Page 11 of How Dare You
“You don’t have to strain yourself. We’ll take as many trips as we need,” he says when I put the boards down.
“Three,” I answer.
“Alright.” He smiles, lifting the edges of three boards. “Make sure you—”
“If you tell me to lift with my legs, McCoy—” I let my glare finish my sentence.
“Alright.” He laughs, the sound full and clear, in opposition to the tense energy of everyone around us. Rhett walks backwards around the garage, and I warn him of debris and jutting edges as we go, careful not to let on that these are a little too heavy for me.
On our fifth trip to the back patio, I’m beginning to think being honest about my lifting limitations would have been wise, but fortunately Bea shows up before I have to admit defeat. She’s still dressed from the barre class she taught, wearing black bike shorts and an oversized Gin-Blossoms t-shirt with chunky white sneakers. She pushes thick-framed neon orange sunglasses into her espresso-brown hair, shining a warm smile at both of us before passing out coffees from a cardboard tray.
“Tell me what I did to land on the gets-coffee-delivered-to-the-jobsite list so I can keep doing it,” he says, accepting an iced drink.
“Allie sent it,” Bea answers, before sipping her own drink. Between the custom tables and all the new cabinetry, Rhett’s been around Turbine a lot lately. She’s probably trying to adopt him into our circle, make him feel welcome. It’s her way. Of course, if I weren’t keeping so many secrets from my best friend she’d know that I need to keep my distance from him every way I can manage, and she’d give him the cold shoulder immediately. But I haven’t told her.
Rhett finds someone else to help him finish unloading the boards from the garage, so Bea and I can take inventory of all the damaged items and materials. We’re able to get a list of what needs to be reordered quickly enough to leave time for me to go home and shower before our lunch presentation for the Shephard ranch.
It’s a project I know we’re going up against Trina for, and the one I want most. The scope is very involved, meaning steady income for a long time. But more than that, the house has great bones, lots of natural light, and quite a few original mid-century features that we want to work into our design. I know Trina will want to rip them out instead, and I’m banking on the Shephards’ desire to preserve the home’s history to help sell our design. We’ve met with them twice now, but today is our final presentation before they decide who to hire.
Connie Shephard is a punctual person, so when the clock ticks to fifteen past, I know something’s wrong. She doesn’t answer my call, but Bea and I get a group text message a minute later.
Connie: Sorry to cancel with so little notice. We went with someone else. Hope you didn’t go to too much trouble today. You girls are great!
Bea and I check our phones in unison. One more tally for Trina Boatswain Design.
“Been a hot minute since I received a break-up text,” Bea says, breaking the tension. “And just like when this happened in high school, we don’t want people in our lives who would treat us that way.” For a moment, I marvel that she hasn’t been broken up with over text since high school.
“You’re right.” I allow myself a couple deep breaths to dwell in the disappointment before I brush it off. “There will always be something better.”
“What’s meant for us will come to us,” she smiles, looking over at the presentation we had set up for Connie. “I am sorry for all the work you put into this, though. I know you’ve been working a lot of late nights.”
“Did Allie tell on me?”
“She did, and I see the timestamps on your emails.” Bea raps her grass-green manicured nails against her walnut desk. “You shouldn’t be sending anything to clients after six, Devon, or they’ll expect you to work all hours.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I do work all hours.”
“I’m going to teach you work-life boundaries eventually.” Bea walks over to the marble dining table that serves as a conference area in our office. “Come eat with me, but I call dibs on Connie’s chicken salad sandwich.”
“As long as I get the extra pickle,” I say, joining her at the table.
“You’ve got a deal.” She unpacks the food from the to-go bag. “Dev, I’ve got to ask,” she pauses, considering her words, “I know you’re pushing for some big projects, and we haven’t had a whole lot of luck getting them.” I nod in agreement, letting her sort out her thoughts before interjecting. Her intense hazel eyes settle on me. “Are things okay for Friday West?”
Bea’s perceptive in all situations. As a barre teacher, she always knows when to push me harder and when I need to take it easy in class. As a friend, she has a way of understanding when to give advice and when to listen. As the only other person working at Friday West Interiors, of course, she can see the cracks forming in our foundation.
Another lesson my mom taught us was to never be friends with employees, because it makes things messy. It’s good advice, but I ignored it because Bea was the perfect person for this job. No one else in Palm Springs would work as well with me or with our clients. Now, though, it’s not only my friend asking if my company is in financial trouble, it’s also my employee.
“Things have been better,” I answer, wanting to be direct without giving away too much. “But you do not need to worry. I have it handled.” We have enough to keep us going for the next few months, and I am not giving up. Losing Bea as an employee is the absolute last thing I’d allow to happen to Friday West. There have been some major setbacks lately, but we’re hardly out of options.
Bea folds her light-tan arms in front of her on the honed marble table. “I’m not worried about me, but I think you’re spread too thin—”
My phone rings, saving me from an echo of the conversation I had with Allie last night.
“The lights are all wrong,” the hectic voice of Joanie Birch, another of our clients, comes through the line, referencing the custom pendants for her kitchen that were delivered this morning. I check my watch. And were supposed to be installed half an hour ago.
“How so?” I ask.
“They’re huge! Way too big. I cannot live with them. You have to get them out of here.”