22
| SUMMER |
MONDAY
(Time: 7:06 a.m.)
Jason and I have a meeting with the architect in ten minutes, but thanks to a big accident on the highway, seems like every worker on site is running late and clogging up the main roads up here.
Finally at the jobsite, I jump out of my truck and run straight over to the trailer for the blueprints we need to discuss, only to stop midway when I smell alcohol in the air.
Frowning, I scan the few guys filing out of their cars parked next to me to find the source.
Tom.
One of our newest men on the project, and the bane of my existence for the past few weeks. The union had sent him over along with a dozen more laborers as our needs increased, and while the rest of the guys have proven themselves to be strong, capable workers, Tom has been just awful. Lazy, snarky, with a huge chip on his shoulder, and—as we discovered at the end of last week—apparently stupid enough to come to work stinking of alcohol from the night before.
“Hey, Tom. Can I help you with something?”
He gives me a sullen look and doesn’t bother with any pleasantries. “Jason called me yesterday to let me go. I’m just here to pick up my last paycheck.”
This is news to me. Good news, but surprising nonetheless. I’d planned on letting him go today, but a part of me is glad Jason took care of it. Tom always had a…menacing quality about him that gave me the willies.
“Jason and I are going to be in a meeting for the next hour or so, but I’ll tell him you stopped by. We usually mail the final check, but if you want to pick it up in person, we’ll call you to tell you when your check is ready.”
I give him a courteous smile and move to go around him to get up to the trailer.
But he stops me.
“Don’t walk away from me. We’re not done talking.”
I sigh at his antagonistic tone. I hate it when they don’t go quietly. “Oh?” I ask politely. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”
“Yeah,” he snarls, swaying on his feet, making it obvious that the alcohol in his system today isn’t from the night before. “I want to discuss the fact that you’re nothing more than the boss’s annoying fuckslut, who has no business running this crew.”
I feel the blood draining from my face. I’ve fired a good number of guys in my day. But this is the first time any of them has spoken to me like this.
Tom sneers, his bloodshot eyes filled with ugly, drunken anger. “That’s right. I know all about you two. I saw you guys going at it in the trailer the other day. Guess the rumors about you are true.”
“Get the hell off my jobsite. Now.”
“Don’t talk all high and mighty with me. You’re just a glorified whore. The worst kind of slut. And your boyfriend’s a pampered asshole who’s going to use you and lose you any day now.”
“You have three seconds to leave, Tom.”
He doesn’t budge.
Instead, he turns and shouts out loudly over his shoulder, “Stop talking to me like you’re the boss of me. We both know you only got the job because you’re fucking Jason. Milking the big-time billionaire for the big-time bucks.”
I do my best not to let him see any of this is affecting me. “Time’s up. I’m calling security.” I pull out my phone.
“Fuck you, bitch.” He tries to grab it from me.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Jack, my main foreman, trudges over with a few of my men, all of whom look ready to punch out Tom without an explanation.
Tom scowls when two of my oldest workers edge their way between us. “What, are you two fucking her, too? I bet you are. She looks like she’s into all that kinky group shit.”
My guys don’t say a word. They just keep standing there like two giant human shields, arms crossed, expressions pissed, but patient.
I call security.
When Tom hears me say that I want him escorted off the property because he’s drunk and being belligerent, he goes back to yelling out to the growing crowd. “Don’t you guys even care that this cunt is fucking her way to the top, right past us? The rest of us, we have to actually work our asses off. All she has to do is spread her slutty ass legs. And she gets the big bucks while treating the rest of us like shit.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, man,” calls out Pete, one of my newer guys. “She’s one of the hardest working ones on this entire jobsite. And she’s been a fair boss the entire time.”
Tom scoffs. “If you call getting fingered by Jason in the trailer ‘work,’ then sure.”
I hate that this is getting to me.
Doing my best not to let my embarrassment show on my face, I calmly walk around my two loyal human shields and head to the trailer.
I’m not going to engage. I am not going to engage.
I just keep chanting that to myself as I pass Tom. Security’s on the way. And I still have a meeting to get to. Nothing good will come from letting him have a continued platform so it’s time to nip this in the bud.
“Okay, show’s over,” I call out. “Everyone, get back to work.”
No one budges.
Though I appreciate that they’re feeling protective over me, I’m not used to my guys not listening to me.
“I mean it. We’re on the clock. If no one’s here to listen to him, he’ll eventually have to leave. So c’mon, back to work. Now.” Granddad made me practice my ‘outside voice’ for years. I don’t always use it, but I’m sure as heck using it now. Somewhere in between a bark and a bellow, it effectively tells my guys that I mean business.
Half of the workers start walking back over to their posts. Thank god.
As for me, I keep walking toward the trailer to get the blueprints I need.
I hear him call me bitch and a few other choice words, but I simply ignore him. The longer I ignore him, the more pissed he gets.
Until eventually, the dumbass comes rushing at me.