“It’s out by twenty percent. Florian checked through the figures.”
Fuck.Jackson swore under his breath. He’d gone over those numbers until they’d swum in front of his eyes.
“Also, the roofing works are due to start on Site Two the week after next, but you’ve booked the roofers in for three weeks’ time.”
“I’ll call and get them swapped over.” Jackson’s knee bounced anxiously beneath the desk.
“It’s already sorted.” His father turned from the window and strolled over to his desk, poking at a pile of paper. “These aren’t the only mistakes that have come to light recently. What’s going on, Jackson?”
God, he wished he had an answer for that.
He’d been putting in longer and longer hours, micromanaging every single order and decision made on each of their current projects. It wasn’t a sustainable way to work and it still wasn’t stopping these errors from creeping in.
“I—”
“Tell you what.” His dad didn’t wait for a reply. “Let’s divide the responsibilities differently for a while. I’d like Florian to take on a wider role, so I’m going to move him into purchases and scheduling. Take some of the heat off you and let you concentrate on research and new business.”
“That could work.” Jackson grappled with mixed emotions. On one hand, the suggestion made sense; he was spread too thin right now. On the other, the feeling of failure grated like a badwheel bearing. He swallowed down the frustration and focused on the relief.
“Let’s give it a try, then, and we’ll see how it goes,” his father grunted. “Just stay away from renovations. Focus on selling Amity Court, and the silent auction. It needs to be a success this year.”
Intent on avoiding another Amity Court diatribe, Jackson pulled his cell from his pocket. “We’ve just had in the newest donations.” He opened a file on his phone and handed it over. “There’s been a good response so far. This is the up-to-date list. I’ll send you a copy.”
The silent auction was fast approaching—Hale Evolution’s annual fundraiser in aid of a charity set up in his brother’s name. They used an event coordinator to take on most of the strain of organizing, though it still required hours of input in the run-up. It was a meaningful way to celebrate Dominic’s life, but Jackson wondered if discussing their actual feelings would have been a better use of his family’s time and effort over the years.
Alistair scanned through the details swiftly and gave a stiff nod. “The helicopter tour should do well. There’s a country club dinner tonight. I’ll drum up some more lots there.”
“Ticket sales don’t look like they’ll be a problem. The venue can take three hundred people and we’re over two hundred already.” Jackson retrieved his phone.
“I want it sold out,” his dad snapped.
“I’m sure it will be.”
Alistair sighed. Stress and discontent laced through the air.
“Your mother’s devastated about you and Niamh. Even more so because she didn’t hear it from you.”
Jackson grimaced and brushed at a mark on the knee of his pants. “I’ve told you a hundred times that we weren’t properly dating. It suited Niamh as much as it suited me for a while, butthat’s over now. You need to give up on the idea that we’ll ever be a couple. I’ll call Mom tonight.”
“Niamh is almost part of the family. You’re making a big mistake letting her go.” His father’s voice was disparaging.
“She’s not part of the family—she’s a friend of the family, and that doesn’t need to change.”
His dad rose to his feet, his mouth a compressed line. “I don’t understand you, Jackson. Sometimes it seems you’re incapable of making logical decisions. I never felt that way with Dominic.”
Jackson stood up and there was a bite to his tone. “Maybe because you never got the chance to deal with each other adult to adult. Dom was only a teenager when he died. You were still making his decisions for him.”
His father ignored that. “I’ll let you know tomorrow if I get any new auction pledges. Call your mother this afternoon—we’re going out at six.”
Back at his own desk, Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose, scrabbling to recall the bone-deep contentment of holding Leah in his arms. How could she make him feel so good when his dad made him feel like shit in the space of five minutes? There was no way he was telling his parents about Leah. Fuck if he’d let his dad’s size elevens crush the tender shoots of this new thing between them.
The weather turned more stifling, the humidity rising to an uncomfortable level. Whenever Jackson set foot outside his office, his shirt stuck to his skin as if he’d put it on straight out of the washer. People wilted, tempers frayed. The city was unbearable.
Forecasters warned of a storm system brewing and it finally hit midweek, with short-lived tornado outbreaks raging overnight and rattling the windows of his condo. In typical capricious Michiganstyle, they blew out in the early hours and disappeared entirely by morning. With a full return to summer sunshine, it might have been as if they’d never happened at all if it weren’t for the call Jackson took from the site manager on his way to work.
He turned the car and changed direction, dialing his father’s number once he’d rerouted.
“I’m heading straight over to the Barnforth site.” He spoke as soon as his dad picked up. “Rufus says the high winds took out one of the cranes last night because the jib was left up. There’s a whole ton of damage—to the crane and the building. Can you look up the insurance details? I’ll call you back when I know more.”
