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)
And though it’s the smallest concession, it feels like a huge win coming from Dani. I step inside the house, into the small living room at the front so that the screen door closes behind me. Just between the two of us, I say, “I’m truly sorry about this morning.” Swallowing hard, I admit, “Kathy really fucked me over with the delivery truck, and I was doing my best to hurry.”
It’s a hard acknowledgement for me to make. I’m a pro at dealing with all sorts of people, having dealt with the worst of the worst from birth and continuing into my professional career, so admitting that Kathy Wilson is doing a number on me feels like I’m exposing a great weakness.
Honestly, it’s not Kathy, though. If it were just her, I would’ve had the delivery truck drop their load at the curb and spent the day leisurely moving the rebar to the back, and if it screwed up her timeline, then so be it. Her choice, her consequences. So Kathy’s not the real issue. Dani is. She’s the one who had me hauling ass so I wouldn’t cause her further trouble. She’s the woman making this job harder than it has to be. Not because she’s bitchy but because, for some unknown reason, I give a shit about the dark-eyed, dark-haired woman standing in front of me.
Dani doesn’t know that, though. Nor would she care if she did. All she knows is that I’ve been fucking her over, making her life suck since the moment I arrived. Well, she can take a damn number because that’s my standard modus operandi. It started the day I was born and hasn’t changed since.
“Not good enough,” she snarls, stepping in front of me and blocking me from further access to her house. “Do fucking more.”
I’m not sure if she means the apology, the excuse, or both, but her words hit their target, destroying the façade of charming, easy-going guy I’ve carefully cultivated to seem like I don’t give a shit about anyone or anything.
Running my fingers through my hair in frustration, I explode. “Look, what the fuck do you want from me, Dani? You know better than most that Kathy’s an absolute nightmare, hellbent on making everyone around her suffer. But we’ve got a contract so I’ve got to finish the job. I get that it’s inconvenient, and I wish to fuck there was something more I could do, because believe me, I’ve tried with her, and I’ve spent way too much time racking my brain to come up with a fix for this shitshow. But there’s nothing, so I guess you’re going to have to deal with it for a few weeks.”
I’m on a roll, a week’s worth of gathered steam and anger bursting out as I unload all my annoyance with Kathy onto the one person who doesn’t deserve it—Dani. She’s probably put up with a fuck-ton more than I have living next door to Kathy Wilson, but all the aggravation pours out in ugly, sharp fury.
I can virtually see the hate-filled lava building up inside her core, and I think I’m ready for her to burst all over me. But I’m not, because as she replies, there’s more than anger or hate in her voice. There’s fear, and anguish, and bone-deep exhaustion. “Inconvenient? Try financially catastrophic and physically overwhelming, Kyle! I’m hustling as fast as I can, nearly running myself to death to deliver lunches to the crews during the short period of time they get for their lunch breaks.” She holds her thumb and finger up an inch apart like that’s how long they get. “But it’s not happening with you in the way! You know what is happening, though? I’m losing customers—"
Under my breath, I snap, “You are not mad about Joshua.”
“Not him. I’ve lost three other truckloads worth of orders this week because they can’t make it through the clusterfuck out front and get back to their sites on time. They said they’ll come back when you’re done with that job and I get back to my usual delivery system, but who knows?” She throws her arms up, nearly flailing them around in exasperation. “By then, they might’ve gotten in the habit of stopping at the closest McDonald’s or bringing sandwiches from home. Losing that much time has lost me money! Money that I need to survive another day. Don’t you get that? Of course you don’t,” she scoffs, sneering at me like she has any idea what I possibly understand.
She’s winded, her chest rising and falling too quickly as she reveals more of her situation than I think she intended to. But her admission hits me deep, and for the first time, I truly feel like shit.
I didn’t know that. I didn’t know any of that. Which only makes me angrier.