What the fuck did he do, now?
His brothers were expecting that they had a new employee.
Maybe…?
Could he have one of them call to straighten things out? Lord knows ifhetried, he’d probably end up alienating Jett even more.
Since there was certainly nothing he could do about it, right now, for what it was worth, he needed to get on with his day. That would start by him driving all of the vintage diving gear to the shop, then losing himself while placing the best of the best items in their windows.
Trask had also promised his father that he’d start at the lumber mill later this afternoon, looking over the books and meeting all the employees for the part time, managerial duties he’d end up taking.
Good.It looked like he might not have to think about all the Jett shit anytime soon if he could keep himself busy.
It was a plan.
Two hours later,inside Diver Downeast, Trask was deep into making executive decisions about what equipment to save for a possible museum and what to put on display immediately, when Sheila came walking in, followed by two dogs.
That’s right. She was taking care of Spence and Tabbi’s lab, Duck, as well as Buck’s poodle mix, Cooper, while his sibs and Tab were still engaged with classes. Not that Tabitha’s sister didn’t look pleased with her charges. It was simply hard to tell from the normal, neutral expression she always wore.
Sheila was a genius, but also very much on the spectrum, so you never knew what you were going to get with her.
Still, she ran the office with a tight precision that they’d all truly come to appreciate.
“Good morning, Sheila,” Trask called out to her.
“Where’s the new employee? The new employee. Jett DeLuca?” Sheila inquired without giving him a preliminary greeting.
Trask sighed. His siblings must have told her about Jett. “I, uh, think she might have changed her mind about working with us and flew home.”
“Not what Spence said. Spence said she was excited to be employed here. Spence said to get her set up in the system.”
Trask was suddenly hit with an epiphany; a great fucking idea.
“You know what, Sheila? Maybe you should call her. Find out her intentions. If she’s still interested in the job, you can take down all her information. That way you’ll already have the ball rolling when she comes back.”
It was devious, and a little cowardly to have Sheila make the call, and Trask knew it. But he needed to find out the state of Jett’s mind, and this seemed to be the best way.
Not knowing of Trask’s manipulations, Sheila walked directly to the desk they’d set up for her, sat down, and woke up her computer.
“Randal DeLuca,” she stated, staring at the screen. “I have his contact information. Randal. I’ll call him first.”
“Uh, that’s not necessary. I have Jett’s number if you want to contact her directly.” Trask had entered the frustrating woman’s contact info into his phone when she’d first texted him, back when he’d thought that maybe she was a dude.
Cripes, had he been mistaken about that.
“Give it to me,” Sheila demanded.
Trask rattled it off, knowing Sheila’s steel-trap of a brain would commit the digits to memory, then he shamelessly set aside a copper diving helmet he’d been handling, to listen in.
“Hello. This is Sheila at Diver Downeast. I was expecting you this morning, and now you’re not here. You’re not here,” she repeated. “Are you coming back?”
Try as he might, Trask couldn’t hear anything being said to Sheila, and it bugged the shit out of him. He wanted to know if Jett was ripping him a new one to their office manager, or if she was making vague excuses that would get him off the hook.
“Yes. I understand. I’ll tell Spencer.”
Another pause ensued.
“Of course I will,” Sheila stated in response to something. “I will. Let me write it down.”
