by Raquel Belle
I shrug, trying to look cool, but my heart is suddenly racing. “I’m staying at The Old Boston Inn up the street,” I nod vaguely in the hotel’s direction. “You can pick me up there at 7:00 p.m.”
“You got it.” He nods confidently as if he already knew I’d say yes. “See you then.”
“See you,” I say before rapidly turning away, slightly bewildered by what just happened.
As I walk off, my phone pings. It’s Beth. “Did you have a good trip? How’s Boston?”
I text back immediately. “Flight was good and Boston is quaint and pretty as always… And I think I just made a date for tonight.”
“WHAT! WITH WHO?!” Her response is instantaneous. I grin.
“His name is Jason.”
“How did you meet someone already? Didn’t you JUST land?”
“He’s working at a construction site up the street from my hotel.”
“Sounds sexy?!!”
“He is…”
“What are you going to wear? Did you even bring date clothes?” Shit.
“Ugh, nope… I didn’t think of it until just now when he asked me.”
“FaceTime me later and we will figure it out.”
I smile. Beth is perfect in “emergencies” like these. Not that an impromptu date with a sexy construction worker is an emergency… More like an adventure.
Chapter Four
Jason
I’ve been working in the construction business for almost two decades. I’ve seen guys hassle ladies time and again. Guys like Paulie are a dime a dozen. You have at least one—usually more like twenty—on every construction site. But I’ll be damned, I’ve never seen a girl snap back at a whole crew of boys the way Miss Attorney did today.
When I saw Cara in that flimsy summer dress advancing on Paulie and the crew, fire sparking out of her blue eyes, I already knew I was going to step in. How could I not? Whatever her dress was made out of—I know all about building materials but don’t ask me shit about fabrics—it didn’t leave much to the imagination. With the slight breeze it was hugging her slim waist perfectly and I swear I could see a slight outline of nipple. Not that I was staring or anything… I did notice that everything seemed together. The cream-colored dress matched her cream-colored leather purse and even her sandals. This is a girl who pays attention to details…
But it wasn't that telltale curve across the top of her breasts or her perfectly toned legs or the shining blonde halo of hair on top of her head that got me going…it was that tiny smile on her full lips as she walked up to the construction crew. A smile that told me this girl has guts. A smile that said, “I’m about to tell this guy what’s what and I’m going to enjoy it.” She faltered for just a second, I could see it in her face from where I was standing in the shadows, a tiny flicker of panic, a brief realization of “Oh shit, what did I get myself into?”
That’s when I stepped in. And then, when I was face-to-face with her, I realized something. I know this girl. I flashed back to Friday night, just two days earlier, at Edgar’s in Manhattan. This was the girl with the big laugh. I had heard her laughing and then spied her over Clarissa’s shoulder as we were talking. And now that I could see her up close, in daylight, I could see that this girl was beautiful. She was the kind of beautiful where she didn’t even know it.
As I watch her walk away from the construction site, I will her to turn back and give me one more look. Instead she keeps walking, her back to me, and slips her phone out of her purse. I grin. She’s probably telling a girlfriend about what just happened.
“Ey, big boss, ya wanna grab a beer with us?” Paulie’s harsh Boston accent cuts into my thoughts and I turn my attention from Cara back to the construction site. It’s the end of the workday and the boys are ready for a cold one.
“Nah, I gotta date.”
“Ah, what? With who?”
“That girl from before,” I shoot Paulie a grin and nod after her.
“Ya fuckin kiddin me!? I reeled her in for ya.” He lets out a guffaw, good-natured and easygoing, while the guys around him break into gleeful chuckles.
“I guess I owe ya then.” I turn to him and dig into my jeans pocket, pulling out a couple hundreds. I cram the sweat-soaked money into Paulie’s hand. “After-work drinks are on me tonight boys. But you leave that pretty girl alone if she walks by here again, ya hear? And I better see you here bright and early on the job tomorrow morning. Don’t drink too much.”
“Ya got it, big boss,” Paulie responds with a whoop. “Closing time, boys. Big boss has got the drinks tonight,” he waves the crumpled bills happily.
As I walk away I hear one of the men murmur to another one, “Hey, how much money you think the big boss carries in his pocket? A few hundred?”
I grin to myself as I walk along the red-brick lined street to my hotel. I always carry a few thousand worth of cash on me but I’m not about to advertise that fact. As I walk back to my hotel, I slip my phone out of my pocket and check a few emails. I don’t have the luxury of joining Paulie and the crew for drinks precisely because I’m the big boss.
Levine & Associates is one of New York City’s biggest engineering firms. And I own it. The “associates” refer to four partners. Once I took the company national, there was no way to manage it on my own. We now have offices in Los Angeles, Chicago, Atlanta, and St. Louis. Each one is managed by one of my trusted associates. James—the guy who set me up with Clarissa—manages our Chicago branch. But there’s only one big boss and that’s me.
Speak of the devil. The phone starts ringing and shows a call from none other than James. Time to make it clear to him that Clarissa is not my type.
“Hey, Jason, all good in Boston?”
“Yep, just leaving the worksite.”
James lets out a huge laugh from his end of the line. “You know you don’t have to get your hands dirty anymore, right? You can leave the manual labor to someone else seeing as you own the entire engineering company?”
“Ah, you know I like hanging with a crew and goofing off with the guys.”
“Sure, sure, back to where it all started, your construction worker roots.”
“Yep, that’s how I started. I still am a construction worker at heart. I just have to wear suits most of the time now, unfortunately.”
“Whatever you say. The Boston sites all in order?”
“Yep. All four builds running smoothly. On schedule.”
“Wish I could say the same for Chicago,” James sighs. We have twenty active builds at the moment, four in the Boston area alone. James has five on his hands in Chicago.
“We’ll manage. We always do.” I’m not interested in business right now. “Look, James, I have a date to get ready for. Can we touch base tomorrow? I do need a comprehensive status report on the Chicago sites.”
“Absolutely. Speaking of dates, how was it with Clarissa? Gorgeous girl, right?”
“Gorgeous, yes. But not my type.”
“What? C’mon man, she’s the total package.”
“Nah… Not for me. I want a girl that's more real. I don't want to hear about Hampton’s houses and shopping in Paris. I want something simpler.”
James lets out yet another huge laugh. “Look, I hate to break it to you, Jason, but you are anything but simple. Look at the life you lead! You’re a billionaire, man.”
“Yeah but I want a girl who would date me even if I wasn’t a billionaire.”
“Well, in any case, you’re a hot commodity. Millionaires can be found on every street corner in Manhattan. Billionaires like yourself are a bit less common.”
“Which is why some of the women there make it a pure ruthless sport of hunting them,” I add with a wry chuckle.
“You didn’t seem to mind the attention back in the day. Boy, we used to have fun when I was still living in New York.”
“Yeah, we were in our twenties then. Up and comers, enjoying our newfound fortune. But look at us now. You’re married, off in Chicago, living in domestic blis
s. And I’m 36, with 40 on the horizon.”
“Alright, alright, fair enough. I will say that the domestic life has its charms.”
“Sign me up. I’m ready for it.”
“Well then, don’t screw up your date tonight.”
“Oh, I won’t. She doesn’t even know who I really am.”
“Good luck keeping it that way.”
I end the call just as I walk up to my hotel. I don’t just mean “my hotel” like I’m staying in it. I mean my hotel. My company built this beauty from the ground up. This is one of my visions. One of my unique creations. Unlike those musty red-brick buildings you find in the colonial historic center of Boston, this is a modern building in the Seaport District, right by the harbor.
The lobby floor is all white marble and glistening crystal chandeliers hang above. That classic elegance is set off by the dark leather couches and modern artwork. Graffiti-style paintings that look like street art but are Banksy originals that cost a fortune to get on auction at Christie’s. Those were the finishing touches I suggested myself. When I take on a project, I see it through from start to finish. That’s the kind of eye for detail that’s made me a success.
It’s also the kind of eye for detail I used when checking out Cara this afternoon—it’s the reason I noticed the slightly chipped fingernails. I also saw the slight crinkle between her eyes, just the start of a line, so I’m guessing she’s in her early 30s. But that tiny ghost of a line also means she hasn’t touched any of that Botox shit yet—I’ve dated plenty of girls who already start putting that stuff in their faces in their 20s—and that’s already a plus to me. I want a girl who can actually smile—not a frozen mask lady.
I pass through the lobby and nod at the staff. They simply nod back. They know who I am but they also know that I like to be discrete when I’m here. For the guests, it must be a hell of a shock to see some gritty looking construction guy coming in off the streets and heading confidently to the elevators.
I board the elevator next to an elderly woman who looks at me slightly distressed. I flash her my biggest grin and take a key out of my pocket. I press the button for the Penthouse Floor and turn the key in the tiny keyhole above the button panel on the elevator’s interior. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the little old lady’s eyes widen. Yep. She didn’t expect the construction guy to be jetting up to the top floor penthouse that requires a VIP key.
At the top, the doors open into one of my master creations. The plush white carpet on the floors is almost blinding thanks to the sunlight streaming in. The setting sun illuminates the room, which has floor-to-ceiling windows on both the west and east sides. To the west, I can look out towards the city, seeing the lower high-rises beneath me in the modern Seaport District and, a bit farther inland, the red brick of the colonial center. I can even see the construction site I just came from. To the east, I see the harbor and just beyond that, the churning Atlantic Ocean.
What a fucking view. I strip off my sweaty shirt and let it drop to the floor. I’ll deal with that later. I head to the minibar and grab a beer, a cold Budweiser. There is no better closeout to a day of working outside. I look out towards the sea and gulp down my two-dollar beer while I take in the multi-million-dollar view. That’s how much this place cost to put up. Getting the permits to build the tallest structure little old Boston had ever seen was a hassle. And I only use the best materials. So yeah, it took millions to create this place. But investing millions is what gets you billions. And that’s what I’ve got.
But I don't want Cara to know that. I keep that image of her in her silky dress in my mind as I finish my beer and head to the shower. The bathroom is equipped with the best amenities, flown in from Japan. It even has one of those crazy Japanese toilets with all the buttons. I’m not into it but when you’re trying to get the high rollers to stay in a hotel’s penthouse suite, they expect that kind of thing. I step into the shower and blast myself with warm water, watching the day’s dirt go down the drain as I suds up my hair and rinse it out. From the little I saw of her, Cara seems…different. Like the kind of girl I could bring home to the family. They don’t come from money. Neither do I. I had to earn it. They aren’t into fancy talk about wines and the jet set life—the kind of stuff a girl like Clarissa wants to talk about. They’re more down-to-earth than that.
Family. That’s what actually brought me to Boston. I have a little family business to attend to here. Since I was going to be in the city anyway, I decided to stay for a few weeks and scope out the construction sites Levine & Associates has here while I’m at it. The entire time I’m in Boston, I get to just be Jason. Not Mr. Levine. Not “Chairman of the Board” or “Managing Director” or “Sir”. It’s a breath of fresh air, truth be told. The guys might call me “boss” but they’ll also be sure to bust my chops about anything and everything when they get a chance. And my family sure won’t cut me a break or let me put on airs.
Cara thinks I’m a construction worker. She’s not wrong, per se, but I don’t want to see her face change and that gleam come in to her eyes if she finds out what else I am. A billionaire real estate developer. A tycoon of business. A guy who can get any table at any restaurant he wants in New York at the drop of a hat. No reservation needed. Nah. I don't want to show her all of that tonight. But I definitely want to show her a damn good time.
Chapter Five
Cara
I had already been planning on getting my nails done but now that I have an actual date tonight, I have to take care of this now. After my run-in with Jason, I canceled my plans for a leisurely lunch of oysters and white wine. Instead, I grabbed a quick bite at the first crab shack I could find. Boston is dotted with these tiny spots, usually dark and dingy on the inside, with no real place to sit—but serving up the best lobster rolls you could imagine! Bread like air and juicy lobster meat inside, slathered with mayonnaise.
With my stomach satiated, I checked my phone for the nearest nail salon and luckily found one just a 15-minute walk away from the hotel. Ever since I admired Grace’s engagement ring and her perfectly manicured nails, I have been self-conscious about my own wrecked hands. I don’t usually let things slide this long but it’s been crazy at work recently and I just haven’t had the time. I hope Jason didn’t notice them earlier…
At the nail salon, I’m immediately greeted by a bored looking girl with a round face. She barely looks 18.
“You got an appointment?” She doesn’t bother with formalities.
“I don’t unfortunately, can you still take me? I just need a manicure with polish.”
“Yeah, no problem. My ma’s out but I can take it.” She motions to a seat and I make myself comfortable, getting my phone out so I can keep an eye on it. Even though it’s not a work day and I’m not expecting any emails, it’s a force of habit.
The manicurist makes bored small talk, asking where I’m from, what led me to move to New York, and why I’m back in Boston now. She tells me she’s studying in Virginia and just back in Boston with her family for the summer. I suppress a grin. Her mom clearly has her working at the nail salon over the summer—and she’s definitely not thrilled about it.
But when I tell the girl why I’m back—that I’ve returned to Boston for my sister’s wedding—she suddenly comes to life.
“That’s so romantic!” She squeals, sending the bottle of nail polish next to her flying as she clasps her hands together. “You must be real excited for her.”
“I am,” I say, smiling. Her enthusiasm for a total stranger’s nuptials is pretty sweet. “It’s my baby sister so it’s wild to see her taking such a grownup step.”
“Can’t be such a baby if she’s gettin’ married,” the girl points out with a smile.
“True,” I grin. “She’s twenty-one.”
“Ya’ll close?”
“Yeah. I mean, there’s a big age gap. I’m ten years older than her. By the time she was a teenager, I was already living in New York City. I mostly remember her as a kid. I was ev
en confused when she started dating her fiancé, the guy she’s marrying now. She was 18 at the time! But to me, it was like you’re still too young to date!” I give a laugh at the memory, shaking my head—still in slight disbelief.
“Are ya’ married, too?” The girl retrieves the bottle she sent flying and goes back to painting my nails.
“No, not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“Um… no.”
“Ya’ said yer ten years older than yer sis? So, what, thirty-one?” She shoots an eyebrow up quizzically.
“Yep.”
“Ya’ want a family?”
“Yes.” I’m so taken aback by the teenager’s forthright line of questioning that the answer just pops out of my mouth—utterly honest.
“Ya got a boyfriend?”
“Not right now.” I feel myself getting defensive with all the quizzing going on, even though I know she doesn’t mean any harm. She’s just a kid, I remind myself. “But I do have a date,” I add, feeling silly.
“Well, ya’ gotta start somewhere, right?” The girl cracks a smile and then leans back surveying my hands. “And yer nails are all set. That aite?”
I take a look. My torn cuticles have been cut clean and the frayed tips of my nails perfectly smoothed. A light pink polish has been evenly applied and the glossy color shines ever so slightly in the late afternoon sun that’s coming in through the nail salon’s front window.
“That’s perfect.” I pay the girl and give her a good tip, which elicits a huge smile. Then I dash out the door. I have two options…run to a store to try and find a last-minute date-night outfit…or go back to the hotel and try to cobble something together based on what’s in my suitcase. It’s already 5:00 p.m. and I still have to do my hair and makeup—and take a shower. In this summertime heat, I’m feeling stinky and sweaty, not sexy. Back to the hotel it is.
As I walk, I feel my pulse quicken with my step. It’s actually starting to sink in. I have a date tonight. And, I realize with some surprise, I’m excited. My mind flashes back to Jason’s muscles under his sweat-soaked tank. I find myself biting my lip in anticipation at the mere mental image I’ve conjured. Then I think of the teenage manicurist’s comment, “Well, ya’ gotta start somewhere, right?” I definitely don’t think the hunky construction worker who’s based in Boston is set to become my future husband but in my current mood, I just feel sort of like… Screw it! Why not just go on a date with this guy? What’s the worst that could happen?
