The F-Word

“Very well, Mr. O’Malley. I’ll call and tell the foreman to expect you in half an hour.”

“Fine.” I yank my shirttails free of my trousers. “And see what you can scrounge up to change into.”

This time, she does blink. “Me?”

“You.” I undo my cuffs. “I’ll deal with the doors. You’ll deal with the paperwork.”

She nods and turns towards the door. “I’ll requisition a pair of coveralls from Supplies.”

“And boots.”

“Boots. Of course.”

She starts for the door again.

“One more thing,” I say.

Bailey swings towards me just as I’m peeling off my shirt. There’s barely a pause before she turns away again, but not before I see a faint wash of pink spread over her cheeks. Is she blushing? I’m baffled. Then I realize that no shirt isn’t the same as an open shirt.

Uh oh. I’ve embarrassed her.

“Sorry,” I say quickly.

“No problem, sir.”

Maybe I misunderstood. She certainly doesn’t sound embarrassed. And when she turns towards me again, her expression is as professional as always.

“Mr. O’Malley?”

“Yes?”

“You were saying…?”

What was I saying? I’m still puzzled by that blush.

“I was saying…Oh. Yeah. Call Burt.” Burt’s my foreman. “Tell him we’re on our way and if the truck delivering the doors arrives before we do, he should just stall them. Then you meet me in the lobby. Five minutes.”

Bailey nods. ”Five minutes.”

“Fine,” I say, but I don’t reach for my belt or anything else until the door shuts firmly behind her.

Okay, I think as I change out of my pants. Okay. Today I get to be a construction guy.

The truth is, even the thought makes me happy.

4

It takes half an hour to reach the Schecter site.

I consider mentioning that text message, but I don’t do it. Bailey’s private life is her private life. I don’t know anything about her, well, nothing beyond the fact that she has that degree and that she comes from some town in upstate New York. Troy. Schenectady. Something like that.

So we spend the time with her reading me the specifics of the teak temple doors from the dealer’s catalogue where I first discovered them, and I try to envision where I’ll be placing the necessary screws and fasteners when I install them.

The screws and fasteners, made to order by a place in California, cost three thousand bucks all by themselves so, yeah, this job is a big deal—and actually, I’m looking forward to it. It’s been a long time since I did anything meaningful in the field. Too long, I think, as we turn onto a quiet road that leads to the Schecter place.

My guys are happy to see us.

They weren’t looking forward to the doors being delivered without Barfing Bob on hand, except they didn’t want him there if he was barfing.