Page 1 of Meeting Up with the Mason

Chapter 1

Alyssa

Istruggled not to recoil from the leering face on my monitor. “I just want a quote for redoing the front walkway. Not a retaining wall, and also not a rock wall around the back of the property.”

“The way I see it,” the contractor drawled, rubbing his bristled chin, “a rock wall adds value to your property. In ten years, with the shrubbery I mentioned, your property will go way up in value. You’ll thank yourself.”

In ten years, I wanted to be doing anything other than working as a virtual assistant for Aunt Sophie. Certainly not dealing with her Mashpee vacation home.

The contractor began another spiel about a tiered retaining wall with azalea bushes, but I spoke over him. “Sorry, I have another call. You have my email to send the estimate!”

I watched my own smile on the MeetSpace software until the moment I’d left the meeting, at which point I dropped my forehead into my palms.

“Get three quotes,” Aunt Sophie had ordered before taking off for an event in Branson, Missouri. “You’ll want to take the middle one.” Aunt Sophie had escaped the August humidity to enjoy a week of country music, while I was stuck in Savannah, Georgia, daisy-chaining video calls with the only three contractors who’d even speak to me. Except the first one had ghosted me, and the second one—seeing a woman who’d obviously just graduated college—assumed he could steamroll me.

I muttered, “Too bad I don’t need a quote on a steamroller.” I took five minutes to grab a glass of water while looking out the back window. The roses were enjoying their second bloom of the summer, and the snapdragons were poised to erupt.

Get through one more meeting.This could not be over fast enough. Fifteen more minutes on a MeetSpace chat, and then I could check my VA account to see if Aunt Sophie had assigned more work. I hoped so. Otherwise, it was another afternoon of lead generation.

The grandfather clock toned the quarter hour, so I braced myself. Open laptop. Breathe deep. Click the meeting URL.

“Waiting for the host to start the meeting,” the screen assured me for five complete minutes. Awesome. That would leave me with exactly one quote from Mr. Upsell, who not only knew how to do all these home improvements, but who also came equipped with a bulletproof confidence that I wanted him to do them.

With a chime, my image popped up onscreen alongside a second window—a young guy who didn’t bother hiding his double-take. He said, “Um…hello?”

I straightened my shoulders to project my virtual assistant persona. “Hello! I’m calling on behalf of Sophie Henderson. Thanks for talking to me about our project.” At least he wouldn’t take advantage of me because I was twenty-two. “I assume you’re the eponymous A.J. MacElroy of MacElroy Builders?”

Seeming like he wanted to run, the man had his eyes glued to the screen in that semi-creepy way that made him appear to be looking just a little bit down at me. He hadn’t trained himself to gaze directly into the webcam the way I had. “Yeah, this is MacElroy Builders. Why don’t you tell me about your project?”

He couldn’t see my hands clench in my lap. “I submitted all that on the contact form.”

“I’m confident you did, but the information didn’t get through to me.” With that amazing hair and fine jaw, he looked like a guy barely out of high school, not exactly the person who the website bragged would climb your roof in a hurricane to nail down the shingles or build the pergola of your dreams.

Which, come to think of it, I’d never dreamed about. The previous guy would have tried selling it to me anyhow.

The MacElroy guy said, “If you could just tell me what you’re looking for, I’ll see what I can do.”

I adored that faint Boston accent.Whatcha lookin’ fah.“We need a walkway redone. The current walkway is fifty-year-old cement pavers, most of them cracked and sunken into the ground. The end is a set of steps, but they’re sloping.”

MacElroy started writing. “You’re going to need the old masonry removed and disposed of, then new stone laid and sealed.” He looked up. “How long is the walkway?”

“Eighty-five feet.” MacElroy wrote that down, too. “Also, five steps from the top of the hill to the driveway.”

When MacElroy’s head popped up from the writing, his hair fell across his forehead. He adjusted his glasses, and although still seeming worried, he was warming up. “Five steps, got it. Any idea what the incline is?”

The pushy contractor hadn’t asked that, only demanded I install cedar retaining walls. “The garage is beneath the first floor, so maybe ten to twelve feet?”

“Awesome.” MacElroy’s Bostonian voice was a sweet tenor, (aahsome,)and he nibbled his lower lip while he made more notes. “When are you looking to have this done?”

“Before the end of summer?”

MacElroy chuckled. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

I straightened. “Is that ridiculous?”

“Not exactly ridiculous, but from what I’ve heard, the contractors are booked up for the summer by early May. A job like this, it’s on the small side. You might be able to get someone to work it in between building additions and finishing basements.” He frowned again as he looked at the paper, and in that thoughtful pause, he looked amazing.

How to take a MeetSpace screenshot…? I could bottle that expression and keep it forever.

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