“So, you’ve said. I know your rights, but you’re now on private property.” He pointed to the sidewalk. “You can protest all you want from the public sidewalk.” With his hard hat tilted back, he studied her. Her small stature screamed “harmless,” but a grenade was small and produced explosive results. “What’s your name?”
She squirmed in the chains. “My name is Roberta and stop looking at my boobs.”
“They’re hard—hard not to notice.” He glanced back at her chest and then looked into her eyes. “I’m Beau, and you’re interrupting my workday. Give me the key, and I’ll let you loose, or I’ll cut you loose. What’s it going to be?” He pulled at the chain and pondered how she’d tied herself up so efficiently. She had five padlocks holding her hostage. Someone had woven the chain around her body and through the reinforced steel handles.
“I don’t have the key,” she said triumphantly.
This was a game. She’d disrupt his morning and try to create chaos. Well, who was he to ruin her plan?
“Listen, sweetheart. I don’t want to spoil your fun, so we’ll choose option three. Hang out as long as you want.” He threw the heavy cutters over his shoulder. “My office is on the other side of this door. Just yell if you need something.” He walked away as she spilled every expletive known to man from her pretty little mouth.
* * *
Back in the building, he called to the workers, who were readying to start their day. “I need everyone to gather around.”
The site smelled like mildew, sawdust, and determination. The only light in the building came from the rays that peeked through the original bubbled glass windows. It was a shell of a building that used to be a glass factory in the 1800s. It then became a textile warehouse, and until four years ago, it stored printing supplies for the Denver Mint. At that time, the city condemned it. It should have been torn down and rebuilt, but people loved its history and petitioned to put it in the state registry of historic properties. Because of its connection to the mint—and because it would take millions to refurbish—it was now dubbed The Gold Index, but it was a gold mine. When all thirty-six units sold, the owners would make a fortune.
The crew stood in front of him, restless and ready to work. The moment was reminiscent of an experience he had as a child when he’d stood with his father while Dad addressed his crew. He closed his eyes and remembered the day his dad brought him to his first worksite and told him the equipment and men would someday be his. The summer sun and his dad’s expensive cologne filled the air that day. As he breathed in, he could almost feel the heat and smell the spicy scent.
“Welcome aboard,” he said on an exhale. “Kyle handpicked each of you because of your skill set. My name is Beau, and I’ll be your project manager until this baby is finished.” He scanned the forty or so men before him. It was a yellow-hat parade—a gathering of minions. “My door is always open. I’ll be working alongside you to move this project quickly and safely to completion. Just a quick note to remind everyone that safety comes first. Don’t take the fast pass. Always take the safe route.” He looked over at his team, nodded, and smiled. “Have a great day.” He turned and approached his uncle, who inspected an electrical box in the corner.
“What did you do with her?” Kyle pulled a pair of wire cutters from his tool belt.
“I had planned to set her free, but something in her eyes told me she was determined, so I thought I’d test her tenaciousness. I don’t want to deal with that every day, so I left her chained to the door. Can you believe she doesn’t have a key?”
“No way.” Kyle screwed a red wire cap over the two wires and twisted his lips into a grin. “How long are you going to leave her?”
“Long enough for the chill in the air to end.” He let out a whistle and smiled. “What a sight.”
“I know. Two sunny side ups made a perfect start to my morning” Kyle tucked the wires into the box and thumbed the breaker button over. The overhead lights sputtered to life, and cheers sounded throughout the building. Kyle gave him a thumbs up and moved on. The day was looking brighter.
The makeshift office he’d commandeered was a small room to the side of the front entrance. This space would be the front desk and office for the doorman in the finished building. The plans called for the nine floors to be turned into thirty-six luxury townhouses. Though he tried to focus on the plans he’d set on his desk, his thoughts kept traveling to the woman chained to the front of the building.
High-pitched notes bled into the sanctuary of his office. Her poor rendition of “Blowin’ in the Wind” grated on his nerves.
He shoved the plans aside and grabbed the bolt cutters he’d tossed in the corner. Her presence was affecting his ability to think clearly. The woman was like a festering splinter and needed to be removed.He rounded the corner with heavy, impatient footfalls.
She wore black cut-off jeans, a thin yellow T-shirt, and a curious smile. “Are you coming to visit me?” The morning sun had risen and beat against her bronzed skin, causing a bead of sweat to gather on her brow.
“No, but my brain had a battle, and my compassionate side won out over logic.” Maybe he could sweet-talk her to leave. “I’d hate to see your lovely face get burned.” He tried to keep his eyes off her chest, but hell if he could. “Let’s get you out of here.” He shook his head and cut the locks one at a time. They fell to the concrete with a clash.
One chain remained, and she pulled at it, trying to cover her chest. “Could you stop staring at my chest?”
He shrugged. “Next time you lock yourself to a building, cover up, and don’t forget to bring sunscreen.” He cut through the chains like he wielded a hot knife, and the metal was butter. “What’s your gripe with this building, anyway?”
“It’s not the building, but your boss. Criminals run your company. Changing the corporate name doesn’t mean the people who finance you have changed how they do business.” She rubbed her wrists as the last section fell to the ground.
“I don’t know anything about criminals.”
“Open your eyes.” She cocked her head and stared at him. “Where are you from? Your accent says it’s not from here.”
“New York.”
“Well, Mr. New York. Since we’re handing out free advice today, I suggest you do your homework, Beau.” She said his name as if it tasted bad in her mouth. “The Internet is a wonderful thing. You should try it. You might learn a thing or two.” She stepped over the pile of chains and locks and walked away.
When she was several feet from him, he yelled, “Don’t hurry back!”
She lifted her chin and kept walking. “See you soon.”