Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

KYLE

I had a meeting this morning with the tile vendor, so I have to wait in the small amount of traffic down Riverdale Drive before I arrive this morning. Carefully, I pull in front of Dani's house, backing up as much as I can in an attempt to stay out of her way.

It's the least I can do after that shitshow yesterday. It was totally instinctual. I didn't think. I was over the fence and looming over that jerk before my brain caught up to what was happening. Oh, I'd been watching the whole spectacle of him kneeling in Dani's front yard and her throwing a bag of food at him. Everyone watched that. I even stayed put when he started walking her way, ready to watch her fire and fury smack his cocky arrogance down a notch or ten. It wasn't until he touched her that my vision went red alert and the next thing I knew, I was snarling threats and barely holding myself back from wiping his flirty grin off his stupid face. Permanently.

So yeah, my shot at a better parking job isn't nearly enough. There's a clear difference in the two lawns, showing the property line, but my front wheels are clearly on Dani's side while the rest of my truck, not so much. In front of me, there's a length of curb still, but it's only big enough for a car, not the full-size trucks her customers drive.

I'd back up more, but Wayne's truck is parked behind me, the trailer stretching out in front of Kathy's house, and behind that is the space necessary to unload the digger. I'm going to have to do something about this situation today because I'm less than a week into this job, and I can see that Dani's right about the traffic flow down the street. This is definitely cramped quarters.

"Hey, Wayne! How's it going?" I call out as I approach him. He's supervising Zeus, our youngest crew member who's driving our mini-digger. I wish we could use a bigger machine, but there's no way in hell we could navigate that trailer down this street.

The glare Wayne sends my way is answer enough, especially when he jerks his head toward Kathy's house. "Deal with her," he warns in a low voice, "or I will."

Great. I've been worrying about Dani, but apparently, the bigger issue today is our client. Why am I not surprised? On some jobs, if it's not one thing, it's another.

"What's wrong?" I ask, glancing at the house. "She's not outside chewing you out, at least. That's gotta be a good sign, yeah?"

"Not exactly," Wayne says as he comes closer, grumbling like a pissed-off bear. "She was out here first thing, telling me that we weren't digging properly." He snorts at her unmitigated gall… as if Kathy Wilson has any idea about hole digging. "Said the pile of dirt was blocking her view out the nook window. She apparently likes to have her morning coffee and gaze out over the peasants."

He mimics sipping from a teacup with his dirt-covered pinkie finger out and frowning snottily as he flicks his eyes over the mess of a yard. It's a fair approximation of Kathy's mannerisms based on our conversations during the quote phase of the job. "Not sure how the fuck she thought we were gonna put a pool in and not disturb the view."

I chuckle at his impersonation, because Wayne's right. There's absolutely no way to dig a pool and not create a big, messy pile of dirt somewhere. If I were hired to put a pool in at the White House on the South Lawn, guess what? The president would be looking out at a pile of dirt for a while. That's the way physics works. Holes have dirt, dirt needs to go somewhere. And I'm not hauling it halfway around the world just for her view. "I'll handle it."

It's a vow I make seriously. I take care of my guys. I know a lot of workplaces say they're a ‘family' as a way to take advantage of people, but for us? I actually mean it. We give each other shit, but nobody fucks with them. Not on my watch.

And the fact that Wayne's telling me to deal with it means he already tried his way and is sending in the big guns, a.k.a. me. Because I can play nice when the situation warrants it, but it's not my natural state. This little conversation will be about setting expectations and boundaries with Kathy, something she probably thinks she's immune to. But she's gonna learn that they do apply to her where my crew and jobsite are concerned.

Thankful for the fact that this came up now and not four hours from now when I'd be sweaty and smelling like a trash heap, I walk over to the back door of Kathy Wilson's house, knocking politely. When she doesn't answer, I clear my throat, knocking again. "Hey Missus Willllsoooonnn! "

Behind me, Wayne snorts. "That's old even for me."

Before I can tell Wayne that I watched the old Dennis The Menace with my grandfather when I was little, the door opens and Kathy Wilson stares at me in utter, arrogant indignance. "Yes?"

The height difference from her back porch to her nook floor has nothing to do with the way she's looking down at me. In her mind, I'm beneath her and the way she peers down her nose makes that loud and clear. Luckily, I'm used to dealing with that from other customers and my own family, so I use my tried-and-true method first—charm.

"We need to talk," I reply reasonably, giving her a smile that's gotten me out of trouble a lot of times… and into trouble just as much. "I hear you're upset about where my crew's been putting the excavated dirt? Something about your view?"

Kathy's cheeks flush, my smile clearly doing what I intended, and she nods. "Yes. It's unsightly."

"Can I see what you're talking about? You mind?" I lift my chin, indicating she should invite me in to show me the problem. Our meetings to discuss her project were in her back yard, with me walking around and holding my hands out to indicate pool size while she tilted her head, considering my suggestions, so this will be the first time I've actually been inside.

"Oh, uh… this way," she offers.

I follow her through the door, knowing exactly what to expect. Except… her home doesn't look anything like what I thought it would.

In taking this job, I know exactly how old her house is because I had to pull permits. It's a turn of the century, two-story, American Foursquare-style home with two thousand, three hundred square feet of interior space, a spacious front porch with a smaller rear porch that's been enclosed to create a sunroom, four bedrooms, a living room, and even a parlor-slash-dining room.

I would've thought it'd be decorated classically, especially given Kathy's formal, traditional vibe. But the inside of her house looks like something from Modern Home Design. The kitchen she invites me into has been completely gutted and replaced with a long line of flat-front white cabinets, accented with shiny chrome pulls and glossy, white stone countertops, broken up by sleek stainless appliances. It's nice and updated, but not in the way I thought it'd be for this style of house. The move from timeless exterior to modern interior is jarring, clashing dramatically, and if someone told me Kathy uses the kitchen island for her embalming hobby, I'd believe it. It's cold and soulless in here, much like the inhabitant.

"First off, I'd like to apologize for the mess," I offer, not the least bit apologetic as she goes over to her Keurig and puts in a pod. I doubt she's making coffee for the help, so it must be time for her second—or third—cup of caffeine. No, scratch that—she probably drinks decaf, which is nothing more than bitter bean water as far as I'm concerned. "Heard it was a bit unexpected this morning."

She nods primly, acting like an apology is the least she deserves. "Your men were quite rude about it."

I lift a brow at her pompous act. She probably thinks my reaction is one of surprise or concern. Truthfully, it's in doubt. Wayne, rude? No way. He was probably falling all over himself to apologize and smooth things over. At least to her face. Behind her back, with the guys? That's a whole different thing. There, I'm sure he had some choice words about the situation. Maybe she overheard that?

I wait for her to demand a discount, my firstborn, or whatever ass-kissing she thinks she can get from me. When she stays silent, I continue with my professional spiel, dropping the charm and smiles in favor of flat information because I'm expecting this to go south and it's preferable to baby step her toward my wrecking ball style, rather than hit her with it out of the blue. "As we discussed, putting in a pool is a process. One that's worse before it's better. What were your specific concerns this morning?" Keeping my face neutral and my hands behind my back, I wait for her to unleash on me.

I can almost see her analyzing how to approach this. Histrionics? No. Bossy demands? Maybe. Waterworks? Oh, she's holding those in reserve.

For now, she goes with slightly snotty. "The dirt. It's so unsightly . It disrupted my morning. How am I supposed to enjoy my morning coffee when all I see out my solarium window is dirt?" She makes ‘dirt' sound like ‘shit' and even crinkles her nose as if she's actually smelling something foul when she glares out the back window.

Because you always see dirt when you look out the window. It's just grass covered dirt, I want to comment, but I bite it back. I look out the window too, glancing over to the pile in question, but it barely intrudes on the general view. If anything, the only thing it seems to be blocking is a view of Dani's yard, specifically, the patio area where the grill is located.

"We have to put the dirt somewhere when we take it out of the ground. It'll be hauled off after we finish the grading," I explain, not going into the details of how the dirt we haul out gets reused in our projects in order to create the right grading for the bottom of the pool. "Your choice is whether we put it in the yard or the driveway."

It's not actually a choice and we both know it, but couching it as such gives her a tiny modicum of control, which is important to a woman like her. Especially when we've barely started this project and have weeks of dealing with each other laid out in front of us.

"Well, I guess in that case… the yard." She gives her answer, but she's not happy about it.

Kathy starts to say more, but that's all I need from her, so I interrupt to quickly add, "And I do want to warn you again… a construction site isn't safe. We'll have checkpoints when you can come out and inspect things, but you can't walk onto the site during construction. For your own protection."

She frowns, not liking being told no, and decides on another tactic. "I understand. It's just that since my husband died…" Her voice has gone quavery, and I swear she's pinching herself to make her eyes water.

She pauses, waiting for the expected sympathy. I don't have any. If anything, I offer a silent little cheer to the late Mr. Wilson, since it seems he's now free of a burden no one should have to endure. So I stay silent, which clearly only annoys her more.

In a bit of a huff, she continues, "The kids and grandkids don't come visit much. Only at Christmas, you know?"

She's trying to make it sound like she's lonely and was simply socializing with the guys this morning, but we both know that's not true. She wouldn't dream of having a chit-chat with Wayne—or me—if we weren't doing work on her property. She thinks she's above us in whatever social hierarchy she's invented in her mind.

I've spent my entire life learning how to size people up, professionally and personally, in minutes. And Kathy Wilson's not a kind old grandma who spoils her grandkids with treats and hugs. She strikes me as the complete opposite.

I bet it takes the promise of presents and cookies to get someone to voluntarily hang out with Kathy and her condescension, entitlement, and cattiness. She's most definitely on a Worst Mothers-In-Law list somewhere, I bet. And I doubt even a water slide would be enough to bribe the grandkids to willingly come here for a visit. Not that she asked for something as fun as that. That's not her style, nor the reason I'm here. No, I agreed to do her project because of the large sundeck with green and gold swirl mosaic porcelain tile that'll be a beautiful addition to my portfolio, which is seeming less important the longer I'm dealing with Kathy.

"A pool seemed perfect," she says almost wistfully. But she changes directions and tones at whiplash speed, from her supposedly much-beloved grandkids to Dani. "Especially once you put up the eight-foot-high fence to block the view of my annoying neighbor. I'm sure you've met her already. She can't stay out of my business." She rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively before looking at me eagerly, like she thinks I'll agree with her assessment of Dani and join her in gossiping.

"The fence will provide some privacy," is all I concede, though I'm thinking it'll give Dani equal privacy from Kathy's prying eyes because I don't think it's Dani in Kathy's business, but rather the reverse. If it was just about property lines, the four-foot chain-link fence I hopped the other day would be more than enough, so it's obviously more than that.

"Good. She's always bringing all those dirty, unruly men of hers in those big, loud trucks to the neighborhood," Kathy sneers, as if my crew and I aren't the exact type of men she's complaining about. "It's a safety risk, you know. Especially when I'm outside tending to my garden."

Kathy presses her lips into a flat line of distaste as she looks toward Dani's, making it sound like she's a prostitute bringing Johns to her house for a quick fuck, not a hard-working businesswoman providing a much-needed and appreciated service. I grit my teeth, not liking the way she's talking about Dani. It might not be my business, but I still want to defend her and tell Kathy where she can stick her judgy bitchiness, and it's not next to her fucking begonias.

But neighborhood feuds aren't my job, although I've been the cause of a few. Not everyone likes it when their neighbors add loud, messy construction jobs to the local ambiance, and every once in a while, these feuds get vocal. When they're good, they're amusing breaks in the middle of the work day. When they're bad, they interfere with my guys getting the job done.

I'm getting a bad feeling about the battle between Kathy and Dani.

"We are going to need to figure out the parking situation," I comment, thinking about my truck.

It's an opening for Kathy, who gleefully says, "It's not an issue, because as I've been repeatedly reminded, curb parking is allowed in this neighborhood, and it's not assigned by the house. And if it's causing problems to my… neighbor" —she says it as if she can't stomach saying Dani's name—"then it's not my problem, now is it?"

That was low, and her smile just took her from annoyingly bougee to villainous, and it occurs to me that despite her claim that she wants her grandkids to visit, given that she really doesn't seem like the grandmotherly type, it's more likely that her entire reasoning for getting a pool is to fuck with Dani, like some long-term petty revenge situation.

I have to say that it's a unique situation for me. I've been used as a ‘make my boyfriend jealous' type of guy before, but being used like this is different on so many levels. On one hand, I want to tell Kathy to go fuck herself, have my guys walk off the site, and if she wants the hole filled, she can do it her damn self with her gardening shovel.

On the other hand, a job is a job and she's a client. The fact is, I put in pools that cost a lot of money. Regular, blue-collar, working-class type people whom I tend to like can't afford the pools I put in. Which means I've dealt with Kathy's type plenty of times. And in my business, walking off a job is a major blow to my reputation. I hurt my rep, I hurt my guys.

So instead of going with my gut reaction, I swallow down my revulsion at being used this way and decide to use charm to defuse the situation. For my benefit, and Dani's. Not Kathy's, though I won't let her know that. "I can understand your point of view, and you're right. We also want to cause as little disruption as possible while we're completing your project. At the end of the day, you'll have your pool paradise to enjoy with the grandkids, but we don't want to cause any long-term issues." I leave off the ‘for you' because I don't really care about causing Kathy problems.

But Dani? For some reason I can't explain, I do give a shit. She seems like ‘good people', and I'd like to put myself in the class too, so I don't appreciate being Kathy's weapon of choice.

"It will be paradise as soon as she stops her nastiness," Kathy snaps, and I grit my teeth, saying nothing. Even that leaves a sour taste in my mouth because I don't want to fuck up Dani's business as much as Kathy seems to want that.

Ignoring her words, I stick to the issue at hand. "Well, it's currently a risk for my guys, my equipment, and my trucks, so we're gonna have to figure something out," I reply matter-of-factly. Ticking off on my fingers, I add, "For safety reasons, to maintain traffic flow for your street, and most importantly, to cause as little disruption to your day as possible." I pause, reminding her that she claims that's what she wants. "We need to do something about the parking system. I suggest keeping the heavy machinery in the back yard, and we can pull the trailer to the back of the driveway. That'd save you a lot of headaches."

She glances out the window, and I can virtually see her forming arguments against my plan. "I don't want to destroy the side yard."

I shake my head. "It's going to be damaged by the equipment, as we knew, and replacement of the sod is already included in the quote."

"I need to be able to get out of my garage and driveway too," she continues, gesturing to the driveway. Honestly, it's a valid excuse, even if it is annoying.

"Okay. But we're going to have days where that area is blocked off, and you'll have to move your car early in the morning if you want an opportunity to get out," I tell her evenly.

She grins, looking self-satisfied at having gotten her way, which is to make my life hell and Dani's life even worse. "Be sure to let me know ahead of time when those days are coming, and it'll be fine. Until then, I'm sure you'll do your best parking somewhere out there." She waves a hand, not toward the street out front but specifically toward Dani's curb space.

Somewhere out there? She absolutely means wherever it inconveniences Dani and her customers the most.

I at least handled the dirt situation and keeping Kathy off the jobsite, which are significant wins in my book and for my crew. The parking issue isn't going to get better.

Hell, I'm surprised at this point that Kathy hasn't parked her own car in front of her house, forcing us to park Wayne's truck, the trailer, and my truck elsewhere along the street. She probably didn't think of that, but now that I have, if we have to move the trailer, I'll be sure to leave one of our trucks there so Kathy can't belatedly make things even worse for us.

"We'll get back to it, then," I say by way of goodbye. Kathy doesn't answer, just sips her coffee. Yeah, as I figured, she never offered me one.

Going outside, I find Wayne and pull him aside. "She's a real piece of work," I tell him in a low voice. He raises an eyebrow, and I reply, "Not sure I solved anything, but at least today is smoothed over. Dirt stays in the back yard and she'll stay off the site." I shrug, knowing it's not enough.

He grunts, not liking the sound of that, but there's nothing else to be done about it today.

Moving on, I look over the job site. Zeus is on the trailer-loaded excavator, with Frogger directing him so he doesn't fall into the hole he's making. We're still in the shallow end, so things are relatively simple right now.

"How's it going?" I ask Wayne, watching Z pull another bucketful of soil out of the ground. "Think this will be enough to handle it, or do we need to bring in the big boy?"

Wayne considers, thinking about the excavators that I have available. "I think we'll be able to handle it, but maybe have the 306 on standby on Friday," Wayne says, referencing another piece of equipment. "I won't be upset if it has to come in, to be honest."

I chuckle, nodding. The faster we can get this basic prep work done, the better. "I understand. Just promise me, no swinging upside down from the bucket. You'd give her a heart attack." I cut my eyes toward Kathy's house, only half-opposed to giving her the little pearl-clutching shock of her life of seeing one of the guys hanging from his feet in the straps over the bucket while Wayne spins them around. Wayne nods but looks a bit disappointed too. "Friday, huh? Good speed."

"Yup, unless Frog fucks Zeus over," Wayne says.

Frogger's been on my crew for a while now. He earned his name for two reasons. One, he's a jack of all trades and can hop from task to task like a fucking frog, usually doing pretty well on all of them. Two, he does the same in his personal life, going through girlfriends like most men do napkins. And considering the majesty of his permed, golden blonde mullet that makes him look like either a pro wrestler from the eighties or a country music star from the nineties, it takes a hell of a lot of hopping for him to not simply be called Mullet.

On the other hand, Zeus is the youngest, skinniest, and tallest guy on my crew. He looks like he might be underage, but his documents all put him solidly at twenty-one. I actually had my brother do a background check on him, just to be sure. And his name's not actually Zeus, though who knows with weird baby names these days. But his given name is Preston.

His parents must've been hoping he'd end up in a corner office, wearing a suit and tie every day. Instead, he's the best machinery operator I've ever seen, and believe me, I've seen a lot over the last few years.

But someone always has to keep an eye on Zeus. He's too much like his namesake Greek deity, Zero Effort Unless Supervised. He'll kick ass and take names if Wayne or me is onsite and paying attention. If not, he'll do nothing but listen to music on the radio and swing his boom around like it's a giant schlong. So I keep an eye out so he does work, like now.

It's a lot of appearing to be supervising, though, because as much as I'm watching Zeus on the excavator, my attention is mostly next door. Dani's already working hard, her back door opening and closing every few minutes as she stirs food on the grill and places it into boxes or wraps something up in foil. From the smell of things, she's making some sort of brisket today, or at least something beef based. My mouth waters… at the thought of the food, which smells delicious, and mostly at the thought of the cook who prepares it. Dani Becerra.

Selfishly, I want to go over and talk to her, maybe tell her that I tried to get Kathy to see reason. But she's busy, as always, and I value my life too much to interrupt her work. Thankfully, Joshua seems to have listened to my lunch privilege revocation and stayed away today. Though there's a tiny little sliver of my imagination that wishes he would show up, because it'd give me a chance to see Dani handle things, and then I'd also have an excuse to go talk to her afterward. I'm a quick learner and would let her do things her way like she said… unless it wasn't going well. Then, I'd be forced to step in.

But that doesn't happen, so I focus on the pool, pitching in and working side-by-side with the guys. The work is tiring and hard, and by mid-afternoon, we're all sweaty and exhausted. Not thinking, I pull my T-shirt over my head, tucking a bit of it into my back pocket and letting it hang down the back of my leg the way I have a hundred times before. The thin cotton will dry quickly if I'm not actively sweating on it.

But this time, there's a clanging noise next door as I do the familiar move. I jerk my eyes up to find Dani at her grill, metal fork in hand as she stares openly at me. Her jaw is dropped, and I can see the heat in her eyes from here. A blast of adrenaline shoots through me and I grin, adding a little wave to let her know I see her and her reaction. She quickly clamps her mouth shut, and her eyes narrow into a glare, her lips moving, and I can imagine she's cursing me .

But it feels good to get cursed at by her. It shows me that as much as I've been watching her, Dani's been watching me too. And when she saw me take my shirt off, she lost control of the grill lid because she liked what she saw.

I'm not vain, but I know I'm good-looking. I work out, work hard on job sites, and won the genetic lottery with the Harrington DNA.

I laugh to myself. Maybe the raven-haired beauty is not so unaffected by me, after all. Good to know.

Good to know.