Page 9 of Built to Last

I was actually quite close to Uncle Alan when he was alive. I sometimes preferred him to my father. My cousin, not so much. “He’s a guy from work.”

Paul’s brows raise. “You’re dating someone from work? Seriously? Who? Is it the new guy?”

My mom gasps. “You’re dating? That is exciting. Do I know him?”

I need to shut this down. If I thought Ivy siccing Emma on me was bad, this would be so much worse. And I never heard why Emma thinks Reid and I might be compatible. We were interrupted by Jeremiah and didn’t get back around to the subject. It’s been bugging me all morning, but I have things to do. “I’m not dating. I didn’t mean from the construction crew. I meant from my side job.”

“Oh, from the fancy project of yours,” Paul says with a sneer. “You’re going to be a TV star.”

My new project is something of a controversy at my main job. I have my group of supporters. Paul is not one of them. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m helping a friend, and it could help the company.”

His eyes roll. “You doing fancy shit with moldy old homes isn’t going to bring in any clients. We don’t do single-family homes, and we’re not going to any time soon.”

I have to agree with him there. We need big jobs for the foreseeable future. My father left me with fifty-five percent of the family company and all of its IRS debt. Dad was great at construction, but Uncle Alan handled the money. When he got cancer, my dad didn’t pay much attention to anything but making his payroll and getting new jobs. He let things like taxes slide away. Mom wasn’t much help. When they asked her to take over for Alan, she shook her head and said she was just a housewife and wouldn’t have any idea what to do in an office.

She’s still in a house, but she’s not a wife anymore since Dad passed. So she moves around helping with everyone else’s kids and making comments about how she’ll never have grandkids of her own. Always the babysitter but never the nana is her catch phrase. I’ve thought of getting her a T-shirt.

“Is there a reason you’re here, Paul?” I don’t waste time on my cousin. He’s bitter and angry, and he has reason to be neither from what I can tell. He’s married to his high school sweetheart. They have two adorable kids, and my uncle left them a paid off condo in Little Italy.

He still complains constantly.

My mom sets her purse on the bar and turns my way, her expression going concerned. Which has me concerned. I’ve been hoping this was a friendly visit. “Paul is worried that the company is suffering because you’re changing things too quickly.”

It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes. “I’ve been in charge of the company for years. I assure you we’re not changing too fast. Some of the men don’t appreciate that I’ve been hiring women on the crews. They complain to Paul.”

“Of course they do. Having women on the crew means men have to do more work,” Paul replies.

I sigh. “I haven’t hired a single woman who can’t lift what she needs to. Don’t come at me with the heavy stuff. We have machines to do that, and the men use them all the time.”

“I don’t like working with them. They distract the men.” Paul’s arms cross over his chest.

My mom sighs. “You know how men are, dear.”

I do, and most of them don’t blink an eye. The women are their coworkers, and they all get along. However, there is a certain subset of employees—mostly Paul’s friends—who think we’re still living in the fifties and women should exist to have their babies and bring them coffee. The problem is they’re all union, and firing them can be complicated.

Like my life seems right now. “I’m not getting rid of the new hires. The men will get used to them. If they don’t, then they can move on.”

Paul’s eyes narrow. “I told her this would be what you said. You only care about your freaking feminist agenda.”

“It’s not an agenda. It’s about having a good, healthy workforce. Those women you don’t like are more productive than the guys. They’re better at following safety regulations, and I don’t have to worry about them horsing around and wrecking twenty thousand dollars’ worth of tile.”

True story. It happened on one of Paul’s sites. They decided to play forklift chicken and the company lost.

“I told you they didn’t mean any harm,” Paul argues.

I still ended up paying for it, but there’s no point in talking. “I’m not firing them but guess what. A couple of them are coming with me on the shoot, so you’ll have at least two months without those women around to offend you. Now do you have anything else because I need to pack.”

His eyes roll again. It’s his go-to move. “Yeah, because you’re taking off for Europe when we have five active projects.”

“They’re all going well. Is there a problem I don’t know about?” It’s not like I haven’t been working. I haven’t even really started on the Banover Place project. I’ve been in the office or on site every day with the exception of yesterday. I’m getting antsy. I hate this feeling. The truth is I want to be alone with my cookies and packing. I’m looking forward to the royal wedding and being with my friends. Now I’m wondering if I have to give up my entire life because my father left me in charge of the family company.

Paul’s head shakes. “Well, if you don’t think we have problems, who am I to change your mind? You know things can look fine on the outside and be rotten inside. Just remember we vote on another CEO in a couple of months. Maybe it won’t be you this time. Aunt Margie, I’ll see you tonight. We need to leave by six if we’re going to make the show. Maybe you can talk some sense into your daughter before it’s too late.”

He storms out, slamming the door behind him.

My mother sighs again. She somehow makes it sound whiny. “You have to learn how to handle him better, sweetheart.”

“Why do I have to handle him at all? You know I’m the boss. His boss. He works for me. I was forthright. I answered his questions and told him what was going to happen. Like Dad.” He taught me everything I know. He and Paul’s dad.

---