day. Sitting back on my haunches in the dirt, I realize I can hear music and laughter coming from Dani’s place. It’s not loud enough to be obnoxious. It’s actually sort of pleasant and celebratory, though Kathy would probably disagree. But I can definitely hear the beat of drums and whine of horns. And the laughter is a welcome surprise, especially from Dani’s.
“What’s that?” I ask, and Wayne shrugs.
“Music started about an hour ago,” he says casually. “Friday festivities, maybe?”
“Good for her,” I comment as I look over at the house. I can’t see anything from here—no flash photography in the kitchen window and no one on the back porch. I guess Dani already cleaned the grill from today’s cook-stravaganza, or maybe she’s giving herself an evening off and will take care of it tomorrow. “Alright, let’s get gone.”
I don’t have to tell my guys twice. Zeus and Frogger were already one foot here and one foot gone for their own Friday night fun. Frogger especially, who probably has a dinner date, club plans, and a backup hook-up in case either of those don’t result in a dick draining.
“See ya, boss man,” Zeus shouts as he heads for Wayne’s truck. He and Frogger are fucking with each other, poking and punching like wayward siblings as they make their way out front, where they’ll wait for Wayne. He’s still got another half hour of their goofiness to deal with as he takes them back to their respective homes. It’s a system that saves the guys some gas, but also saves on parking spaces, although Wayne insists that he’s just going to make the guys ride bicycles because of their idiocy. Better him than me, I think with a grin.
“I’m gonna update Kathy before heading out, so I’ll see ya Monday,” I tell Wayne with a wave.
“Better you than me on this one. Out, demon. I rebuke thee,” he tosses back, making an X with his fingers and hissing at the house. Guess we each have our shit to deal with.
I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t help it, biting my fist as I hold back the guffaw. Kathy is a demon of the Snobby, Entitled variety, but her money transfers into my account the same as anyone else’s, so we’ll finish this job like every other.
The bad news is that we’re only at phase one, so I need to try and remain professional around her for as long as I can.
At Kathy’s back door, I knock and step back to wait. And then wait some more, because there’s no answer. Just when I think she’s not coming and am thanking my lucky stars, she strolls up to the door from the room to the right, which is her ‘parlor’, as she calls it. Given the house isn’t that large, she couldn’t have been more than twenty feet from where I’m standing, so the waiting game was a power play on her part. Unless she was naked in there, which is not something I want to imagine.
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson, wanted to give you an update for week one.” I keep my tone matter-of-fact, not tinted by any bad blood from our conversation earlier this week despite my personal feelings about the situation and her motives. “We’ve got the hole dug and confirmed, and the electrical and water for the pump and filter area are set up.” I pause, giving her the tiniest moment to ask any questions. When none are immediately forthcoming, I continue, “Monday, we’ll start the framing and have concrete come after that, barring any issues.”
There shouldn’t be any issues. At least on my end. I’m a pro, having done this hundreds of times at this point. Even that speech is one I’ve delivered to countless clients—recap and set expectations. All nothing more than little check marks on my mental list.
“What issues?” she snaps, looking past me like there’ll be a neon arrow pointing at some imaginary problem in her back yard.
I want to tell her, ‘Sorry, we haven’t discovered ancient burial grounds or underground oil lines in your yard’, but somehow, I don’t think she’d get the sarcasm.
“Barring any issues,” I repeat, adding emphasis. “I can’t control the weather or my subcontractors, so I like to allow for some wiggle room. It’s built into the original timeline that we discussed.”
“Fine,” she finally agrees in a huff. “I’ll see you Monday, and we’d better have the concrete work completely done next week.”
I almost want to laugh. Clearly, she’s trying to assert some dominance here and make sure I know she’s in charge. Which she’s utterly and completely… not. It might be her house, but it’s my jobsite while this pool project is happening. Besides, even if my guys work their asses off, concrete doesn’t dry that fast. The laws of chemistry don’t change.