Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“And when is this ‘fancy’ resort supposed to get built? Next year? Year after?”
He shakes his head, his toothy grin staying in place. “Tomorrow, Lockwood Construction is having a recruitment day over in the grocery store parking lot. Line’s supposed to be long so I’ll be getting there around 8 AM.”
I’m struck silent.
He leans forward, yanking his bowl of spaghetti out of my hand. “They’re paying $25 an hour, more if you can prove you’ve been around a construction site before.”
$25 an hour?! I can’t even imagine. To me, that’s movie star money. That’s tossing dollars in the air at a nightclub money.
“Why are they hiring people out here?”
He gives me an isn’t-it-obvious glare. “Think about it: it’s cheaper than carting in a boatload of guys from across the state. The subs will be their guys, of course, but they still need a crew—unskilled labor for the grunt work.”
I’m so jealous I can hardly breathe. Jeremy will be hired in an instant. He’s young and in shape from his work at the mill. He’s worked construction in the past and has a clean record. Getting paid $25 an hour, he’ll have Khloe’s ring in no time.
“I’m happy for you,” I say, impressed that I’m able to sound remotely sincere. Inside, I’m a bitter Betty. I rise from the table and take my untouched plate of spaghetti over to the counter to store it for later. I’ve lost my appetite.
“I want you to come with me and apply,” Jeremy says suddenly.
I laugh and glance at him over my shoulder. “You think they need maids on the construction site? Cleaning out porta-potties—now there’s every girl’s dream job.”
“I talked to my buddy and he said they’re desperate. They’ll take any and all help they can get. If you’re an able-bodied guy, you’ll get hired.”
I smirk. “I know you prefer not to notice seeing as we’re family and all, but I’m afraid I don’t fit that ‘guy’ requirement. I’ve had boobs since middle school.”
He screws his face up like it grosses him out to acknowledge my female body then he rises to his feet so he can retrieve the grocery bag he left by the door.
“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?”
He unties the knot and dumps out the contents onto the floor. There’s a faded blue baseball hat, two old flannel work shirts, a pair of jeans, and tan work boots that have seen better days. In fact, I’m not sure they’ve got any days left in them.
“The shirts are mine. The boots and jeans I bought off a friend at work. He’s a lot smaller than me, so they should fit you okay.”
He can’t be serious.
I hold up one of the boots and tug at the rubber heel, which is no longer fully connected to the rest of the shoe. “I hope you didn’t pay much.”
He grunts in annoyance and yanks it out of my hand.
“Jeremy, it’s not the shoes or the clothes. It’s the idea. You think if I dress up like a guy they’ll be willing to hire me? Just like that?”
He glances at me, narrows one eye, and tilts his head as if imagining the possibility. “Well, you’ll have to tuck your hair up under the hat, and maybe add a fake mustache.”
McKenna cracks up at that. I shoot her a glare over my shoulder and she whips her attention right back to her textbook. She’s not supposed to be listening to any of this absurd plan.
“It won’t work,” I say definitively.
His shoulders sag in defeat. “So you don’t even want to try?”
“Pfft.” I reach down for the jeans and hold them up against my waist. I’ll have to tighten them with a rope or something, but they should stay up. “I didn’t say that—of course I’ll try. Just don’t be shocked when they send me packing.”
Chapter 5
Taylor
The decision to dress like a guy was impulsive and half-baked. I passed on the fake mustache and any other over-the-top disguise, but I still look completely ridiculous, like I’ve stolen my big brother’s clothes for a Halloween costume. My jeans are rolled up twice at the ankles and cinched at the waist with a thin piece of rope. On top, I layered one of Jeremy’s flannel shirts over a plain white t-shirt. Even with the sleeves pushed up to my elbows, it shrouds my body like a blanket. There was no other option, though; with it tucked in, it revealed too much of my figure. Even though it looks rather absurd, it has to stay untucked and baggy.
McKenna helped me spin my hair into a bun and pin it down underneath the baseball hat. Last night, as we discussed the plan, Jeremy grabbed a pair of scissors from our junk drawer and suggested I just chop it off. McKenna and I both screamed at him to put the scissors down. Needless to say, my long hair is staying put underneath the hat.