Page 34 of Hard Hat Hottie

“Why don’t we meet at The Conch House? Say 7:00?”

Wow. I’ve heard of that place, but never had a chance to indulge. It’s about forty-five minutes away, but if the reviews are correct, it’ll definitely be worth the drive. Wish I could say meeting with Braxton is equally motivating, but I still have noidea how this is going to play out. By all intents and purposes, this could be the opportunity of a lifetime. How do I walk away from this without regretting my decision for the rest of my life? “Sounds perfect. Thank you for reaching out. I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

As the call disconnects, I allow my head to drop back between my shoulders. The timing couldn’t be worse. Maybe Gus is right. I should talk to Joyce and see if she’d be willing to travel with us. But hell, Mom’s in her own home and not eating or wanting to get out of bed. Moving her somewhere else, even temporarily, would only amplify whatever she’s going through.

“Dude, you look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on you,” Gus greets.

Sitting upright, I adjust myself in my chair and attempt to massage the achy muscles in my neck. “Feels like it most days.”

The wretched sound of metal against asphalt cuts through my overwhelm as Gus drags a chair to sit directly in front of me. “Look. I see you, man. We all do. You need to take some time to live. Appreciate this life. Yes, your mother is sick. Yes, you are trying to manage this business almost single-handedly. Yes, you work in construction and broke your fucking wrist. But, man, you’ve got so much more to be grateful for.”

Maybe it’s the heat getting to me, but I’m having a tough time following him.

“Do you know how many men your age would love to own a company like this? One where it’s making a profit and people are lining up for you to work with them? You did this, Harry. You.”

Fuck. He’s right.

“And it sucks about your mother. It does. I lost mine to a bad car accident when she was only in her thirties, man. I’d give anything to have her here with me. Even if she didn’t know who I was.”

His statement hits me square in the chest like an anvil.Damn, I’m a self-centered fucker.

“Shit, Gus. How did I not know that?”

“I don’t talk about it. It’s too hard to think about. I try not to let my mind even go there unless it’s her birthday, my birthday, or Mother’s Day.”

“I’m sorry, man. You’re right. About all of it. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself.”

“Listen, I’m not judging you. And you have every right to feel overwhelmed. I mean, your dick probably hasn’t gotten any action in months. That alone is worth feeling sorry for yourself.” He chuckles.

He thinks he’s joking.

“Hell, Gus, this opportunity with the Outer Banks could be the best thing that’s happened to Hightower Construction. Do we even have enough manpower for something this big?”

He leans back in his chair and pours cool water from his bottle over his hair before shaking it out like a dog in a puddle on a hot summer day. “You haven’t even met with them yet, right? Sit down and find out what they’re looking for. We’ll come up with a plan. Then you can make a proper decision. Right now, your emotions are guiding you.”

“You’re right. But, to some degree, they have to. I just don’t want to do anything that’s going to make life even harder for my mom. And if she’s not doing well, I’m not doing well. I can’t afford any distractions if I take on something of this magnitude.”

Gus stands from his seat, walks over to the cooler to grab a wrapped sandwich, and turns to me. “You need a clear head. Sit down with them. Find out what they’re looking for. Then we make a plan. A business plan, and a mom plan. There has to be a way to make this work. Get your slack ass little brother to come help more. Maybe she stays home with Joyce, and you fly home once during the week and weekends.”

I rub the stubble on my chin. He’s right. I haven’t been thinking with a clear head.

“You need to get laid, man. Clear the cobwebs off your dick, and you’ll be thinking clearer in no time.”

“Harrison, it’s great to finally meet you.”

I reach out to shake Braxton’s hand, feeling much more optimistic about this dinner after Gus’s pep talk yesterday. “Likewise.”

Taking a seat at the table covered in white linen, a single flickering candle located in the center of the table, I let my eyes roam about the space. It’s not at all what I expected. The Conch House evoked images of a rustic raw bar serving oysters on the half shell, conch fritters, and fried clams. But this place is anything but.

There’s a glass wall along the back of the restaurant which overlooks the Florida Bay. With that backdrop, who needs ornate decorations? The floors are a dark, rich, wide plank oak that extends to the walls, giving them a warm juxtaposition against the cool water visible through the wall of windows. An enclosed glass case to the left of the bar houses their daily fresh catch options. And it appears they offer delicately prepared sushi and sashimi as well as raw bar delicacies here.

After we order a round of cocktails, Braxton reaches into his briefcase, retrieving a manilla folder. “I’m excited to share our plans for this venture. I think you can provide some good insight into what Floridians and travelers to the area will enjoy about these smaller eateries. We want to make it an experience, not simply a restaurant. Something they’ll remember and sharewith their friends. A top tourist destination to add to their list whenever they return.”

Braxton is radiating optimism with each word he utters. I haven’t seen anyone quite this excited about a build in a long time. But why would he think someone unknown to him could bring his vision to life? “I’m sorry to interrupt. I can’t wait to dive in to all of your mock ups, but I need to ask. How did my name hit your radar? I don’t recall working on a project affiliated with your group before.”

He lets out a chuckle. “Well, in a way, you have. You came highly recommended to me by Margaret Montgomery. She said you’d worked on numerous projects together. Not only did your company receive high praise from her, but she also spoke exceedingly of your altruism, your pride in your work, and the creativity and self-confidence that you could bring individuality to each project. Giving each site their own personality, so to speak.”

My mouth hangs ajar, my eyes wide as I listen to him sing my praises. This has caught me completely off guard. Is he for real? I mean, I love Ms. M, but this is beyond anything I could’ve hoped for.

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