Chapter Eight
It’s Gonna Be Messy
Cal was just happy to escape his office finally.
He’d promised to work with the consultant, but if he had to spend one more minute in shut in a room with her, he’d start banging his head against the wall.
Not that she didn’t ask good questions or make insightful comments.
That part he could tolerate, actually. Well, maybe he’d had to bite his tongue once or twice, but it was fine.
It was her perfume that was making him frantic, and he needed a break.
It was understated and at first he leaned closer, attempting to get a sniff.
Now that they had been locked in the office for hours, the delicate flower and woodsy cedar scent surrounded him, disrupting his concentration. It was intoxicating.
He tightened his grip on his grandfather’s toolbox and started down the hall.
Realizing his stride was too long for her to keep up, he slowed.
Having her around would deprive him of the time he needed to focus on the estate.
With a shake of his head, he started telling her about the billing system, but she interrupted him.
“Do you always handle the plumbing repairs around here rather than using a qualified plumber?”
He bristled at her insinuation that he wasn’t good enough for the job. Gritting his teeth, he responded politely, “Well, for minor repairs, Marshal or I have a run at it. For larger jobs or for renovations, we hire a plumber.”
Her only response was to take out her notebook and make a notation, setting his teeth on edge.
Walking through the foyer, Cal went over to the bathroom door that was inset into the wall.
He wasn’t sure what relative had installed two bathrooms underneath the staircase, but it was a good use of space.
During construction, they’d installed multiple stall restrooms just around the corner from the foyer.
It allowed them to accommodate the number of guests that might be in the ballroom.
But Cal just couldn’t bear to remove these two single bathrooms. He liked they were quirky and unusual.
Besides, there was no such thing as too many bathrooms.
He checked the room to the left, but it looked fine. Opening the other door, he noticed water on the floor. Guess they’d found the leak. Addressing Rachel again, he asked, “Would you mind grabbing some towels?”
He was relieved when she didn’t seem put out by the request. “Sure thing. Just tell me where they are.”
“If you walk back toward my office,” he said, closing his eyes so he could count. “The third door down on the right is a small closet with cleaning supplies. There should be towels in there on the shelving unit to the right.”
She disappeared without another word while Cal knelt on the floor of the bathroom, careful to avoid the puddle.
By the time Rachel came back with a small stack of towels, he’d shut off the water and identified the leak.
Grabbing the towels, he cleaned up the floor and laid down so he could reach under the sink.
As he was getting into position, Rachel asked, “I just can’t help but think this is not the best use of your time. ”
Cal bit back a swear. Guess he’d need to get used to all these questions. She was just doing her job—the job his parents hired her to do—however that didn’t mean he liked people poking and prodding at him, looking over his shoulder, or judging his decisions.
He swallowed his annoyance and responded. “Well, I run a fine line between upgrades and profitability around here.” He was impressed that his voice sounded even and calm and not nearly as annoyed as he felt.
“Is the estate not profitable?”
“It is. And the margin has been steadily increasing.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Thank you,” he said, pleased with her acknowledgment. “Would you mind giving me the Phillips head screwdriver? The one with the blue handle.”
Rachel grabbed it and leaned down to pass it to him. “I can understand being cautious about expenses,” she continued. “But this seems a bit excessive.”
“Well,” Cal sighed. “I’ve been focusing on meeting the terms of the deal with my parents.
Can you hold this?” he asked. He passed the screwdriver and a few screws out for her to hold, noticing her confusion.
It appeared his parents hadn’t given Rachel all the information about the current estate business.
“When I approached my parents about creating this business, about taking over White Hall Estate, they were hesitant. They know the financial world and the securities market—not so much events and hospitality. If I were to do this, my parents required assurances ‘the asset’ would perform at a certain profitability margin.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Could you hand me that black rubber looking tube?” He gestured toward the toolbox. Cal wasn’t sure he understood his parents’ motivation either. Well, he did, he just didn’t like it.
“My parents look at White Hall solely as an investment. If they’re going to invest their money into something, they need to see a solid rate of return. They will not pick investments that don’t make them money.
“Can you hold these too?” he said pouring a few more pieces of hardware into her outstretched hand.
“So we agreed they would give me two years to get this venture up and running. I knew their financial expectations were too aggressive, given the business and the timeline,” he admitted.
“But they were inflexible. So, I took the deal anyway.
“And now, my time is practically up. The business is profitable, but it’s not to the agreed upon level. Which is why my parents went looking for you,” he sighed.
“I’ll take those back now,” he indicated her handful of hardware. She was silent while he spent several minutes finishing up the repair. Turning the water back on, he watched it briefly to make sure it wasn’t leaking. It should hold, but he’d monitor it and check for any further problems.
He wiggled out from under the sink and stood up, unfortunately crowding Rachel.
This wasn’t the biggest bathroom to begin with.
With them both in there, it was tight quarters.
He wiped his hand on a cloth, surveying the sink and floor to be sure everything was back in order.
“That looks like we’re done. See? A lot cheaper and faster than calling in a professional. ” His tone was sharp.
This conversation was annoying. His parents’ deal was annoying. The fact that his grandfather’s legacy was slipping through his fingertips was devastating.
“Well,” she said. “It’s also an inefficient use of time and resources.” She snapped open her notebook and wrote something. That damn notebook made him feel like he was constantly being graded like in school.
“Well,” he replied, parroting her words on purpose. “Handwritten notes are the ultimate in inefficiency.”
She squared her shoulders and gestured with her pen. “I have a laptop. But it is inefficient to drag it around with me,” she sneered. “While I’m shadowing you, it’s easier to make handwritten notes. Tonight I’ll compile these into a document that I can share with my boss Seth!”
Cal knew he should drop it, but he found himself enjoying getting her riled up. The smarter choice would be to withdraw and return to his office to discuss invoicing. But he never said he was smart. Besides, he was still hurting from her implied judgment of his plumbing and time management skills.
He leaned closer to her, and replied, “While you’re considering how to be more efficient, you should probably wear some more farm-friendly clothing.
” He gestured to her sleeve where she’d evidently brushed up against something or perhaps something he handed her was dirty.
Whatever it was, she now had several streaks of dirt across her white blazer.
She attempted to brush it away, only making it worse.
“This is a hands-on job. That is, provided you are willing to learn how things are really done around here, Rachel. It’s not a normal, cushy consulting gig.”
Rachel raised her chin. “A cushy consulting gig,” she repeated, with her hands planted firmly on her hips. “I don’t have cushy gigs. I work hard all the time. Besides which,” she leaned back to look him up and down. “Your outfit isn’t exactly that plumbing ready either!”
Cal eyed his tan khakis which now sported a considerable amount of dirt, as did the sleeves of his blue oxford button-down shirt. Cal couldn’t help himself. He laughed.
Rachel was startled, but a moment later joined in, and the strain between them dissipated.
“Okay,” Cal declared, throwing his hands up. “You got me there.” He grabbed the toolbox. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Except Cal didn’t feel like being back in the office again. Making a snap decision, he put the toolbox on the side table by the stairs. “I have to go check on some of the repair work being done in the chapel. Shall we head there?”
Rachel nodded. “Lead on.”
Exiting through the front door, Cal went left, past the house and onto a crushed stone pathway. As they approached the chapel, he gave Rachel some of the history of the striking white two-story building.
“The chapel was a carriage house before it was converted, which explains its rather unconventional look. Actually, at some point, it possibly was a barn. I’m just not sure.
” There were one-story wings on each side of the main section so the chapel could accommodate additional guests.
He’d made sure that the front section where the bride and groom took their vows was elevated to afford everyone a good view.
Cal gestured toward the left. “It’s not visible because of the trees, but there’s a large barn toward that end of the property, not too far from the ocean.
There are some wonderful areas I aim to use more strategically.
Like converting the barn to a distillery.
Adding seating and picnic tables down by the ocean.
The views are incredible. We can do a more in-depth tour another day. ”
By then they’d reached the chapel, and Cal grabbed his keys from his pocket.
Unlocking it, he swung the large door inward, frowning when it creaked.
That was a terrific noise in a haunted mansion, not so much during a wedding service.
He made a mental note to come down and fix it before their next event.
Rachel walked into the space and instantly turned to gaze up at the stained glass window he’d commissioned for the center facade.
Cal conceded that he did the same thing most days.
The piece looked fantastic from the outside, but when the afternoon light reflected a multitude of colors inside the chapel was where it truly shined. Pun intended.
Rachel’s face was awash with the kaleidoscope of colors. She turned again and peered at the floor, stepping back to observe the colorful patterns as a whole.
“There’s just something enchanting about sunlight through stained glass,” she murmured.
“I agree,” Cal said, moving to stand beside her. “It was super pricey to have done, but I think it makes our venue stand out all the more. Besides,” he continued after a pause. “I just think it’s cool.”
Rachel smiled up at him, “Me too.”
“So I need to check on the tile repair work in the restroom.”
Rachel laughed. “What is it with you and the bathrooms today?”
Cal smiled back. “The glamorous life of running an event venue.” He shrugged as he moved off to check the repair. Rachel stayed in the main room and when he came out, she was examining the wooden plank floors.
“Are these original?” she asked when he drew near.
“Yes,” said Cal, beaming. The wide plank flooring was utterly spectacular. His pride and joy in this project. When he’d discovered that the old barn had the same planks, he practically danced a jig. That floor would look amazing when he set up the distillery tasting room there.
“We sanded it down, of course, but not too much. I wanted to capture the character and age of the wood.”
“It’s beautiful. And with the high ceilings and wooden beams…” she paused before looking at him. “You’ve created an amazing space here.”
He wasn’t used to people being so free with their praise. While it made him uncomfortable, it also filled him with pride. It was nice that someone else could see what he saw.
“It would be a shame if your parents sell the property and someone tears it down,” Rachel said. “I’ll have to note that in the report that there are great wood salvage companies that can harvest all this and make sure it’s reused.”
And just like that, reality crashed back down. Cal felt his jaw tightening again. “We should head back,” he stated gruffly. “We have a lot of information to go over.”
Cal wasn’t looking forward to slogging through any of it, but it beat standing here in his grandfather’s building that he’d spent months renovating and have her look at it with dollar signs.
Worse, dollar signs for his parents.
Because it was merely an asset to them.
Just an investment that needed to perform as demanded.