he’d have to make the largest crew available to the obdurate Ms. Travers, if only to save himself a few migraines.
Meanwhile, one week into the job and some newcomer named Ellis Strathmore had his best foreman swigging directly from a bottle of pink antacid. Unflappable Marco, who’d worked with Simon for years, kept mumbling about the wacky lady who kept phoning him—he had no idea how she’d gotten his cell number—questioning the experience of his crew, telling him how to do his job. No, Marco assured Simon, she didn’t yell or make demands like the Travers woman, always said “please”, “thank you” and “sorry to bother you”, but how was he supposed to get his work done with her constantly phoning?
“And now,” Marco moaned, “she called to say there is something wrong with the floor! We just finished the floor to her exact specifications! What can this woman possibly want?”
Simon had never met, nor heard of, Ellis Strathmore, but promised Marco he would have a word with her.
“Leave it with me, Marco. As soon as I’m done installing these in Cynthia’s closet, I’ll go have a word with Miss Strathmore.”
“Thank you,” Marco said gratefully. “I’ve never before worked with a woman who makes me so dizzy!”
“No problem,” Simon said, hauling a box of cedar panels onto his shoulder for the trip up the stairs. “Oh Marco, one more thing. We seem to have an inventory problem. Let’s meet later this afternoon to go over the onsite supplies.”
Simon couldn’t understand why his crews were experiencing shortages on everything from lumber to tiles. They’d built this house on time, on spec and under budget but this past week saw his paperwork go from organized to exasperating. He needed to get to the bottom of this. Simon trusted his workers, trusted their skill and integrity, so the problems must stem from human error. Hopefully Marco would have some answers.
The issue of the inventory was all but forgotten as he fit the brownish-red tongue-and-groove panels together against the rear wall of the walk-in closet in the master bedroom. He drank in the rich woodsy smell. It reminded him of the cedar chest his mother kept in her bedroom. She opened it twice per year to exchange the heavy winter bedding with the lighter blankets. As a special treat when he was a child, Mom let him fall asleep in their bed so he would be surrounded by the spicy, earthy smell, before his father’s strong arms ferried him back to his own bedroom.
Simon sighed as he headed in Ellis’ direction. He hated confrontation but he needed to nip this situation in the bud before it got out of hand. Marco always did fine—no, excellent work, and Simon was eager to see the exotic Brazilian cherry floor that Miss Strathmore apparently had issues with. Even as he approached the office door he could see the glow of golden luster beneath the reddish brown wood. Gorgeous. So warm you wanted to reach out and stroke it.
He crossed the threshold mentally prepared for a face-to-face confrontation with a raving harridan. Instead, Simon found a perfectly shaped denim-covered bottom poking up into the air.
“Ahem,” Simon cleared his throat loudly.
Ellis was on her hands and knees in the corner, her eyes level to the floor as if lining up a perfect putt. “There’s a dent here,” she said, pointing at a spot on the floor. “Did Marco send you to fix it?”
“No, I came to—”
“Here! Come and see.” Ellis didn’t want to hear his excuses, she wanted the spot acknowledged and fixed.
Reluctantly, Simon lowered himself to the hardwood floor until he was almost nose-to-nose with Ellis.
“Where?”
“There, see?” she asked, running her finger over a small nick in the wood. “It’s got to be fixed.”
“Uh…lady? Aren’t you putting built-ins across this wall?”
Ellis met his gaze, only inches away. For a split second, she was
Meanwhile, one week into the job and some newcomer named Ellis Strathmore had his best foreman swigging directly from a bottle of pink antacid. Unflappable Marco, who’d worked with Simon for years, kept mumbling about the wacky lady who kept phoning him—he had no idea how she’d gotten his cell number—questioning the experience of his crew, telling him how to do his job. No, Marco assured Simon, she didn’t yell or make demands like the Travers woman, always said “please”, “thank you” and “sorry to bother you”, but how was he supposed to get his work done with her constantly phoning?
“And now,” Marco moaned, “she called to say there is something wrong with the floor! We just finished the floor to her exact specifications! What can this woman possibly want?”
Simon had never met, nor heard of, Ellis Strathmore, but promised Marco he would have a word with her.
“Leave it with me, Marco. As soon as I’m done installing these in Cynthia’s closet, I’ll go have a word with Miss Strathmore.”
“Thank you,” Marco said gratefully. “I’ve never before worked with a woman who makes me so dizzy!”
“No problem,” Simon said, hauling a box of cedar panels onto his shoulder for the trip up the stairs. “Oh Marco, one more thing. We seem to have an inventory problem. Let’s meet later this afternoon to go over the onsite supplies.”
Simon couldn’t understand why his crews were experiencing shortages on everything from lumber to tiles. They’d built this house on time, on spec and under budget but this past week saw his paperwork go from organized to exasperating. He needed to get to the bottom of this. Simon trusted his workers, trusted their skill and integrity, so the problems must stem from human error. Hopefully Marco would have some answers.
The issue of the inventory was all but forgotten as he fit the brownish-red tongue-and-groove panels together against the rear wall of the walk-in closet in the master bedroom. He drank in the rich woodsy smell. It reminded him of the cedar chest his mother kept in her bedroom. She opened it twice per year to exchange the heavy winter bedding with the lighter blankets. As a special treat when he was a child, Mom let him fall asleep in their bed so he would be surrounded by the spicy, earthy smell, before his father’s strong arms ferried him back to his own bedroom.
Simon sighed as he headed in Ellis’ direction. He hated confrontation but he needed to nip this situation in the bud before it got out of hand. Marco always did fine—no, excellent work, and Simon was eager to see the exotic Brazilian cherry floor that Miss Strathmore apparently had issues with. Even as he approached the office door he could see the glow of golden luster beneath the reddish brown wood. Gorgeous. So warm you wanted to reach out and stroke it.
He crossed the threshold mentally prepared for a face-to-face confrontation with a raving harridan. Instead, Simon found a perfectly shaped denim-covered bottom poking up into the air.
“Ahem,” Simon cleared his throat loudly.
Ellis was on her hands and knees in the corner, her eyes level to the floor as if lining up a perfect putt. “There’s a dent here,” she said, pointing at a spot on the floor. “Did Marco send you to fix it?”
“No, I came to—”
“Here! Come and see.” Ellis didn’t want to hear his excuses, she wanted the spot acknowledged and fixed.
Reluctantly, Simon lowered himself to the hardwood floor until he was almost nose-to-nose with Ellis.
“Where?”
“There, see?” she asked, running her finger over a small nick in the wood. “It’s got to be fixed.”
“Uh…lady? Aren’t you putting built-ins across this wall?”
Ellis met his gaze, only inches away. For a split second, she was
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