2 - Lane
Lane
So I lied, apparently.
There was something else that I hated more than Chicago winters and that was losing.
It came with the territory of being a lawyer, but two consecutive contested hearings wasn’t exactly a mood-soother.
Part of the job was compartmentalizing. Letting compassion run loose was a surefire recipe for more future losses and the solution, as always, was to drown myself in more paperwork—of which I had no shortage today.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recalibrate before diving into the stacks of documents covering every square inch of my desk.
I may not have been this sensitive to a less than optimal day if it wasn’t for the situation back home.
There was now no sanctuary to retreat to for a reset.
I felt displaced and out of control, two things I could not stand.
I was far from used to having strangers in my home, let alone in the dead of night.
Nancy’s voice rang out from the doorway of my open office. “I’m heading to Sal’s for a late lunch. Anything I can bring you back?”
“No thanks, Nance. I’m good,” I said, my eyes still closed.
“Okay. You sure? I don’t want to push but just looking at you makes me think it may be a BBQ Pulled Pork Dirty Fries type of day,” she said casually.
I opened my eyes to see she was now standing inside my office with a look of temperate concern on her face. She was also well aware of the best kind of cure for moments like these when she could tell I wasn’t being my usual self. Sal’s dirty fries—sustenance of the gods.
“I’m really fine, thanks. Not very hungry at the moment,” I replied.
Now her concern transformed into muted panic. She came all the way into the office, poked her head out to check the hallway, then closed the door and took a few steps toward my desk. “Oh my god, what’s happened?”
“No need to be so melodramatic, Nance,” I said, jogging the stack of documents.
“It’s hardly melodrama when the most consistent person I know breaks out of their routine. Turning down Sal’s is practically anathema for you.” She sounded aghast.
“Is this your polite way of trying to tell me I need to cut back?” I quirked up an eyebrow, summoning some of my old sarcasm.
“No, it’s my way of saying I can tell when something is really bothering you,” she replied.
I leaned back into my chair, my head flopping against the headrest. “Consistent, huh? That’s a creative way to say ‘boring’ and ‘predictable’.”
“There’s nothing boring about you, Lane Whittaker. Not unless you choose to keep whatever’s bothering you to yourself,” Nance said, sweeping her dark hair off her shoulder and fixing me with a look. I noticed she didn’t include me being predictable in her correction.
“Well then, I guess you severely overestimated my enigmatic nature,” I said with a smile, throwing myself straight back into my work. I felt Nance’s gaze burn hot into my forehead but she chose not to press the issue any further.
“I’ll get you another coffee,” she grumbled, slinking out of my office like a disappointed child.
I attempted to continue with the motion to compel discovery I was drafting when my mind drifted back to last night, uncharacteristically distracted.
My rush during the first meeting with the crew had deprived me of seeing just what Barrett and Silas actually looked like, and to have gotten a first glance in the low lamplight—their bodies sweaty and dust-speckled as they worked through the night—was a shock to the system.
I hadn’t ever given too much thought to what the average renovation crew looked like, but prior to yesterday, I was pretty sure my assumption rested comfortably in the ballpark of someone’s middle-aged uncle who drank one too many beers every other week.
What I was not expecting was a trio of men only slightly older than I was, and all of them some shade of sexy.
My fingers stalled above my keyboard, suddenly lost to the current task.
Running out yesterday morning, I hadn’t truly appreciated Silas Parrish’s actual height at what must be a ridiculous 6’4” or 6’5”.
And that was just the vertical dimension—he was just massive all-round.
Years of working on renovation sites had carved his muscular body into something that looked like marble.
All of that physical grit was completely at odds with the friendliness of his bright blue eyes and the light creases at the corners marked by a warm smile barely hidden by a soft beard.
And then there was “Bear.” Barrett Wade, thirty-five but with the authority and experience of someone almost twice his age.
Dark hair, dark eyes, wicked precision in his command.
He’d taken control of the situation with an effortlessness that made the mini flood in my basement seem like it was only a dribble.
To round out the trio was Dax Miller, the potential Taker-of-Shins who I’d sparred with on the curb yesterday morning. And he was even better looking than I remembered.
The evening had been a blur of technical explanations and the musty, almost earthy smell of the saturated groundwater wafting up from the basement and all I could think about was the three hot, competent men hellbent on fixing that pipe before morning.
“We’re not letting you go to bed without power and water, Miss Whittaker,” Barrett had said, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat but a determined look on his face that brokered no argument, not even from me. “Trust us. We always get the job done.”
And that they did. I was able to take a hot shower and go to bed knowing I could have coffee in the morning and maybe the euphoria of that realization had some hand to play in why my mind was playing tricks on me right now.
Because this was not like me at all, to be mooning around thinking of gorgeous men when I had a mountain-load of work to finish.
I sighed. This was one example of unpredictability on my part that I could never share with Nance. The shame would kill me.
A bold, capitalized subject line caught my attention among the slew of waiting emails and with a frown, I opened it.
NOTICE: Rule violation
Dear Miss Whittaker,
As President of the Logan Square Homeowner’s Association, representing the properties of 2414–2418 W.
Logan Square, I am writing to formally notify you of multiple violations of our community’s Covenants, Conditions and Restrictions (CC&Rs) observed at your property, 2418 W.
Logan Square, Unit 1, Chicago, IL 60647.
During a routine perimeter check, several high-property concerns are identified regarding the ongoing renovation work at your residence.
I stifled a snort at the mention of a “routine perimeter check”. Must be new code for “nosey neighbor activities”. But despite the clear ridiculousness of the email, I continued reading anyway.
See concerns as follows:
Section 4.2 - Unauthorized Utility Modification: It has been noted that significant plumbing and electrical work is being performed after standard business hours. Our bylaws strictly prohibit major utility alterations without a pre-approved architectural permit from the board.
Section 9.1 - Uncertified Labor and Safety Hazard: The presence of multiple large, unidentified individuals performing manual labor at late hours constitutes a breach of community safety.
Section 12.5 - Endangerment of Senior Citizens: Your unauthorized utility modifications and the use of heavy machinery/lamplight have caused significant distress and potential safety hazards for the neighboring unit (Unit 2).
As you are aware, the residents of Unit 2 are senior citizens with specific health and peace and quiet requirements.
Required Action:
You are hereby ordered to Cease and Desist all construction activity immediately until a formal inspection is conducted by an HOA-approved contractor. Failure to comply within 24 hours will result in a daily fine of $150 and potential legal escalation to the Chicago Department of Buildings.
Regards,
Sandy Manning
President, Logan Square HOA
Now I did laugh, a mirthless sound of disbelief at the sheer audacity this man had to not only draft this email but to send it and think he could intimidate me. I was familiar with the stakes here. A petty HOA board member with a grudge and a laptop was hardly cause for concern.
Besides that, the 24-hour threat was a toothless bluster. He either had a shitty lawyer or none at all if he wasn’t informed on just how long an HOA litigation or property lien process would actually take . I’d dealt with meaner bullies and while I wasn’t scared at all, I was pissed off.
I left work early after finishing all my tasks and cases for the day and lo and behold, what else would greet me but the sight of an endangered senior citizen hunched over and eavesdropping at my door.
I walked over, my arms folded and Sandy didn’t even notice until I reached the walkway. “Performing another ‘routine perimeter check’, are we?”
The old man shot upright, jumping from my door with such haste it looked like he’d been caught stealing something. But he quickly straightened his shoulders, affecting his usual condescending attitude.
“If I don’t look out for the best interest of this association, then who will, Miss Whittaker? I take it you’ve received my email,” he said.
“I have,” I replied glibly. “And I think it’s best I inform you that you don’t have a case.
I pulled all the necessary city permits for this renovation and last night’s “unauthorized utility modifications” was me mitigating damages.
If I hadn’t let the crew work on that burst pipe, the structural damage to the entire building would’ve been irreparable. Including your unit.”
For a moment, Sandy was silent and seething, and I could practically see the wheels turn in his head as he wracked his brain for another legal gambit. But when he could find none, he decided to go for a swindle.