“Boss, you’re late. This chick is screaming her head off about some demo that needs to be done, and me and the guys are waiting for ya.”
Bowie let the words sink in as reality slapped him in the face. Brooklyn was back to do a job, nothing more. She hadn’t come back to make amends or make up for lost time. She was here to work. “Fuck,” he grumbled. If Bowie wanted the job at the inn, he had to get his sorry ass out of bed and get moving. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Brooklyn would pull the plug on his company where this project was concerned. “I’m on my way.”
It took Bowie twenty minutes to dress, feed Luke, and toss a few aspirin down his throat. He needed more sleep, gallons of coffee, and for the ringing in his head to stop. He wasn’t prepared to deal with Brooklyn, not today. He could barely function, let alone move enough to lift a hammer or think quickly. The ton of bricks pushing against his temple reminded him that he was old—much too old to get drunk.
For a moment, he wished Luke were human so he could drive him over to the inn and maybe do his job or make important decisions for him. Or at least a pack mule so he could carry things for him. Luke was neither. What he was, was eager and proudly sitting next to Bowie as they made their way through town.
Cars lined the road leading to the inn, more than Bowie expected to be there. He tried to recall his meeting yesterday, wondering if he had missed something important, like a change in plans. He was sure he hadn’t. He tried to pull into the driveway, but a bulldozer dumping old concrete into a dumpster blocked him. He would have to walk, which wasn’t a problem for him but was for Luke. He didn’t want his dog to get hurt. There was no way Luke would stay in the truck, leaving him no option but to put him on a leash.
At the front of the inn, his crew lingered in the driveway—or what used to be the driveway. There were piles of lumber, drywall, and piping and spools of wire lined up along the side. He hadn’t ordered any of this and instantly felt his blood start to boil. Brooklyn had overstepped, and he would have to put her in her place. Before he could even move to find her, she yelled out his name.
“Bowie, you’re late. Not just a few minutes late, but hours late, and that’s not acceptable.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I don’t like excuses. What I do like is progress, and right now your crew is behind. We have a timeline to keep, and if I have to, I’ll set a deadline. I’ve never missed one, and I’m not about to start because you can’t get your shit together and be at work on time!” She was in his face, looking up at him. He could see how she could be menacing to someone who didn’t know her so well. To some, she was probably a bitch, but her reviews said otherwise. Everyone loved working with her; however, at this point in time, all he wanted to do was pick her up and toss her into the ocean to cool her fiery temper. “And you stink. I can’t believe you showed up hungover. What is wrong with you? Carly needs this. It’s the least we can do for her.” Her voice was quiet. He thought for a moment that she was trying to spare him some embarrassment.
“Rough night,” he muttered.
She scoffed. “Get your shit together or you’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me. Carly hired me, not you.”
This made her laugh, which pissed him off even more. She didn’t bother with a response. She wouldn’t need to. Deep down he knew she was right. It wouldn’t matter who hired him; she was Brooklyn Hewett, and she got whatever she wanted. If that meant he had to grovel to make sure he wasn’t out of a job, so be it—he knew he couldn’t lose this opportunity, no matter how difficult it was going to be. He watched her walk back into the house, flipping him the bird as she did, and then glanced at his crew, who were looking everywhere but directly at him. She hadn’t needed to embarrass him. He was doing fine with that all on his own. He hated her more now than he had yesterday, when his life was just complicated. Now it was downright messy. There was no other way to spin it: Brooklyn was back, she was in charge, and he had to be at her beck and call . . . something he wasn’t looking forward to.