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Chapter Three
Nate
Once I knocked a guy unconscious with a single blow. I can bench press 360 pounds on a light day. And before I was adopted by the Owens, I thought all women were liars.
My birth mother was often in tears thanks to her husband. Dear old Dad was an addict. Tears were as commonplace as air in my childhood home. They were cheap, and, I later learned, devices of manipulation. My mom loved my dad’s habit more than she loved me.
Vivian Vandemark isn’t anything like my mother. I wasn’t trying to enact some sort of twisted revenge scenario by taking out fresh drywall. Now that I’m standing here with dust on my new suit, my arms tingling from the effort it took to swing this hammer repeatedly, I feel sort of stupid about it.
She’s not an inspector? Is she shitting me?
She’s also not crying, which I respect. Not that I was trying to make her cry, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. I can’t be manipulated by tears, but I suspect Ms. Vandemark isn’t one to use them for sympathy. She’s made of tougher stuff than my mother, that’s for sure.
A different breed, this woman.
I push past my brethren, aka employees, and tell them to get to work. Vivian is coolly and calmly crossing my construction site. No, she’s nothing like my mother. She is class from the top of her sleek blown-out, dark-just-shy-of-black hair to the tips of her cheap shoes.
I frown. Cheap shoes?
I’m good at reading people. Call it survival instinct. At first glance, I pegged Vivian Vandemark as a wealthy woman. She carries herself like she’s used to having her way—and having things done for her. Like she’s used to being served. My adoptive mother, Lainey, has that same air about her.
When I first looked into Vivian’s warm, brown eyes, I didn’t assume she was a government employee. She was far more beautiful than I expected, which stalled my brain for a hot second. When she threatened to shut me down, my brain stopped functioning entirely.
I have one unbreakable rule: Finish the job early.
The adage about “on time” being late and “late” being unacceptable is one I take to heart. No one slows me down, especially a city inspector. There are ways around, over, or under every strip of red tape. Anyone who says differently is lazy or inept.
So, now that I’ve calmed down and thought it through, her cheap shoes make sense. The government isn’t exactly known for its extravagant wages.
When she blew in here and spoke in a whiskey-smooth voice, I assumed she had both power and money. I thought for a split second Vivian was a woman who’d come to strike a bargain.
If you know what I mean.
That happened to me before, though it’s been a while. Deborah was older than my current guest, but no less curt. She demanded I halt construction on her ex-husband’s project. I told her there was no way in hell. She didn’t cry, either. She laughed. And then she made me an offer I fell for, right before I fell for her.
I ended up in bed with her and losing the job after falling woefully behind on the project. Her ex-husband fired me, but Deborah and I stayed together for a few months after that. She became one of my biggest supporters, even after the affair met its imminent demise.
I follow Vivian and consider I wouldn’t mind indulging a similar offer to Deborah’s in exchange for a clean bill of health on my site.
Off the record, I don’t know if all 140 units have drywall installed. Probably more like half. But I’m not going to kneel at the throne of the fucking Clear Ridge Bureau of Inspection. Since when has bureaucratic bullshit made the world a better place?
Never, that’s when.
I should let her walk her tight ass out of here. I can have Beck redo his drywall job I destroyed and take this up with Daniel—the putz. I would, except Vivian cracked open my curiosity like the Fabergé egg I knocked off Lainey Owen’s shelf when I first went to live with my new foster parents.
Lainey, my new and improved mother, smiled and cleaned up the mess. Her comment of “it’s just stuff” froze me into a solid block of shock. After living with parents who sold off everything not nailed down so my father could have “one more hit,” I couldn’t understand how Lainey and Will Owen could let me live in their house for another second.
Now that I have enough of everything, though, I understand. I went from working on construction sites to running them. I manage part of Owen Construction, the company established by my new parents and parceled off to their three boys.
Another foreign concept I came to understand while living with the Owens is that all women aren’t liars. I learned that first from Lainey, next from Deborah. Deb wasn’t free of sin, but at least she never lied to me.
So why, while I chase Vivian Vandemark, am I suspicious of everything about her? Her fanciful name, at odds with her cheap shoes, the air of superiority that absolutely doesn’t belong on someone who works in a government office…
I recognize down on one’s luck. I am familiar with hard knocks. This woman isn’t either of those things. Even though she’s dressed like she wants me to believe she might be.
Paranoid, much, Nate?
Not sure I ever recovered from my youth. I’m suspicious of everyone at first. Maybe my first impression of Vivian was right and she’s a fox in sheep’s clothing. Maybe she’s lying after all.
