Dennis sighs. Massages his temples with the tips of his fingers. “Whatare you even doing here?”
Even to himself, he sounds resigned, after weeks of having to put up with Chris and his obnoxious remarks.
“My job?” Chris leans on the door frame, arms crossed. Crosses one leg over the other so the toe of his work boot—surprisingly well-fitted, high quality leather with perfectly tied laces—rests on the floor. "It’s in my contract to make sure this site runs smoothly, and with you around, I’ve got to keep an extra close eye on things."
"Don't you have actual work to do?" Dennis tries not to snap. Hedoestry his best to remain professional because someone needs to be the adult here.
"Already done. Turns out when you grow up actually building things instead of playing with daddy's blueprint sets, you learn efficiency.
The music starts again. Someone's rigged it to Dennis's office door sensor now.
"It’s not actually getting to you, is it?" Chris raises an eyebrow, then his dimples appear. "Or do they not teach stress management at fancy business school?"
By three, Dennis has barricaded himself in his office, reviewing permit applications that Chris has probably already handled better than he could. The music's switched to "We Will Rock You"—the bass line perfectly timed to the construction crew's hammering.
A shadow falls across his desk.
"Structural inspection's here early," Chris says, not bothering to knock. "Thought you'd want to know. Unless you're too busy color-coding those tabs?"
Dennis glances at his perfectly organized files. Feels his jaw clench.
"The inspection's next week."
"Schedule changed." Chris's smile is all teeth. "Good thing someone here keeps track of these things. Speaking of..." He drops a stack of papers on Dennis's desk. "You might want to review the support calculations. I had to make some adjustments to your original specs."
"You what?"
"Had to account for real-world physics." Chris taps the top page. "You know, the kind they don't cover in theory classes?"
Dennis waits till Chris has sauntered out of the room. Then he grabs a handful of sheets from the top of the pile and scans the pages.
Chris's modifications are perfect. Better than Dennis's original design. The bamboo supports will hold twice the weight with half the environmental impact.
It's brilliant.
Dennis hates him so much he wants to scream.
"The inspector's waiting." Chris’s head pokes back in around the door. Plush, plump lips twist into a smirk when he sees Dennis with two fistfuls of the documents. Then he adds: "Try not to mention daddy's company too much this time. Last inspector almost pulled a muscle rolling his eyes."
The music changes again. "Born with a Silver Spoon" blasts through the speakers.
"Really?" Dennis calls after him through gritted teeth.
Chris's laugh echoes down the hall. "What can I say? I'm a classics fan."
03Frenemies
The next morning's meeting is supposed to start at seven. Chris strolls in at seven-fifteen, chatting animatedly with the inspector who seems to be finding something Chris is saying very funny indeed. They both have takeout coffee in their hands—something hot for the inspector, and something clearly sweet and mocha and frappe for Chris.
Childish and gross, just like him, Dennis thinks vindictively, before he can stop himself. It’ll probably make all his perfect, pearly teeth fall out—hopefully.
Chris’s safety vest is still unzipped despite yesterday's warning and having an inspector on site. He uses his tablet to gesture around like he owns the place.
"Traffic," he says, dropping into the last empty chair when he enters the room. His crew—and when did they become his crew instead of Dennis's?—shuffle to make space for him.
One of them appears with a tray, passing out drinks to murmurs of “Thanks, boss,” as a few crew members lift their cups in a quick toast to Chris, who nods back good-naturedly.
"As I was saying," Dennis continues, grip tight on his own tablet, "the support beams need to be exposed by Friday. The current timeline—"
