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“Nope. Have a good day, Noah.”
It’s a simple phrase, but I can feel the tightness between us. Okay, I guess I’ll deal with that later.
When I get into my office, I open my computer to finally address the twenty-seven angry emails about the Hawaii job.
There are some from the contractors saying if we switch materials this far into the project, they won’t be held responsible for cosmetic differences, some from the suppliers demanding we give them more time to get the materials in since they’ll need to be custom made for us, and even more from the investors who are still pissed at me that I wasn’t there to discuss the changes in person.
Now they’re demanding I upgrade several other materials to account for the delay, and doing so will dramatically reduce profits because of the increase in startup costs.
As I type a response to the investors first, my phone rings, and low and behold, it’s Mark Pielier, one of the largest backers of the luxury property since the beginning.
“Mark. I was just writing you back.”
I stand from my desk, beginning to pace back and forth, which has become a habit for all my calls at this point.
“You need to up your game, Steele. I want this thing done and done right. I won’t let you delay the launch.”
Mark is a decade older than me, putting him in this weird space between being my peer and an elder. But everything he does comes from a place of loftiness.
He looks down on everyone, so I don’t take it personally, but the guy has a way of getting under my skin that makes me dread any phone call from him, even the good ones.
And this is not a good one.
“I don’t want to delay the launch any more than you do. We have a huge grand opening planned, and days of labor only add to the bill. That’s why I don’t think we should go with another swap. The material issue we have now is enough of a concern. We don’t need to be bringing in more new products.”
I can practically feel the man staring a hole through the phone.
“This resort is supposed to be top of the line, tits out and rocking from day one. Can you guarantee me we’re going to impress the celebs with what we got going? Because I want Jay Fucking Z at this fucking resort.”
Closing my eyes, I suck in a breath and try to mask the absolute disdain I have for this man behind my practiced professionalism.
"Yes, Mark. It’s not the pipe fittings Jay’s going to care about. Resorts are about amenities and interior swag. There’s no shortage of incredible stops we’re pulling out for the features and services Soleil Radieux will offer.”
Silence hangs on the line, and my pacing comes to a pause before the huge window that overlooks the city.
“Figure out this material issue. Email me when it’s done. Then schedule yourself a trip to get your ass down here.”
He hangs up, and honestly, it’s the best I can hope for. I plop down in my chair with a sigh, and no sooner do I set down my phone when it rings again.
I check the caller ID and see it’s Dwight. He had the joy of meeting with the investors about all this, and no doubt, is calling to tear me a new one.
“Dwight. I just got off the phone with Mark. He’s settled. For now, anyway.”
“He fucking better be.” I can feel Dwight’s anger through my cell. “I got my ass creamed by those assholes holding the purse strings. Let me remind you that the reason I keep working on your projects is because of you, and if these guys keep it up, I’m going to have to seriously reconsider that.”
“I got you. I do. I’m going to try to get down there for a face-to-face as soon as possible.”
The pacing starts again, this time stopping near my office bar, and I strongly consider breaking my no drinks before noon rule.
“How’d you even let the material issue get to me anyway? You’re usually on top of that shit.”
I clench my jaw. I know exactly why it got this far.
“Look, man, I’m…I’m not saying this for pity, so fuck off with that. I’m going through a divorce, so I’m a little distracted right now.”
Dwight actually pauses on his end, and that lets me know he’s considering the reveal with the amount of gravity I intended. I don’t mix personal and business, and that credo has been especially important since Henry and Natasha.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. What happened?”
