Page 134 of Hell Bent
“But the Devils are playing the Niners in the Super Bowl,” Carlton said, laboring to his feet again.
“Yes,” I said. “So?”
“So that’s Robillard’s old team,” Carlton said. “They waived him. He’s going to have emotion, especially in his first Super Bowl.”
“Emotion’s not good.” That was Royce. “You’ve got to be cool.”
I wanted to snap, “You’re nineteen years old. What do you know about being cool, or about Sebastian’s mind?” But I didn’t. I’d like to say that was because I had a nice cool rejoinder of my own, like, “I guess we’ll find out,” which was obviously the right thing to say. In actuality, it was because my phone rang.
It was Howard. Again.
Another trek across the site—drying mud now, because Portland was putting on a deceptive show of sunshine today, like they were just teasing with that winter deal—during which I hastily calculated my options in various scenarios and tried to do some of that rational thinking, but mostly came up with something more along “take this job and shove it” lines. Then I was knocking on the trailer door and stepping inside.
Howard was sitting at his desk this time. Once again, he said, “Have a seat.”
I did. I also took off my hard hat, gloves, and jacket, to buy myself some time and slow my heart rate.Six seconds on the clock,I told myself,and you line up to kick that field goal the same way as always.Unfortunately, I wasn’t Sebastian.
“Shoot,” I said, once I’d completed my disrobing performance, which Howard watched without expression.
He said, “There’s an opening for a project engineer. I don’t make the decision, but I make the recommendation.”
I blinked. This was not what I’d been expecting. “You mean me? Is this a … a job interview? You realize I just put in for a half day off after the Super Bowl, right?”
He said, “You always piss on job offers?”
“No. But why me?”
“Again,” he said, “bad answer. It’s more responsibility. More money. Less time grubbing in the mud, more time looking at blueprints.” He shoved a paper across the desk at me. “Job description. What you’re doing now, but on a bigger scale. Responsible for seeing that your piece of the project gets done, and it’s a fair-sized piece. Be ready to work your ass off.”
“You’re offering this to me even after I gave you lip last week?”
“You know why women don’t get ahead?” he asked. “That shit right there. You stand your ground, which is OK, but then you worry about it and wonder if you should take it back. I’m going to want to know when you disagree with me. I could overrule you, but I’m still going to want to know. If you can’t get in my face and tell me, what good are you?”
I blinked. “All righty, then. See, that’s why I prefer this work environment. Despite the mud element.”
“Because you’re tough,” he said. “Once you get over being a nice girl. What was that thing you were doing before?”
“Investment analysis. Private equity. What I was preparing for, anyway, once I graduated. What I was interning in.”
“And you’re not supposed to tell the boss he’s wrong in that job?”
“No. You’re supposed to be tactful and ask probing questions in a just-wondering tone.”
A huff of laughter greeted that. “That’s some weak sauce right there. No wonder my 401(k) doesn’t do better.”
“Groupthink can be an issue,” I agreed. “So. Tell me more about this job.”
Sebastian
It was late Saturday afternoon, which meant that I was heading out tomorrow for an entire week. Monday would be my first Media Day, too. I’m not saying I was nervous, but I’m not saying I was comfortable, either. What did you even say? As little as possible, I decided. Better to be boring than an asshole. I stirred the pot of turkey and quinoa chili on the stove—Ben had offered to help me cook it, to my astonishment—and when I heard the front door open and the skitter of Lexi’s toenails as she galloped off to do her Official Greeting Committee deal, I told Ben, “Fix the toppings, would you? What we talked about—chopped onion, chopped cilantro, grated cheese, sour cream. We’ll wait until the last minute for the avocado, so it doesn’t get brown.”
“You know,” Ben said, “I can hold an idea in my head for an hour. You already told me, dude.”
“Right,” I said. “Hold it, then.” And headed off to say hello to Alix.
No exhausted sitting on the bench today. She had a foot on that bench, in fact, was whipping her work boots off like itwas a race, and saying, the moment I’d finished kissing her, “Want to go for a run with me?”
I blinked. “You sure? After working all day?”
