“That’s all I got,” I said.
“Good,” Patrick murmured. “Nothing to report on the intern front. Shannon is meeting with accounting and payroll providers to get that off her plate, and we’re looking at candidates for another assistant for her. Someone to support marketing and publicity, and all that shit.”
“Nothing to report on the intern front because Patrick is literally impossible to please,” she said. “We’ve met nine perfectly pleasant candidates.”
“We’ve met nine morons,” Patrick said, scowling. “Bring me someone who can spell sustainable preservation, and I’ll consider it. We’re not talking about this right now, Shannon.”
“Wow. Shit just got real,” Riley said.
“You have a decent design. Now you have to stop with the quippy catchphrases,” Sam said. “Expand your lexicon.”
“Hate the game, not the player,” he scolded with a wink.
*
From: Matthew Walsh
To: Erin Walsh
Date: October 13 at 11:25 EDT
Subject: answer your phone
E–
I need you sorting me out right now. Call me. Whenever.
M
*
“If we blowout this wall, we get all the natural light from the front windows, and the flow of the space completely changes.” Riley gestured to the dusty parlor windows with one hand and pointed to the adjacent wall with the other. “I think natural light is the best asset of this one.”
I paced from the windows to the back of the Bunker Hill property, mentally calling up the blueprints and scanning the space for load-bearing walls. “While I agree with that, I’m concerned about structural support without that wall. Original plans seem to indicate it supports the second and third floors.”
“Which is why we need to move the staircase. Here, look.” Riley spread his latest draft on the window seat and pointed to several new arteries of steel. “Struts here, here, and here.”
“That’s a lot of steel,” I murmured. “What’s Angus thinking for a budget on these properties?”
Riley cleared his throat and rolled up his drafts, tucking them into his cylindrical canister. “Half million, all in. He’s not talking about where that kind of scratch came from. I’d rather not be implicated in the affairs between him and his bookie, so I’m not about to ask.”
I whistled, my palm running along the recently discovered carvings in the arched doorway to the parlor. I couldn’t understand the logic behind covering such fine craftsmanship with shitty composite wood paneling, hiding it for decades, but underneath it all, these properties were hidden gems waiting for someone to understand their structures, put in the work, peel back the layers, and honor their original beauty. As much as I hated giving Angus credit for anything beyond taking up space, these were incredible finds.
“By all means, load up the steel. That’s going to double the timeline, though. We’ll want to save a lot of this.” I waved my hand at the exposed brick walls and plaster detailing around the windows. “Let’s get White’s crew in here next week. They’re the best at gentle demo. We’ll want to supervise, too. I’m thinking we’re going to find more when we start tearing out walls.”
“These plans, they’re good? You’d tell me if I needed to fix something, right?”
“I would tell you.” I gestured toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. It’s freezing.”
Riley followed me to the Range Rover. “Does it make sense to get rid of the parlor if we’re restoring this property? Wouldn’t a restoration preserve the original design? Sometimes I don’t think I understand what we do and if I’m doing it right.”
I swiped my phone to life and waited for the airline’s app to load while I considered Riley’s question. I typed in Lauren’s flight information and stifled a groan when I saw it delayed by ninety minutes. At the same moment, she texted.
16:39 Lauren:hey. Not getting in until 1015 now. crazy day getting crazier.
16:40 Matthew:yeah, I just saw that. Are you ok?
16:41 Lauren:yes. hold on tight for this: woke up late. put on the wrong suit coat and I’m rocking black pants and a navy jacket. got salad dressing on my silk shirt. tripped because I’m wearing the wrong shoes with these pants and grabbed some lady’s boob to break my fall.
