We’re mere minutes from our destination when she speaks into the silence. It’s such a quiet whisper that I almost miss it:
“You’re not a monster.”
What do you say to that? It’s not a resounding affirmation, by any means. But coming from Delia in reference to me, considering our history? It’s a definite start.
To what? No idea. But it’s a start.
Chapter Fourteen
Delia
The meeting goes betterthan I could have anticipated. As much as I hate to admit it, Thai and I play off each other perfectly. Where I’m staid and conservative and laser-focused on the numbers and timelines and overhead and profit margins, Thai is easygoing, naturally gregarious and friendly, able to create immediate connections with everyone he talks to. He gets the lead developer, Jacob Haimovitz, to talk about baseball and they share funny stories and Jacob is put at ease and in a good mood. Then, without any kind of obvious signal, Thai turns it over to me and the conversation transitions smoothly and easily to business. With nerves smoothed and moods lifted, we’re able to come to an agreement that’s beneficial for everyone. Jacob finds our idea of experimenting with Tree-Free’s line of products exciting and fascinating and promises to come see when we start breaking ground in a few months.
I contain my excitement until we’re in Thai’s truck, and then I let myself have a rare moment of girly excitement, where I screech and flap my hands. I almost never behave that way, but this deal is too big to not be excited about.
Thai just watches with amusement. “Didn’t take you for the squeal and flap your hands type, to be honest.”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat in it. “Hey, it’s my first major deal since taking over, and it also happens to be the biggest deal McKenna has ever landed.”
“The current sub development isn’t bigger than this?” he asks.
I bob my head side to side. “Not really. The houses are smaller and cheaper. So even though there are more total units being built, we’re actually netting less overall. Also, we developed the sub in stages. It started as twenty acres and fifteen units, and as those sold, the developer added new phases. This deal we just inked today, it’s huge. We nail this development, it’ll take McKenna to the next level.”
“Well, you killed it,” he says.
I eye him. “Hey, you killed it too.”
He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “Nah. I just played the funny man to your straight man.”
I frown. “Straight man?”
“Comedy duos? Laurel and Hardy, Abbot and Costello, Martin and Lewis? It’s the classic pair. One is the straight guy, not funny, not silly. Just serious, all business. That’d be Dean Martin. The other is the funny man. Goofy, wacky—that’s Jerry Lewis. It only works if you have both, though.”
“Jerry Lewis was funny by himself.”
“Sure, and so was Costello. But when you’ve got the straight man to play against, it gets funnier.”
“So I lack a sense of humor, is what you’re saying?”
He snorts, rolls his eyes again. “Yes, Delia, that’s what I’m saying. Obvious conclusion.”
I hold my straight face a moment longer, and then burst into laughter. “See? Humor.” I push the on button for his stereo and scroll through XM stations until I find something fun and poppy. “My point is, you loosened them up, made it feel personal and friendly. Which is something I’m not all that great at.”
He smirks at me. “So what you’re saying is, we make a good team?”
I look away, faking perturbation. “I suppose I can’t deny that today went well, and that you did in fact contribute, in some small way, at least.”
“It’s okay to acknowledge my greatness,” he says, sounding arch and wry.
“Yeah, okay. All hail the great and mighty Thai Bristow.”
He flips his hand in front of himself and bows over it. “I humbly accept that which is my due.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yes, humbly indeed.”
I keep expecting him to resume our conversation from before, but he doesn’t. He demonstrates a skill I in fact lack entirely: chitchat. He can keep us talking about not much at all, and does so effortlessly. We talk about music and movies and old school friends, he tells a hysterical story about a prank his fraternity played his senior year at Yale, which involved a six-hundred-pound sow, a bucket of glitter, and Saran Wrap.
I tell him about the time a subcontractor had mistaken me for an errand girl and someone he could hit on—I’d locked him in the porta-potty, and then taken over the big excavator, suspending him fifty feet in the air. I’d refused to let him down until he begged me, in actual tears.
