Page 43 of The Cul-de-Sac War

Nobody in his family was going to mention him, think of him, want to help him at all. Fine.

He could do this on his own. Yes. But it sure was hard to start. And though he’d never mentioned it to them, the savings he’d lost dropping his company and life in Providence cost him dearly. He wasn’t searching for a handout, but his financial situation was dire enough that he had hinted separately to every man in there that if they scouted out a job that didn’t hit the profit margin they wanted, they should pass it along to him. He didn’t have the overhead they had. What they couldn’t do, he could and then some. The favor wouldn’t cost them a penny.

But had any of them thrown him a bone?

Chip pushed the kitchen door open.

“Here ya go, Mom,” he said, then set the gravy boat beside her plate. He smiled down at her. “The potatoes are just as good without it, though.”

She squeezed his hand appreciatively. “Leave it to my son to know just what to say.”

“Chip the smooth-talking salesman,” Pete said. “Our sales are gonna drop 20 percent without him.”

The words were complimentary. The dry tone was not.

Chip pulled out his own chair. It was time to get off the subject of him. “Yeah, so what are you up to these days, Dad? I saw in the paper you all finished the King renovation last month.”

King University was last year’s prize build for McBride Construction, a multimillion-dollar build of a 67,000-square-foot student-center complex. They had declined all other incoming jobs. For the construction companies in the tri-cities area that had garnered those jobs, it was a banner year. Not that there were many in the new-construction business. Anderson Builds, Gilbane, ACL Construction, and of course, now, his.

“Speaking of, Dad,” Will interjected. “I saw your memo about the Barter bid. You can’t be serious about passing on it.”

Chip’s shoulders tensed. He turned his attention to his father.

The man shook his head. “Richardson’s too unpredictable. It’d be a waste of our time for something he’ll probably end up giving to his cat nanny or some other oddball he meets on the street. And anyway, even if we did get the job, he’d have us hopping on one foot the whole time working out change orders.”

“Yes, but a profit margin on a project like that . . . ,” Will replied.

His father shook his head and started to stand. “Let some other shmuck in this town be his lap dog.”

“For his multimillion-dollar project,” Will added.

His father paused.

“At least two,” Will said.

Slowly, he straightened. “Two million? But the building can’t be more than fifteen thousand square feet. And it already looks sharp as a tack.”

Will shrugged as if to say plenty of upscale clients spent massive amounts of money remodeling kitchens already covered in luxury granite.

His father swung his chin toward the kitchen, plates in hand. “Walk with me, Willy. What have you pulled together?”

Will jumped up and followed him into the kitchen. “Well, the way I see it, we’re looking at being able to charge $150 a square foot at the very least. The demo alone should be upwards . . .”

Two million. Chip set his fork down. There wasn’t a bank this side of the Mississippi that would offer him that kind of a credit line.

Conversation rose around him, but he was pulled into his own thoughts as he stood with his plate and moved toward the kitchen. He didn’t have a shot in the world. And really, why on earth should he?

Redpoint had been licensed and insured a total of thirty-one days. To some extent his brother had been right; he would need to work up the ladder—whether in his dad’s company or his own. He didn’t have a right to be disappointed. The Barter job was just a dream.

Ashleigh put her hand on Chip’s shoulder, and he turned. “Don’t you think that would be nice, Chip? Tuesday the ninth?”

“Hmm?” His mother and Ashleigh were both smiling as though they’d hatched the best plan. “What for the ninth?”

“The Plein Air event with the William King Museum. You know, the one she’s on the board for.”

“Sorry, Ash,” Chip said, a distracted eye lingering on the swinging kitchen door. “You’ll have to be more specific. My mother is on the board for everything in this town.”

Ashleigh gave a conceding tinkle of a laugh, as though she aspired to the same lot in life. “The Plein Air event is the art event. It’s a fundraiser for the Barter renovation. She says a slew of artists will be painting along the Creeper Trail, and people can walk through and see all the fine art before it’s displayed at the King Museum. Sounds like every art enthusiast in town will be there. It might be fun, don’t you think?” She slid her arm around his. “Bundled up together, strolling along the Creeper, watching the artists create all those one-of-a-kind works.” Her voice gained an even silkier tone. “I think it sounds romantic.”