Page 53 of Hidden Fears
“I will.” She smiles like she knows something I don’t and walks away.
ChapterSixteen
JOSIE
Another week passes, and I finally finish the structural plans and preparations. I know I should have done it sooner, but I’m on a short time frame with zero workforce.
Once Archie and Leila approved my final plans after a few alterations a few days ago, I started looking for people and materials. As it turns out, becoming a developer, even with a ton of experience, is not an easy task. I interviewed a bunch of contractors before narrowing the list to two. After I explained what we planned to do with the house, the rest refused even to come down here. They all have big companies in Portland, but only two work out of their usual zone.
As soon as I have contractors here, I’ll need to find all the materials and apply for permits. I wish I could put them all under my name so I could start, like yesterday, but the contractor’s name and license must be mentioned too. Rules are rules, and I will never break them—well, I like breaking rules, but not when lives are at stake. Plans and approvals are needed to pass all the necessary inspections for safety purposes, so I just suck it up and wait for the contractors to arrive. I just hope that in a small town, permits won’t take weeks or even months like in the big city.
* * *
It’s the next day, and the contractors are here. The first one rolls in with his shiny, white F-150. A bulky guy around forty-ish takes one look at the place, raises a brow, and asks in a sweet voice, “Honey, are you sure you want to take this on?”
I hate being called endearments on the job. I’m as professional as everyone else on site. But for Archie and Leila, I’ll suck it up since I don’t have many options around here.
“Yes,” I state firmly and go into detail of what’s needed here from him. After five minutes, I notice the lack of enthusiasm. And the more I talk, the glassier his eyes become. After ten more minutes, we part ways.
The next one comes driving—shocker—another F-150. Black this time, less shiny, and more industry-appropriate. The man himself looks more rugged and more worn out, even though he seems to be around thirty, thirty-five. He’s tall and lean like he’s never had a drop of fat in his diet. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, and his corded, ropey arms, covered in tattoos, are terrifying.
His eyes are hard and look much older than his whole body is. They move to me first, and after a short nod, they shift toward the house.
Slowly walking toward the porch where I’m waiting for him to do his initial rounds, leaning my ass on the crumbling rails, I watch as he runs his attentive eyes over every single detail my eyes landed on first too. He’s my last hope.
“It’s gonna cost a shitload of money.” That’s how he starts the conversation. No hellos, but no ‘honeys’ either. Not a bad start if you ask me.
“Client is willing to pay.” I offer him my hand. “Josie Monroe.”
He shakes my hand, his grip firm. “Jericho Landell.” Surprisingly, he doesn’t try to intimidate me or prove his dominance—something that’s a little too familiar in this industry. Instead, he gives it a quick shake and lets go of my hand a moment later. “When do you want to finish it?”
I sigh. “September. But realistically, that’s not an option.”
“No, it’s not. Let me see inside.” He takes his cap off and puts it on backward, instantly looking at least five years younger.
I push away from the rails and lead him inside. We walk from room to room while Jericho scratches his scruffy chin more and more often. But the more he does it, the more hope I feel since he looks at all the right places and notices things that must be noticed.
When we return to the kitchen, he dives under the sink and rips the bottom of the cabinet open. Pushing on the floor, it cracks open too. He looks underneath and comes out.
“The bones are dam’ good. They sure knew how to build back then.” Even though his voice is gruff, he sounds respectful.
“Yeah,” I reply with affection. “Some old houses are built better than some modern ones.”
“That’s for sure.” He looks around before focusing back on me. “I’ll take it.”
“W-what?” I stutter, not expecting him actually to agree.
“I’ll take the project. I’ll need to move my crew in here. We might need to clear some trees for work and for the trailer for us. Is that yours?” He nods at Kayla’s trailer outside.
“Yeah.”
“My men are quiet, but they’re men. I don’t think it’ll be a good idea for you to stay out here for months while they’re hangin’ around. They leave their socks on the floor by the trailers and do all the shit their wives don’t let them at home.”
“Like forgetting to put the toilet seat down?” I smile.
His lips twitch. “That too.” He scratches his chin again, turning more serious now. “Before you decide to hire me, you need to know that I have a record.”
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, I swallow a huge lump in my throat. But then I square my shoulders, suddenly feeling ashamed. The man just told me he’s been in prison, and I judged him without knowing anything else. He didn’t have to tell this to me since contracts do not require it, but he seems like an honest guy. Besides that, I haven’t felt even the slightest threat from him. In fact, the first ‘honey’ dude felt a thousand times more slippery.
