Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
He still complains constantly.
My mom sets her purse on the bar and turns my way, her expression going concerned. Which has me concerned. I’ve been hoping this was a friendly visit. “Paul is worried that the company is suffering because you’re changing things too quickly.”
It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes. “I’ve been in charge of the company for years. I assure you we’re not changing too fast. Some of the men don’t appreciate that I’ve been hiring women on the crews. They complain to Paul.”
“Of course they do. Having women on the crew means men have to do more work,” Paul replies.
I sigh. “I haven’t hired a single woman who can’t lift what she needs to. Don’t come at me with the heavy stuff. We have machines to do that, and the men use them all the time.”
“I don’t like working with them. They distract the men.” Paul’s arms cross over his chest.
My mom sighs. “You know how men are, dear.”
I do, and most of them don’t blink an eye. The women are their coworkers, and they all get along. However, there is a certain subset of employees—mostly Paul’s friends—who think we’re still living in the fifties and women should exist to have their babies and bring them coffee. The problem is they’re all union, and firing them can be complicated.
Like my life seems right now. “I’m not getting rid of the new hires. The men will get used to them. If they don’t, then they can move on.”
Paul’s eyes narrow. “I told her this would be what you said. You only care about your freaking feminist agenda.”
“It’s not an agenda. It’s about having a good, healthy workforce. Those women you don’t like are more productive than the guys. They’re better at following safety regulations, and I don’t have to worry about them horsing around and wrecking twenty thousand dollars’ worth of tile.”
True story. It happened on one of Paul’s sites. They decided to play forklift chicken and the company lost.
“I told you they didn’t mean any harm,” Paul argues.
I still ended up paying for it, but there’s no point in talking. “I’m not firing them but guess what. A couple of them are coming with me on the shoot, so you’ll have at least two months without those women around to offend you. Now do you have anything else because I need to pack.”
His eyes roll again. It’s his go-to move. “Yeah, because you’re taking off for Europe when we have five active projects.”
“They’re all going well. Is there a problem I don’t know about?” It’s not like I haven’t been working. I haven’t even really started on the Banover Place project. I’ve been in the office or on site every day with the exception of yesterday. I’m getting antsy. I hate this feeling. The truth is I want to be alone with my cookies and packing. I’m looking forward to the royal wedding and being with my friends. Now I’m wondering if I have to give up my entire life because my father left me in charge of the family company.
Paul’s head shakes. “Well, if you don’t think we have problems, who am I to change your mind? You know things can look fine on the outside and be rotten inside. Just remember we vote on another CEO in a couple of months. Maybe it won’t be you this time. Aunt Margie, I’ll see you tonight. We need to leave by six if we’re going to make the show. Maybe you can talk some sense into your daughter before it’s too late.”
He storms out, slamming the door behind him.
My mother sighs again. She somehow makes it sound whiny. “You have to learn how to handle him better, sweetheart.”
“Why do I have to handle him at all? You know I’m the boss. His boss. He works for me. I was forthright. I answered his questions and told him what was going to happen. Like Dad.” He taught me everything I know. He and Paul’s dad.
“But you’re not your dad,” my mom replies. “Your father was a man and you’re a woman. The world treats and sees you differently. Oh, you have no idea how often we would fight about this.”
“You didn’t fight about anything, Mom. You did whatever Dad told you to.” I often saw her as Dad’s doormat. Our world revolved around what he wanted. She shoved down her entire personality for her marriage.
“I fought about the way he wanted to raise you. He treated you like you’re a boy but you’re not, and so you never learned how to handle the men around you,” she says as though she’s making any kind of sense. “He filled your head with a lot of nonsense.”
“I have worked with men all of my life. I don’t have trouble dealing with most of them. If you’re telling me I need to change my personality so Paul feels more comfortable with me, then we’ll have to agree to disagree.”