She looks almost disappointed.“Huh.”
“I fix what people ignore—until it becomes a problem.”
She looks back at the house—the sagging porch, the crooked gutter, the cracked step she almost trusts.
“Then you’ll be busy.Seems like everything got ignored.”
“Not everything,” I say, before I can stop myself.
She doesn’t catch it.Or pretends not to.She plants her hands on her hips and surveys the battlefield.
“Do you have a card?”
I don’t.Cards are for men who need the work.I write my number on the back of a hardware store receipt and hand it to her.
She takes it, thumb brushing over the ink like she is testing it.
“Rates?”
“Depends what you want,” I say.
She glances up sharply.I realize how that sounds.Social filters aren’t my strong suit.
“Depends on the job,” I correct.“I’m fair.”
“You decide what’s fair?”
“No,” I say.“The work does.”
6
Marin
“The work decides what’s fair.”
I almost laugh.
Men like him always think fairness is a natural law.As if labor equals virtue.As if the world’s ever paid out based on effort instead of optics.But I don’t argue.I just fold the receipt, slide it into my pocket like it’s something I asked for, and pretend this exchange hasn’t already taken too long.
That’s when it happens.Again.
Behind me, something shifts.
It’s small, but not nothing.A scrape.A dull knock.Weight moving where it shouldn’t.
It lands like a pinprick at the base of my spine.But I don’t turn around.
He glances toward the trailer.
I shift my weight to block his line of sight, then shimmy out of my jacket.Luke’s attention is already drifting back to the porch, to the rot, to the work, to me shrugging off my top layer of clothing.Men like him need something tangible to stare at or they start asking questions.
“Unpacking that mess is going to be a nightmare.Should have listened to my mother and just hired someone…”
He considers that.Shrugs.Doesn’t argue.
Good.I don’t need him curious.
What he doesn’t know is I’m excellent at logistics.I always have been.I run the kind of chaos that would break most people—actors with god complexes, agents with vendettas, clients who need constant handling to stay upright.
