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)
“Well, she was trying to get to church.”
Oh, how she rewrites history. “She was right outside the liquor store. There was a case of beer in the back seat.”
“I’m sure she was buying that for someone else.” My mom’s lips purse. “Harper, I didn’t teach you to judge people like this.”
“Yes, you did. It’s literally all you did my whole childhood, up until right this second.”
She shakes her head. “You and your precious sarcasm. You are going to give your new boyfriend the wrong impression. Oh, Reid… Can I call you Reid?”
“That’s my name.” He looks entirely too amused by the situation.
Mom nods primly. “Reid, you will have to come to our family dinner. You’re always so gracious on the television. Very masculine, but in an old-school way. A veritable knight. You might soften up my daughter’s image.”
Reid gives her a bland smile. “Harper doesn’t need softening up. She’s the CEO of a company that people depend on. She’s too soft if you ask me since she keeps people on the job who are clearly not competent. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have to rush from her passion project two or three times a week in order to save her cousin. Who has been doing this job for every bit as long as she’s been, so he should know how to handle a client. It’s almost like he wants her to fail.”
“Paul would never put the company in jeopardy,” Mom insists.
“And yet he keeps doing stupid things that upset the clients,” Reid replies, and I’m surprised that he’s been keeping up with my day-job problems. I wonder who’s been talking to him. “Suddenly the man can’t read his own bids and overbuys for a site and has to ask the client for extra cash?”
I groan. Yeah, I handled it. “I called the provider. They let us return the extra materials, but they don’t usually do it. I barely scraped out of that one, and the client is still upset Paul came to them.”
“He’s overworked, too.” My mother stares at me. “He has children.”
She’s making my argument for me. “And a wife who does all the work. You know I’ve actually been to Paul’s place. He works. He golfs. He drinks with the guys. So please don’t tell me Paul works harder than I do because I don’t have children. Go talk to his wife because she’s the expert. And Mom, I don’t have time for some reunion party where I’ll be inundated with requests I have to turn down.”
“That’s the point. Don’t turn them down,” Mom orders. “Give on a few of them and I promise the board meeting will go exactly the way we need it to. You need to stay in control of the company. I think if you would give Paul a raise so he makes what you make, it could go a long way to get the two of you on the same page.”
“Why would a site manager make as much money as the CEO?” Reid asks, crossing his arms over his chest and studying my mom. “Harper does almost all of the administrative work, on top of being in charge of all the sites and planning. And dealing with the unique problems of a family owned and operated business.”
Ah. Now I know who he’s been talking to. I had lunch with Lenny a few days back and went over all of my day-job problems. He’s the one who pointed out that dealing with family members would be even worse than a bunch of board members since at least you knew the only thing the board member wants to do is make money. I get to deal with the fact that my cousin Susan, who works in accounting, hates my cousin Deanne, who handles buying and billing and shamelessly stole Susan’s boyfriend in eleventh grade. They are still at war to this day, and who gets to mediate? It sure as hell isn’t Paul.
“Oh, Harper has people who help her, and also it’s important to consider the fact that Paul has a family to take care of,” my mother says primly. “He has two beautiful children. They have to be considered.”
“Harper, I might need to start drinking early today,” Reid announces. “This is what you deal with?”
“Pretty much. It’s the 1950s with my mom,” I reply and again, I can’t say how good it feels to have someone back me up unashamedly.
He leans over and kisses me briefly. “I’m going to finish getting ready because I am incapable of not mansplaining feminism right now.”
He’s wrong about that. “Oh, it’s not mansplaining if the person who the man thinks needs the explanation actually needs the explanation. It would be mansplaining to me. It’s just explaining to her. But I would save my breath. She lives in denial, and there’s no talking her out of it.”