“Oh?” I asked, genuinely interested.
He turned around and looked at me. “The only recession-proof businesses are bottle stores, casinos, hair and nail salons, candy shops, tattoo parlors—and this shopping mall will have all of those.” And then he paused and looked around again. “I hate fucking shopping malls,” he said through a tightly clenched jaw. “And I think this one is going to be a giant mistake.”
“They’re okay,” I said softly, trying to lighten the mood which had suddenly become very dark. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the big two-hundred-million-rand mistake he’d been talking about?
He continued to look at me, shaking his head from side to side as if he was trying to dislodge a bad thought. And then his eyes drifted down to my feet.
“You’re wearing heels?” he asked flatly.
“So?” I asked.
“This is a site visit.” He said it like I should know what the hell he was saying.
“And?” I still wasn’t sure what was being implied.
“A building site!” he said firmly and slowly.
I shook my head at him.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Miss Granger. Have you never been to a building site before?” He folded his arms.
“Not really,” I admitted.
He looked me up and down again and then shrugged, as if he gave up. “I see you’re not wearing your wig today,” he said.
“What you see is what you get,” I said, flipping my long hair over my shoulder playfully, hoping to defuse some of the awkwardness of this moment.
“So, you’re no longer Jewish?” he asked in a smug tone.
“Um . . .” I faltered.
“Or have you converted suddenly?” he asked.
“I . . . I . . .” I stuttered.
“Your rabbi must be very disappointed.” He was smug and sarcastic AF right now! I wanted to grab him and shake him. Clearly, he was toying with me. Playing a game. Waiting to see how long I could keep this up and when I would crack. We stared at each other for a while, like in those spaghetti westerns, each one of us waiting for the other to draw. He finally broke eye contact with a loud huff—clearly, he wasn’t even trying to hide his feelings right now. He turned and walked away again.
“Just watch where you walk,” he said over his shoulder. “Building sites are dangerous. Lots to trip over, lots of places to fall.”
I looked down at the floor and knew exactly what he meant when I saw the gravel in front of me, not to mention the bricks and bits of steel and wires lying about. He was quite a way in front of me, and I called out to be heard.
“Mr. Stark, what exactly am I meant to be doing here?”
He turned and looked at me again and this time, for a brief moment, it seemed like he didn’t have an answer. Then he cleared his throat and started rattling off a list.
“I need you to take notes of what is being said. Then type them up again and send them to me. If I make any suggestions, changes, et cetera, I might forget them. I want them written down.” He started walking away again.
Forget?I doubted that very much. Ryan Stark didn’t forget things, so why was Ireallyhere? I looked around. Places like this were not good for me. Give me an uneven surface and I was sure to trip. A steel pole sticking out of the ground, sure to impale myself. Wet concrete, yup, I was sure to fall in and drown. It was all part of my drama; things like these were just props in whatever ridiculous scene was about to unfold.Mmmm . . .I needed to be very careful. Very careful. Besides, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having something happen to me.
I was struggling to keep up as Ryan, Mr. Stark, Ryan Stark—oh God, whatever this man was called—stopped by a group of men. They all turned to watch my approach, and the moment soon turned painfully awkward. Their expectant eyes were on me and because of their intense waiting and watching and impatient foot-tapping, I suddenly forgot how to walk. And to make matters worse, I was trying to walk over gravel in high heels. There was silence. Except for my shoes . . .
CRUNCH, CCCRRUUUNNCCCHHH!
The sound of my soles grinding against the gravel was ear shattering. And it was made even worse when it echoed around the cavernous building site. It was justsooooloud. Every step I took . . . CRUNCH!!! The men were clearly getting impatient, Ryan certainly was. I must have looked like a real idiot too, because in order to keep from toppling over, I was flapping my arms at my sides, like a fucking pigeon.
Crunch.Flap,Flap.Crunch.Flap. It must have been painful to watch. I know it was embarrassingly painful to do. Finally, I reached them all.
“Congratulations, Miss Granger,” Ryan mumbled sarcastically.
