Chapter Twelve
Xavier
I shoulder the door open with a box of invoices and step over a stack of blueprints. Those weren’t there this morning. The phone rings. Stops. Rings again.
Whoever’s calling gives up before I can reach it.
Perfect.
Behind the desk, Dad hunches over the computer as if it had personally offended him.
His reading glasses sit halfway down his nose.
He rubs one hand over his forehead while the other jabs at the keyboard with the determination of a man trying to win a fistfight with technology. To date, he’s never won.
“You hit save?” I drop the invoices on the corner of the desk. The office smells like sawdust, coffee, and frustration.
He doesn’t look up. “If this thing loses another hour of payroll, I’m setting it on fire.”
“Fire’s bad for business.”
“So is not paying your crew.”
He has a point. The phone rings again. Dad stares at it like he might will it to stop. It doesn’t.
I reach across him and pick up the receiver. “Cole Construction.” Silence. Then a click. I hang up. “That was productive.”
He exhales, leaning back in his chair. The lines around his eyes look deeper than they did last year. “Temps don’t know our clients. Clients don’t like repeating themselves. I don’t like repeating myself,” he rumbles.
“You like repeating yourself.”
“Not to strangers.” His voice remains irritated. He pinches the bridge of his nose and squints at the screen. “Why is Jenkins showing forty-seven hours? He was out sick on Tuesday.”
I study the spreadsheet. Sixteen hours on Monday? We didn’t work that long. “The temp entered Monday twice. Delete the duplicate.”
He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a threat. I’m not sure who or what he’s threatening.
I grab the mouse and fix it in three clicks. “There.”
He studies the screen, then leans back again. “You ever think about how much easier this was when Donna handled the office?”
“Of course.” I shrug. Donna worked for my father for years until she retired six months ago. “You ever think about hiring someone permanent?”
“You got someone who wants to answer phones for a living?”
The phone rings again. I stare at it. It does nothing but sit there. I let it ring again before picking up. “Cole Construction.”
“Yeah, this is Travis over on Maple. Concrete truck’s late.” His voice is so loud that I have to pull the receiver back.
I check the dispatch tracker. “Fifteen minutes out. Driver got stuck behind a school bus.”
There’s a pause as if he’s looking down the street, even though I just told him that it’ll be another fifteen minutes. “You sure?”
“Unless the bus learned to fly, yeah.”
He chuckles. “Alright. Thanks.”
I hang up, setting the receiver down gently this time, like that might encourage better behavior. I hate answering the fucking phone.
Dad arches an eyebrow. “You’re good with people.”
“I tolerate them.” I shrug and reach for the stack of invoices, flipping through them. Numbers. Materials. Deliveries. That I can deal with.
The phone stays silent for thirty seconds. I glance at it with suspicion. Did I manage not to get the damn thing hung up all the way? It’s tempting to leave it off the hook if I did.
Dad sighs and leans forward again, peering at the screen. “Why is this thing blinking?”
“Did you hit Caps Lock?” The only reason I know what he’s talking about is that I did the same thing last week.
“Caps Lock?” He glares at the keyboard. I move behind him and tap the key. The blinking stops. “Technology,” he mutters. “Designed by idiots.”
My father is not what one would call tech-savvy. To this day, he still doesn’t have a smartphone.
*****
Two hours later, the front door bangs open, letting in a gust of cold air and the sound of boots on concrete.
“Tell me payroll’s done,” Travis steps inside with a clipboard tucked under his arm. Mud cakes his boots.
Behind him, Luis and Mark trudge inside, arguing about whether the Maple foundation was off by half an inch or the entire universe was crooked.
“Depends.” I quirk an eyebrow. “You planning a riot?”
Luis grins. “We left the pitchforks in the truck.”
“Circular saws are more efficient,” Mark adds.
Dad groans. “If you boys would spend half as much time working as you do running your mouths–”
“We finished early.” Travis drops the clipboard on the desk. “Despite the delay by the driver, the concrete’s set. We’re ahead of schedule.”
Dad rocks back into his chair, causing it to squeak under his weight. “Ahead?”
Luis spreads his hands. “It happens.”
The phone rings again. All four of them look at it. No one moves. Of course not. I sigh and pick it up. “Cole Construction.”
While I jot down a delivery change, Travis leans toward Dad. “You get someone set up for the desk yet? Last temp told Mrs. Keller we didn’t do roofs.”
“She misspoke.” My dad hates admitting that he doesn’t have everything under control.
Luis glances at me. “You need someone who knows what we do.”
I hang up and set the receiver down. “Working on it.”
The truth is, we’re not. Not really. Temps rotate in and out, each one a new learning curve we don’t have time to teach.
For a split second, I picture Ruby behind this desk. Answering the phone before the second ring. Keeping the schedule straight, remembering which client hates being called “ma’am.” Not doubling working hours. Making this place run as Donna did.
I shove the thought aside and slide behind the receptionist desk.
She has a job. A life. A gym full of idiots asking her out between sets. A bunch of fucking losers. Why am I thinking about this? She’s not my business, and this isn’t her problem.
Dad rubs his forehead again, glaring at the payroll screen. “We need someone who won’t quit after a week.”
“You need someone who can survive you,” Travis says with a lopsided grin.
“Out.” Dad points toward the door.
Luis laughs and claps Travis on the shoulder. “Come on. Let the man finish before we all starve.”
They file out, boots echoing across the concrete floor, the door slamming behind them and letting the quiet settle back in.
The phone doesn’t ring. The computer hums. Dad stares at the screen. I stare at the stack of invoices.
For a moment, the office feels too big. Too quiet. Like it’s holding its breath.
“You ever think about retiring?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
He doesn’t look at me. “You ever think about minding your own business?”
I deserved that. I lean back in the chair, crossing my arms. Outside, the early fall light is already fading, shadows stretching across the yard as if winter is preparing to strike.
The phone stays silent, and I think about a front desk that isn’t chaos. About someone who makes things run smoothly. I think about Ruby, and then I pick up the next invoice and get back to work.