That’s another thing I like about being here, under the McGuinty Overpass: Ulric and the others don’t care who I am or what I do. Sure, they may tease me about my fancy suit from time to time, but at the end of the day, I’m just the same as them, another guy working on a wood project. A wood project that, once it’s finished, should provide shelter for around 20 homeless men.
“How’s it coming along, boys?” I ask.
Harry pops his head out of the tent to knock two bottles together. “Ain’t get shit done when you aren’t here, ya know.”
“Now…” Marlow protests, pausing between two cigarettes to wag an admonishing wrinkled finger. “We did adjust it, now.”
I chuckle, walking over. “No worries.”
The structure is about three quarters done, a bunch of pine boards and nails that don’t go far in their current state yet are still better than what these poor guys are living in now: old, stinking tents that are one rip away from being a pile of useless fabric.
The bag of tools is where I left it, so I get to work, hammering away at the boards, losing myself in the bliss of being actually useful.
“Imagine seeing you here,” a familiar voice purrs.
I keep on hammering away, hoping beyond hope that she’ll go away.
But Amelia Cavendish only switches which hip she has her hand on. “You going to make me stand here all day?”
“I’m busy.”
“And I told you, I can help.”
I pause, already knowing this is going nowhere. “Amelia.”
She bites her lip. “I could help with… moral support?”
I shake my head. “Not in the mood.”
“Maybe I like charity work too, ever consider? God, you’re such a conceited prick.”
I look at her, deadpan. I don’t mention how the only times she’s been here are when I have, conveniently because this area is visible from her office window. Nor do I mention how our fling a few months back is done, how we have virtually nothing else in common. I don’t need to.
“Amelia, this has to stop,” I tell her.
“Fine,” she hisses, tossing her Coke can to the side.
The boys have the decency to hold in their chuckling until she’s several feet away.
“Fuck you, Greyson Storm!” she yells over them as she storms off.
“Guys,” I say over their hooting laughter now, “can’t you…”
“We didn’t say anything,” Harry protests. “Just like you said!”
Last time, after Ulric’s innocent ‘nice skirt’ compliment had Amelia threatening to sue, I’d suggested to the guys that it might be easier to keep it down until she, inevitably, left.
My phone goes off.
It’s Madeline. “Greyson, thank God.” She sounds terrible, like she’s just finished running a 10K and has a runny nose to boot.
“You OK?” I ask.
By the sound of it, my assistant might need a vacation to recover from her vacation to Costa Rica. She was just supposed to go to Corcovado National Park’s rainforest to make sure all was running smoothly after we lost contact for a few days, but…
“No, no I’m not, actually. Everyone here has the dengue fever. I… uh… I have it too.”
“Shit. Where is everyone? Did they manage to make it to the hospital? Are you OK?”
“I’m fine, don’t have it too bad, just this fever and a bit of vomiting. As for the others, they’ve booked the next flight out of here. Decker walked out yesterday.”
“Shit.” Suddenly realizing that I’ve been pacing, I stop dead in my tracks. I knew that guy was off the first second I met him, just passed off my uneasiness as wanting to be in the producer chair myself. “So StormTV has no crew.”
“Well—” Another low groan. “Yes. I’m so sorry, Mr. Storm.”
A sick urge to laugh twists in me. “Thank you, Madeline,” I’m able to make myself say. “Is there anything you need?”
“No, I’m fine, really. Thank you.”
She speaks with a careful clip, but I can still hear the anxiety in her voice.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, with more assurance than I feel. “I’ll get this sorted out. I’ll have a new crew there in days. As for you, you get home and rest as long as you need.”
“Good luck, boss. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“You just concentrate on getting better. Thanks again.”
I freeze, staring off into space.
Shit.
First Dad dying, and now this. StormTV is a major moneymaker for Storm Media. Without it…
I don’t let myself finish that sentence.
“That bad?” Ulric asks.
“Yeah, I… I’m sorry, boys, I have to go.”
Harry grins lopsidedly. “Don’t be all sorry. We’ll be here when you have time.”
On my way back to the office, I call up Landon, tell him, “We have a problem.”
**
They’re all waiting in my office when I get there.
“You’re lucky I felt like a stroll downtown,” Emerson says, running a hand through his golden hair, blue eyes narrowed. “Otherwise you’d have had to wait a good hour until I was done practicing.”