soonest, more likely early April.”
“They’re doing foundation.” Warren points across the street, where a build company I will not name is blithely setting up concrete forms.
“Mr. Manning, I can’t speak to other companies’ practices. But I can assure you that the chances you take when you dig and pour in winter, especially a brutally cold winter, are not worth the small gain in timing. Work in winter is a snail’s pace at best; workers have to be bundled up and can’t move very well, and have to take frequent breaks to warm up. You have to not work at all when there is snow and ice or bitter cold, but you have to pay the workers for their time anyway when there are weather delays. There’s the risk of the concrete not setting properly, and cracking when the weather warms up, which would mean a life of leaking and potential flooding in your basement, not to mention structural instability for the house. We want to build you something of the highest quality, and because of that we want to be sure that the most important part of this build, the infrastructure, is done under optimal conditions to prevent future problems. I assure you, we will take these next couple of months to perfect the design, to research and hire the best people for the job at the best prices, and to secure all the permits. A great build is eighty percent planning and twenty percent execution. When the weather is ready for us to get started, we’ll have an amazing plan in place and hit the ground running.”
“Harrumph,” Warren grumbles.
“Hmmm,” Susie groans. They both look constipated, and glare at me as if I’m the specific blockage.
I keep smiling. One thing about MacMurphy, the client is always right. Especially the very wealthy ones. “Is there anything else I can do for you both this morning?” I say, maybe a bit more brusquely than I would have if my sleep hadn’t been interrupted.
“I think not,” Warren says, and escorts Susie back to their long Mercedes sedan.
Good grief. No point in heading back home. I decide just to go to the office. At least at this hour it will be quiet, and I can get some work done.
H ey, Annlucka?” A new Barbie clicks on my door with long acrylic fingernails. Apparently Spinner Barbie got a new gig hocking pharmaceuticals, so she has been replaced with a new one, who is about eleven feet tall with legs up to her ears, and everything she owns is bedazzled in crystals, long rhinestone chandelier earrings dangling in her platinum tresses, a big necklace of enormous sparkers gently lying on her heaving bosom. I call her Disco Ball Barbie. “Mac and Murph want to see you in the conference room.”
I look up, stretching my shoulders. I’ve been eyeball-deep in bids and budgets since I got here at a quarter to eight, and now it’s nearly one. I even forgot to stop for lunch, a fact my growling stomach is now quick to remind me. I grab my water bottle, hoping the hydration will stop the audible rumbling, and head over to the glass-walled conference room.
Mac and Murph are inside, and looking grim. The Mannings are with them.
“Hello, Anneke, please take a seat.” I walk around the table and take the chair Murph has gestured to, facing the tribunal. As I sit down, I see Liam on the other side of the glass, mugging and waving a finger at me, shaking his head and showing that he knows I’m in some sort of trouble. Which means that Murph must have said something. It irks me to no end that not only have I apparently put my foot in it again, but that the peanut gallery was consulted. I hate when people talk about me behind my back. I’m absolutely the last person to gossip about anyone, ever, and it always feels like such an invasion to be certain that Murph is telling his idiot cousin every bad thing he thinks about me.
“Anneke, the Mannings are a little concerned about having you head up this project. So we thought we should all sit down and go over things, get everyone on the same
“They’re doing foundation.” Warren points across the street, where a build company I will not name is blithely setting up concrete forms.
“Mr. Manning, I can’t speak to other companies’ practices. But I can assure you that the chances you take when you dig and pour in winter, especially a brutally cold winter, are not worth the small gain in timing. Work in winter is a snail’s pace at best; workers have to be bundled up and can’t move very well, and have to take frequent breaks to warm up. You have to not work at all when there is snow and ice or bitter cold, but you have to pay the workers for their time anyway when there are weather delays. There’s the risk of the concrete not setting properly, and cracking when the weather warms up, which would mean a life of leaking and potential flooding in your basement, not to mention structural instability for the house. We want to build you something of the highest quality, and because of that we want to be sure that the most important part of this build, the infrastructure, is done under optimal conditions to prevent future problems. I assure you, we will take these next couple of months to perfect the design, to research and hire the best people for the job at the best prices, and to secure all the permits. A great build is eighty percent planning and twenty percent execution. When the weather is ready for us to get started, we’ll have an amazing plan in place and hit the ground running.”
“Harrumph,” Warren grumbles.
“Hmmm,” Susie groans. They both look constipated, and glare at me as if I’m the specific blockage.
I keep smiling. One thing about MacMurphy, the client is always right. Especially the very wealthy ones. “Is there anything else I can do for you both this morning?” I say, maybe a bit more brusquely than I would have if my sleep hadn’t been interrupted.
“I think not,” Warren says, and escorts Susie back to their long Mercedes sedan.
Good grief. No point in heading back home. I decide just to go to the office. At least at this hour it will be quiet, and I can get some work done.
H ey, Annlucka?” A new Barbie clicks on my door with long acrylic fingernails. Apparently Spinner Barbie got a new gig hocking pharmaceuticals, so she has been replaced with a new one, who is about eleven feet tall with legs up to her ears, and everything she owns is bedazzled in crystals, long rhinestone chandelier earrings dangling in her platinum tresses, a big necklace of enormous sparkers gently lying on her heaving bosom. I call her Disco Ball Barbie. “Mac and Murph want to see you in the conference room.”
I look up, stretching my shoulders. I’ve been eyeball-deep in bids and budgets since I got here at a quarter to eight, and now it’s nearly one. I even forgot to stop for lunch, a fact my growling stomach is now quick to remind me. I grab my water bottle, hoping the hydration will stop the audible rumbling, and head over to the glass-walled conference room.
Mac and Murph are inside, and looking grim. The Mannings are with them.
“Hello, Anneke, please take a seat.” I walk around the table and take the chair Murph has gestured to, facing the tribunal. As I sit down, I see Liam on the other side of the glass, mugging and waving a finger at me, shaking his head and showing that he knows I’m in some sort of trouble. Which means that Murph must have said something. It irks me to no end that not only have I apparently put my foot in it again, but that the peanut gallery was consulted. I hate when people talk about me behind my back. I’m absolutely the last person to gossip about anyone, ever, and it always feels like such an invasion to be certain that Murph is telling his idiot cousin every bad thing he thinks about me.
“Anneke, the Mannings are a little concerned about having you head up this project. So we thought we should all sit down and go over things, get everyone on the same