3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Charley
The office secretary leads two potential clients, newlyweds, into my office. I surreptitiously wipe my sweaty palms on my pants before extending my palm for handshakes.
“Welcome to Corbin and Sons,” I say a bit too loudly. Rein it in, girl. “Please, have a seat.” As I step behind my desk, my feet tangle in the rug, and I trip. I catch myself on the back of my office chair.
“Oh!” the woman cries. “Are you okay?”
“Yep,” I say quickly. I slide into the chair, being careful not to slouch. As my fourth-grade teacher used to say, powerful people have good posture , and it’s stuck with me all these years. I have no idea if it’s true, but it sounds like it should be, right?
The couple exchanges a glance, and my heart plummets to the floor. I’m already losing them.
I detest this part of the job. The selling part. As the owner and operator of Corbin and Sons contracting firm, it’s part of my job to meet with new customers. But the truth is that I’m only in my comfort zone when I’m doing the work. Manual labor. That’s where I shine. I’m at my most confident with power tools in my hands. When I’m in my element, there’s nothing I can’t do. I can build a house from the ground up. I can renovate a bathroom in no time flat. I can restore an old, historical building, breathing life into long-forgotten places.
But before you can do any of that, you need a contract in place. I take a deep breath, count to five, and paste a smile onto my face. “So, Mr. and Mrs. Bridgewater, you’re interested in remodeling your kitchen, is that right? Based on the specs you provided, I’ve pulled together some suggestions for new cabinets, appliances, tile flooring. The room is also large enough for an island. We could incorporate the stove and range into that.”
I slide a folder across the table so they can look at the plans I’ve drawn up. I’ve included photographs of cabinetry and tile options in the information.
Mrs. Bridgewater’s face lights up as she flips through the papers. “This is perfect,” she gushes.
Her husband frowns. “We were expecting to meet with the owner today, Mr. Corbin.”
I suppress a sigh. “I’m Charley Corbin, the owner of Corbin and Sons Contracting. The company was started by my grandfather, my father, and my uncle. They’ve all retired now. I’m the last Corbin standing, but I was trained by the best.”
Mr. Bridgewater eyes me with apparent skepticism. His gaze flicks down to my boobs before settling back on face. “Are you sure you can handle this job?” The subtext in his question is clear: can a woman handle it?
Anger rises within me, and I can feel heat rise to my cheeks. “We’ve been the best contracting firm in Fog Habor, Maine for more than fifty years—and have the awards to show for it. No one comes close to meeting our degree of experience or professionalism. But you’re welcome to take your business elsewhere.”
He holds his hands up defensively. “Whoa, there. No need to get so emotional.”
My blood is boiling, and I bite my tongue—hard—to keep from saying something I shouldn’t.
His wife saves me the trouble. Glaring at him, she says, “What is your problem?”
He flails his arms helplessly, realizing he’s in trouble with the Mrs. “Their name is Corbin and Sons. It’s not unreasonable that I expected to meet with a man.”
Maybe it’s time to change the name. I’ve been afraid to change it, worried that I’ll lose the goodwill with the community and the glowing reviews we’ve received over the years. Besides that, I just don’t want to. I shouldn’t have to.
I give Mr. Bridgewater a closed-lip smile. “Actually, the Corbin in our name could be referring to either a man or a woman. Regardless, I’m here today, and as I said, I’m the owner. I have a lifetime of experience, a business degree from an Ivy League college, and a stack full of options and ideas for you right now. I’ll leave the two of you alone for a few minutes so you can look over them.”
Without another word, I turn on my heel to walk away. My long, wavy brown hair swirls in the air like the hem of a party dress. That won’t do .
As I walk around the desk, I grab a pencil from the holder, twist my hair into sloppy bun, and slide the pencil in to hold it in place. “That’s better,” I say aloud before sauntering out of the room.
My secretary, Miranda, frowns. “Where are the Bridgewaters?”
“I’m leaving them alone for a few minutes to review my proposal.”
Miranda groans. “He asked for Mr. Corbin , didn’t he?”
I look at her in surprise. “How’d you know?”
She holds up two fingers ticking them off as she gives her answer. “First of all, you’re angry, and that only seems to happen when people question your ownership of the company. Secondly, he was giving off sexist creep vibes the minute he walked through the door.” She scrunches her face as if she’s just tasted something dreadful. “I still feel dirty after the way he looked at me—and right in front of his wife, too.”
A new wave of fury crashes over me. I go into fierce mama bear mode when someone mistreats my employees.
Seeing the look on my face, Miranda quickly says, “It’s fine, boss. No harm done.”
I nod slowly. “Well, if they decide they want to hire us, assign Mac and Trey to do the work. I doubt he’ll harass them.”
Miranda laughs, no doubt visualizing how a fight between Mr. Bridgewater and Mac and Trey, our two biggest, strongest employees, would go down. “Sure thing, boss.”
I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’m just going to—”
Miranda glances up, sees what I’m doing, and says, “Wait!”
I look at her blankly. “Wait for what?”
She tucks a strand of hair behind an ear. “Before you look at the Zillow listing again…” Her voice trails off.
“How’d you know…?”
She shakes her head. “You look at the listing for the old lighthouse at least five times a day.”
“Do I?” I suppose I do, but I can’t help it. I love the property. It’s a restoration dream come true. Built in the 1800s, the lighthouse is on the National Register of Historic Places. It hasn’t been in use in years and is now for sale, along with the lighthouse keeper’s cottage, as a private residence. I’d give my right kidney to restore it to its former glory.
I blink at Miranda. “Wait… why don’t you want me to look at the listing? Has it sold?”
She nods slowly. “Yes.”
I was never going to have enough money anyway. “That’s okay,” I say brightly. “The new owner will need to hire someone for the restoration, and we’re the best in the business. Unless they’re fools, they’ll hire us.” And I’ll still get to be the one who fixes up the place. It’s better than nothing.
Miranda’s face brightens. “So, you’re not upset?”
“I’m just glad it’ll be used again.” I reach into my pocket for a breath mint, shaking one into the palm of my hand before popping it into my mouth. “I’d guess I’d better check back in with the Bridgewaters.”
Miranda’s eyes dance with mischief. “You’ll never guess who bought it?”
“The lighthouse? Who?”
“Luck Donovan.” She holds a hand to her chest as if she’s swooning. “He’s dreamy, don’t you think? I wonder what he’s like.”
My heart falls. “I grew up with him. He’s Lindy Donovan’s twin brother. And they have absolutely nothing in common.”
He also hates me.
And he’ll never, ever hire me to restore the lighthouse.