Grumpy Best Friend

“Is this thing safe?” I asked.

“What, the truck?” He patted the dash affectionately. “Old Stallion’s given me a lot of good miles.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course you named your truck. You’re exactly the kind of guy that would name his truck.”

“If you mean the kind of guy that is sophisticated and awesome, then thank you.”

“I did not mean that,” I said, leaning back against the seat. I glanced at him as we headed into Center City. He wore comfortable jeans and a decent half-zip sweatshirt with the logo of his construction company on the chest, a blooming rose. It was a little ostentatious, but it stood out among all the other construction crews, with their bulldozers and their hammers. He always did have a clever eye for marketing. “And aren’t you kind of rich?” I asked. “I mean, why even drive this thing?”

He smiled a little bit and slowed down to stop at a light. “I thought we were pretending like we didn’t know each other,” he said. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t ask some new work associate that kind of question.”

I gave him a pointed look. “And I thought we agreed to put all that behind us.”

He laughed and waved me off. “All right, fine. I guess I don’t believe in waste. I bought Stallion with my first real paycheck out of college and I never gave her up.”

“Ah,” I said, looking away. College, of course, that place he left me for—that place that changed both our lives.

We didn’t talk again for a little while, and I think he intuited my mood shift.

I wanted to control it and move on. If we were going to be partners, I couldn’t break down every time he mentioned something that reminded me of the past and all the resentment I carried for him over the years. I knew I was being whiny and a little difficult, and I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, before breaking the silence again as he turned down a side street and began heading toward the river.

“So how did you end up in construction?” I asked, trying to keep my tone as casual as I could.

He kept his eyes on the road. “Stumbled into it,” he said. “Met Neal and we sort of got involved, you know, building stuff, and we lucked into a few big contracts. Things blew up from there. Neal’s got a knack for accounting, and I’ve got a knack for marketing.”

“I bet you do,” I said, smiling a little bit. “You’re the face and he’s the brains.”

“I’m the brains and the face,” he corrected. “And Neal’s also the brains.”

I laughed and sank down deeper into the seat. He slowed as he reached Columbus Boulevard and turned left, heading north, then pulled into the parking lot of a squat three-story building with lots of windows and a red brick facade. It looked new, likely built in the last few years. The trees and shrubs were perfectly manicured, and the parking lot was half empty. A big sign announced office space for rent.

I frowned a little bit, looking around. “There’s not much out here,” I said.

“True,” he said, and pushed his door open. “But the place is nice and we can afford the rent.”

He got out and I followed. The front lobby was marble and our footsteps echoed as we took the stairs up to the third floor. “No elevators?” I asked, frowning at each step.

“Ah, come on, Judey, you can handle the climb,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

I winced at that nickname. He used to call me that all the time—but I hadn’t heard it in a long time. He seemed to realized what he’d done, and turned forward again without another word. We reached the top and walked to the back left corner and through a large door with a frosted glass window to its left.

The office space was surprisingly nice. The carpets were new and clearly nobody had moved in yet. The place smelled fresh, like cleaning products and a strange whiff of mint. He gestured around the empty main area, with plenty of space for cubes. “We’d keep the main staff here,” he said. “I’m thinking we’ll need maybe forty employees, something around there.”

“What got you to that number?” I asked, drifting toward the windows. There was a good view of the waterfront and New Jersey on the other side.

“Rough math,” he said. “Estimates.”

“So you’re guessing,” I said, turning around, arms crossed. “I’ve actually been building a business plan, and I think we can get away with half that.”

He laughed and shook his head—then seemed to catch himself, and his smile faded. “If you say so,” he said, and walked away toward the offices that ringed the inner section.

I glared at his back. I had a feeling I knew how this little supposed partnership was going to go. I’d make suggestions and he’d laugh at them, since he’s the big, successful businessman, and I’m an assistant that’s been given the chance of a lifetime.