Текст книги "The Job "

It started as a simple idea: Expand the plus-sized section and add in a new display area for the front of the store. Simple, right?

Well, simple though it may be, this is turning out to be a lot more than I bargained for. I’m getting ready to meet with another contractor to discuss quotes and, so far, they’ve been sky high.

The store’s been doing great, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to expand anything if I can’t get these guys to rein in their estimates.

My next appointment, some guy from IRP Construction, comes through the doors, and I can already see that I’m not going to be his biggest fan.

I’m waiting at the front of the store when he comes in, but as I say, “Hello,” he just scoffs and walks right by me.

Heading to the counter, he interrupts one of my salesgirls, saying, “Hey, I’m here to bid on the expansion job. I’m supposed to meet with the head chick or whatever.”

So, hearing all this and being the head chick or whatever, I walk over to him and introduce myself, trying to mask my general repulsion at his presence.

“Hi, I’m Jessica Davis,” I say and put out my hand to shake his.

He just looks down at it and then back up at me.

“I’m the store owner.”

“Oh!” he says with a only partially-toothed smile. “I thought you were the store greeter or something. Let’s talk about what I can do for you today.”

“All right,” I tell him, “if you’ll follow me…”

I lead him over to the section of the store that I want redone and start pointing things out to him.

“Over here, I’d like to get this section of the wall taken back a bit. From what I understand, it’s just dead space back there. I guess they used to use it for storage when this was a more general department—”

“Yeah, that’s a load-bearing wall,” the man says, “If I knock that out, you’re going to see daylight. Maybe that’s what you’re looking for, though.”

“I’m not talking about the wall behind,” I explain. “I’m talking about this area where it juts out. If we could just remove the small storage space and leave the external wall…”

“Well, that’s not going to be cheap,” the man says. “I’ll have to get my electrician in here to check the wiring, and if he finds it’s degraded, we’ll have to tear up the whole store to do it.”

“That really won’t be necessary,” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.

“Bad wiring can cause a fire,” he says. “If you don’t get it taken care of, you’re playing games with your customers’ lives. Is that what you want?”

What I want is to punch the guy in the face right now, but I’m pretty sure he could take me in a fight.

“No,” I tell him. “What I’m trying to say is that the wiring in this whole complex was redone a few years ago when the property was bought by the Richmonds. I’d be absolutely mystified if there was any degraded wiring in there.”

“Huh,” the man says, and I can tell he’s just looking for more ways he can pad his bill.

Luckily for me, I did some homework on this place before I bothered calling contractors to come in and give bids.

“Well,” he says, “I guess I could do all that pretty cost-effective and what not, but I think if you really want to open up this space, you’re going to have to get rid of all those wall displays.”

Now he’s just talking gibberish.

“Those would obviously come down before the wall did,” I say, annoyed. “What I do want to do, in addition to what we’ve already talked about, is to see if we can lengthen this window space up in the front so I can display some more of the specialty items that set this store apart. Is that something you think you could do?”

“Well, that’s going to be pretty costly,” he says. “We’re going to have to reinforce the wall if we’re going to increase your window space here. Now, we have a few options to go with there, but I think it’s best to do it right the first time. Otherwise, you’re stuck paying more over the long run.”

“I absolutely agree with you on that last part,” I tell him. “I’m not looking for a quick and sloppy job. I’m looking for something that’s going to last for a long time to come.”

“My men don’t do a ‘sloppy’ job,” he says.

“I’m not saying they do,” I start again. “I was just saying that I agree with you: I’d rather have it done right the first time than do something that’s only going to end up costing more time and money. That’s all.”

I don’t know if this guy’s actually this dense, or if he’s trying some rudimentary psychology to convince me to pay more for what I could get cheaper from someone else.

“I like to use titanium,” the man says. “It’s a bit more costly, but nothing lasts like titanium.”

Yep, he’s trying to sucker me.

“I don’t think titanium should be necessary,” I tell him. “To tell you the truth, you’re the first person I’ve ever met who’s even suggested that titanium should be used for something like this.”

“You want it done right, don’t you?” the man asks. “I sure know I want to do you right.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

The large, unevenly shaved, gummed, smelly man in the stained white shirt just said he wants to do me, right in the middle of negotiating his estimate. I wonder if he actually thinks that’s going to work.

“I just meant that I want to do right for your store and you as a client,” the man says.

For a second, I actually start to feel bad about judging him like that, but when he runs his yellow-coated tongue over his lips and winks at me, I stop feeling so guilty.

“I think I’ve heard about enough,” I tell him. “I’ll let you know.”

“Is that it?” the man asks. “I understood that it was going to be a much bigger project than what you’ve described.”

“It is,” I tell him, “but I just don’t think it’s going to be the right fit.”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot here,” the man says. “I’m Billy, by the way, it’s nice to meet you.”

Yeah, now he wants to shake my hand.

“Jessica,” I say again and, being the benevolent woman I am, I shake his gross, sweaty hand. “So, all right,” I continue. “I also wanted to see what you think we could do about having a lowered section right through the middle here. I saw this shop up in Greenwich, and it had a space like—”

“You do know this isn’t Greenwich, right?” the man asks.

“I’m perfectly aware of my store’s location,” I tell him, “and I think we’ve really come to an impasse here. I don’t think it’s going to work out. Thank you for coming in.”

“You haven’t heard my bid yet,” the man says.

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “What do you think it would cost for what I’ve asked.”

“Well, I’d need to know the measurements you’re looking at for everything,” he says.

“Yeah, I was getting to that, but you decided it was appropriate to inform me that I’m not in Greenwich right now, an observation that I can only assume was made because you think I’m stupid or naïve about my design ideas, but I’ll have you know—”

“Calm down, sweetheart,” the man says. “We’ll get this worked out, I’m sure.”

“Sweetheart?”

I wonder if I’m within my legal rights to kick this guy between the legs yet. If not, I’m sure I could come up with a pretty convincing story to tell the cops.

It’s something to think about.

But, being the shrewd businesswoman I am, I just put on a smile and say, “Get the hell out of my store.”

His face morphs into a disgusting smile, but when he realizes I’m not joking and that I really am quite on the verge of showing him what it’s like to have the business end of a stiletto end up somewhere he really doesn’t want it, he quickly turns and hurries out of the store.

I walk back to my office, more frustrated than ever.

My computer’s still on my schedule screen and I make a quick note under IRP Construction, saying, “Absolutely not.”

Ivanna, one of my sales associates, knocks on my door.

“Hey, sorry to bug you,” she says.

“No worries,” I tell her. “What’s up?”

“There’s a man here, he says he’s here to bid on the job.”

“I really don’t know that I can handle another jerk who’s going to try to overcharge me while mocking everything I want to do,” I tell her.

“Oh, I think you’re going to want to take this appointment,” Ivanna says.

“I really don’t know that I do,” I tell her.

“Do you want me to get rid of him?” she asks.

I take a deep breath.

“No,” I tell her. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I get out of my office chair and walk with Ivanna until she gets to Shoes and turns off.

When I make it to the front of the store, I ask my cashier, Linda, where the contractor is.

“Oh,” she says, looking up from her smartphone, “he wanted to know where you wanted the work done, so I just sent him over to plus.” She leans over the counter and motions for me to come closer. “I think you should hire him,” she says.

“Yeah?” I ask. “Why’s that?”

“Just go over there and talk to him,” she says. “I have a feeling you’ll figure it out pretty quick.”

“No screwing the construction workers,” I tell her.

Usually, that would be a faux pas, but with Linda, that sort of thing actually has to be pointed out. There’s a bit of precedent here.

“You know I can’t promise that,” she says.

“At least try not to do it on my time, will you?” I ask.

She sighs. “Fine.”

I walk over to plus, but it takes me a minute before I can find the man. He’s crouched down, measuring the storage room wall.

“Hi, I’m Jessica Davis, and you are?”

He looks up at me, then stands and, for a moment, I’m stunned.

He’s tall and well-built; as he smiles, he’s got all of his teeth, and they’re clean and straight, too. His hair is mid-length, chestnut and gorgeous. Don’t forget about the tattoos going down his toned arms. I don’t know if it’s just that I’ve dealt with people like the guy from IRP so much over the past few days that I’d forgotten that contractors can be very attractive.

Jesus.

“Hey there,” he says, smiling and putting his hand out, “I’m Eric Dawson from Dawson Contracting. I’ve just been taking a look at your area over here, and I think I’ve got some ideas that might help you open up this space.”

“That’s great,” I tell him, “but I already have some things in mind.”

“Okay,” he says, and actually seems to be eager to hear what I have to say. This is amazing.

I run through what I told the douche-nozzle from IRP and, the only time Eric responds is to go over some finer details for his own clarification. This might just be someone I could live with—working on my store, I mean.

“I like the way you think,” he says. “Beauty and brains: my favorite combination. I was wondering, though, you said you wanted a sunken area here, and that you wanted it to go down at least eighteen inches. Now, that does sound like a really cool plan, but I’m wondering if it might be easier on your clientele to have it a little less deep. I know that a lot of women prefer high heels and that sort of thing, and I can just see a lawsuit from someone tripping over themselves as they’re walking down the steps.”

“For the effect I want,” I tell him, “I really do think that it should be eighteen inches at least, though I probably wouldn’t want it any more than two feet. We could always make the stairs wider to better facilitate foot traffic.”

“All right,” he says, “I’m sure I could work with something like that. I do have to tell you, though, that with those stairs, you’re going to lose a lot of the space you’ll otherwise gain from knocking out that old storage room. Is that all right?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I know it’s a bit of a trade-off, but I think it’ll be worth it in the end.” I walk him over to the window, saying, “The last guy that was in here said that, in order to reinforce the wall on the far side of the new window area, he’d suggest using titanium to make sure it’s solid. Do you think that’s necessary, or what would you suggest?”

“I don’t think you’re going to need titanium,” he says. “Yeah, it’s stronger, but really it’s way above and beyond anything you’re really going to have to have in order to make sure the structure is stable.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I tell him.

Just looking at him, I’m ready to hand him the job, but he hasn’t dropped the hammer yet.

“What are you thinking this is all going to cost?” I ask.

“Well,” he says, “let me do some more measurements, and I should have a quote for you here in a couple of minutes. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah,” I smile. “That sounds great.”

He’s actually bothering to measure stuff. This is great.

I make my way back to the front and wait for Linda to help the last customer in her line. When her lane is free, I lean over the counter and whisper, “I think I’m going to hire him. You know, as long as he doesn’t walk over here telling me it’s going to cost a couple of mil for the job.”

“You’re not going to regret this,” Linda says as if she’s just managed to talk me into letting her take my Mercedes for the weekend. “He is so fucking cute.”

“Not when customers are around,” I whisper.

She is right though.

“What?” she asks.

“You know exactly what,” I tell her.

“No,” she says, “I really don’t.”

For whatever reason, Linda’s got it in her head that hearing me say the word “fuck” would be the most hilarious thing ever.

Now, I’m not a word prude, if there is such a term, but I don’t feel like that’s the kind of language that’s appropriate when on the job.

“No,” I tell her.

“Aw, come on,” she says. “I thought you were about to say it when you kicked that last guy out of the store.”

“How did you even hear me?” I ask.

“Shh, he’s coming over here,” Linda says and I turn around.

“So, what do you think?”

“Well,” he says, “it’s not going to be cheap. I can tell you that much right now.”

Great. That’s the exact same line everyone before Eric has told me. My budget cap for renovations is $150,000. It’s ridiculous that it’s that high, but this is New York after all.

“Oh,” he says, “all things figured–materials, labor, all that—I’d say we should be able to do it for about one forty-five.”

“Thousand?” Linda asks. “Seriously? For that?”

With the smile still on my face, I turn toward Linda and mouth the words, “Shut up.”

“I know it sounds like a lot, but for a space like this, you know, this really doesn’t come all that cheap,” he explains. “I’d be willing to whittle the price down a bit depending on how fast you want this done, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to go any lower than one forty-two in the best conditions.”

“What kind of accommodations are you looking for in regard to the price drop?” I ask.

“Well,” he says, “most of the jobs people give nowadays are rush jobs, and they always want it done in a week or so. Now, I can certainly do that, but it would mean bringing on a couple of guys to help fill out the crew, and that’s going to cost a bit extra.”

“Well, I would like for this to be done quickly,” I tell him, “but as long as it’s done right and for the right price, I’m sure we could work with an extra week or two.”

“Great,” he says, “so, does that mean we’ve got the job?”

I smile and put my hand out.

“Welcome aboard,” I tell him.

I try not to notice how grateful he seems to have gotten the work, even though he just under bid his next closest competitor by nearly $100,000. I’m sure he’s this happy when he gets any job, and it’s not a signal of something else.

“All right,” he says. “If you want, we can clear that area so we can get started, or, if you prefer, we can wait for you and your staff to do it—it’s really up to you.”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” I start.

“Not at all,” he says, beaming. “We’ll take care of that. When were you looking for us to start working?”

“As soon as possible,” I tell him. “I’m sure you and your crew are very busy, but—”

“How’s the beginning of next week?” he asks.

The warning lights, flashing the words “too good to be true” are blazing in my head, but I ignore them. I tell myself it’s because he’s the right guy with the right price, but the truth of the matter is that Linda and I are a lot more alike than I’d ever admit.

Chapter Two