Page 4 of Dying to Meet You
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
2
I return to Hank, who’s still on his call. “I approve, man,” he says, pacing the hardwood floorboards, his voice booming around the empty room. “Way to actionize the opportunity.”
I gravitate toward the windows. As if a little sunlight could thaw the chill in my heart.
“Maybe we can sync up next week.” Hank’s gleaming loafers move into my peripheral vision. “I’m not sure there’s a use case, but I’m willing to be convinced. I’ll need more granularity.”
And I’ll need a drink if I have to listen to this much longer.
“Later, man.” He finally disconnects. “Sorry, Rowan. Now where were we?”
“We were admiring the conservators’ work on these wall paintings and trying to come up with a suitable floor plan.”
He shrugs. “Find a spot for the assistant in here somewhere. You’ll figure it out,” he says, turning back to the painting. “Are the murals this elaborate in every room on this floor?”
“Probably,” I say, because it sounds better thanI don’t know because I left my crystal ball at home, and I’m having a terrible week. And I smile, because I fought for this job.
“Does that imply more changes to the schedule, and the budget?”
“Possibly, but the surprises are almost over.”At least I pray they are. “Spot tests of the third-floor walls haven’t revealed any paintings. And the servants’ quarters should be clear. So here’s my latest budget summary.” I hand him the folder I’ve been carrying around just for this purpose.
He takes it and begins to flip through the pages, his frown deepening. “Not loving these numbers. Why did the elevator cost go up?”
It takes me a second to react, because I’m not expecting him to be sointimately familiar with every line item in the budget. “We needed to make the elevator car six inches wider to comply with a local ordinance.”
“And the custom carpentry? Aren’t we done with that?”
“You’d think. But let me show you something.” I walk out to the gallery and proceed up the staircase that leads to the third floor, with Hank on my heels. “Okay, stand here. Put your hand on the banister.”
Hank is taller than me, and he has to bend a little just to reach it. “It’s too low?”
“Six inches shorter than code. Which is a real pain in my backside, because these balusters”—I point at the wooden supports—“were hand-turned from walnut. And replacing them will not be cheap.”
His jaw ticks, and my heart quavers. I’ve spent the week anxious about my personal life when I should have been worrying about job security instead.
Hank closes the folder and lifts steely blue eyes to mine. I feel a bone-deep certainty that he’s about to replace me with someone who’s willing to chop paintings in half and cut corners.
Then he hands my folder back. “Okay, well. It’s better than someone going over the railing. Keep plugging. But find me some good news, okay? Before our Phase Two budget meeting?”
“I’ll sure try,” I croak. The meeting is only a week away.
Done with me, Hank turns and heads downstairs, his shoes tapping on the treads. I practically sag with relief when I hear Beatrice’s voice echo from the atrium. Even though I’m the architect, and more senior than the project manager, Beatrice has worked for him for years.
The truth is that Beatrice is better at managing Hank. Better at flattering him and getting him to approve her ideas. It’s a real skill.
There’s no telling how much longer Hank will put up with overruns and delays. And I’ve been spending too much energy on the wrong things. Like my first real boyfriend in fifteen years. Who just dumped me.
I’m a hot mess.
Stalling, I find a few things to keep me busy on the second floor, at least until I see Hank walk out to his car ten minutes later. Then I head back to our office, where Beatrice has flung herself into her desk chair. “It’s almost quitting time. Praise Jesus.”
“Rough meeting?”
She frowns. “I’ve had worse. But it’s beenmonths, and Hank is still leaning on me for things his new assistant should be doing. Swear to God, he just asked me to order the right kind of ink for his fountain pen. That isnotmy job anymore. But he says the new girl can’t find it.” She rolls her sea-blue eyes.
Maybe I’m a traitor to the sisterhood for thinking this, but it’s possible that Beatrice is just too pretty for Hank to take her seriously.
