Page 3 of Under Construction

The worst part is he's right. The project's never run better.

Dennis has also never wanted to punch someone more.

The music follows Dennis all day. Someone—definitely not Chris, Chris insists with that infuriating smile—has rigged the speakers to track movement. The volume increases whenever Dennis approaches any work area.

"Sound carries better at height," Chris comments during the morning inspection, watching Dennis climb scaffolding while Rocky's theme blasts. "Something about acoustic waves. But you probably learned that at Harvard, right?"

The crew snickers. They used to at least pretend to hide it.

"The bamboo supports—" Dennis has to raise his voice over the chorus.

"Need adjusted tensioning, already handled it." Chris doesn't even consult his tablet. Just spews a bunch of specifications that prove he's three steps ahead. Again. "Unless you'd rather stop everything so you can double-check my math?I know how much you trust the guy who actually builds things for a living."

More snickers. Chris has got them all in his pocket now. Probably brings them coffee and remembers their kids' names, the kind of personal touch Dennis's father had always acted like was beneath their position.

"Some of us earned our positions," Chris adds, like he can read Dennis's thoughts. "Instead of inheriting them."

"My degree—"

"From daddy's alma mater?" Chris's smile turns sharp. "Tell me, did they teach you how to actually construct anything? Or just how to look pretty in a hard hat?"

The thing is, Chris is not wrong.

Dennis knows theory, knows design, but Chris...

Chris knows how buildings breathe. Knows exactly how to bring Dennis's vision to life.

The fact he does it while simultaneously destroying his authority is like watching a master class in psychological warfare conducted by someone who looks like they model safety gear in their spare time.

"Delivery's here," someone calls around noon. "Boss needs to sign."

Both Chris and Dennis move toward the truck.

"I've got this, princess," Chris says, already reaching for the clipboard. "Wouldn't want you straining yourself with actual paperwork."

"I'm the project lead," Dennis says, trying not to scowl.

"And I'm the one who knows what we actually ordered." Chris is already signing, his handwriting annoyingly precise. "Unless you memorized the bamboo specifications? The grade requirements? The tensile strength variations?"

Dennis has, actually. Spent weeks researching sustainable materials before choosing suppliers.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Chris is already directing the unloading, throwing around terms that make the delivery guys nod with respect.

The whole crew moves like a well-oiled machine under Chris's direction. Even the new guys anticipate his instructions, sliding support beams into place with practiced ease.

It's beautiful to watch.

It's aggravating to witness.

Dennis’s glare could bore holes into Chris’s back, but work is getting done, so he’ll choose his battles.

He clamps his mouth shut. Breathes in. Breathes out. Stalks off to his office as normally as possible so nobody can tell he’s stalking.

"Need anything else?" Chris asks later, appearing in Dennis's office doorway on the second floor.

Dennis had moved here from the downstairs site office’s shared space to get away from Chris, but here he is anyway.

"Maybe someone to explain the big words to you in those reports?"

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