“Zip it.”
“And give up the chance of razzing you? Not a chance. Looks like the boys have a sense of humor. Why the pink?”
Dean could mark Steve off as the pink painting culprit. Steve crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled.
“Someone’s idea of a joke.”
“It’s funny.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Maybe not from where you’re standing, but where I’m standing, it’s this side of hilarious. Pink brings out your eyes, cowboy.”
“Do I pay you to deliver shit, or get rid of it?”
Steve pounded him on the back with a good-natured swat and the two of them walked into what would be the main kitchen on the ground floor. “I consulted with the chef over at The Morrison like you suggested and he agreed we should have a second dishwashing station on the opposite end of the kitchens.”
The station was the size of a small house. Dean couldn’t imagine why they’d need two. “There’s already going to be two industrial washers in here. Why the overkill?”
“When one of the washers needs repair, the backup is there, but the repairman get in the way of the work. Makes mealtime impossible.”
Dean hadn’t thought of that. “Why not shrink the size of this station and add a twin to the other side?”
Steve shrugged. “We could. But with round-the-clock room service, you might reconsider that suggestion.”
Dean rubbed his chin. “Do we need to pull another permit?”
The two of them leaned over the blueprints and discussed the physical changes that would have to take place in the space to make the additional washers work.
The noise of the job site hummed all around them. Hammers slammed against wood, table saws buzzed with activity, and at least one radio blared music from a local rock station.
One by one, those background noises faded until Dean heard the click of something delicate, and persistent, approaching from behind him. He glanced over to see Steve smiling over his shoulder.
“Now that’s something you don’t see here every day.”
Dean swiveled to find Katie, high heeled and short skirted, striding their way.
His hard hat sat on her head and covered her hair. Her makeup was a little heavy and attempted to cover dark circles under her eyes. Dean saw through it, but chances were no one else would. He remembered once, after a particularly active night in her bed, Katie talked about how makeup was God’s gift to women so they could hide their sins. Seeing her painted up reminded him of his phone call to the hotel earlier. Where had she been and whom had she been with?
And why did he care?
“Why is there Sheetrock going up in the halls?” Not a hello, not a How ya doing. Just a strange question spilling from Katelyn’s pouty lips.
“Excuse me?”
Her shoe caught on something and she needed to tug her foot to set it free. She kept talking as if they were the only two in the room, oblivious to the stares of all the men surrounding them.
“The Sheetrock? That is what they call it, right?”
“Drywall, Sheetrock, same thing.”
She came to a stop in front of him and glanced over to Steve. “Hi,” she managed to say before swinging her gaze at Dean.
“So why is it going up? I thought we were weeks away from that.”
“Things move fast, Katelyn.”
“But I thought—”
“Wrong. You thought wrong. Steven Bowman, this is Katelyn Morrison. Jack’s sister and misguided interior designer for the hotel.”
“A pleasure,” she said with a nod.
“The pleasure is mine.” Steve lifted his hat with one finger and let it fall back on his head. His eyes soaked her in like a starving man.
Dean had to squelch the desire to shield Katelyn from Steve’s gaze.
“I thought Jo said you were weeks away from sheet-wall, or whatever you call it.”
“For the complete job, yes, but not in that part of the hotel. Why are you so worked up?”
She waved papers in her hands and rambled. “Niches. I want niches along the main hall and in the main lobby. Those need to be framed into the structure.”
Which was true, but the plans didn’t call for them.
“Steve, will you please excuse us for a minute. I need to…”
“Go.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bowman. Nice meeting you.”
Dean stepped around the table he’d been standing in front of and led Katelyn out of the room.
“Back to work,” he told his men who had all stopped to witness Katie’s appearance and subsequent tirade.
Katelyn forced air into her lungs at a slower rate. She knew she was worked up about the niches…or lack thereof, but she’d had a bitch of a night. Her plan for a night of sleep or better yet, for Savannah’s night of sleep, was a bust. The crying began at ten, then again at twelve…somewhere around two a.m., Savannah thought it would be fun to stay awake and try to smile. Which if Katelyn had had half an eye open, she would have probably enjoyed, but she ended up dozing off while Savannah played next to her on the bed and then woke to a nice little puddle from a leaky diaper. How so much came out of such a sweet little thing, Katie would never know.
Savannah finally managed to get back to sleep after four a.m.. Katie overslept and jumped out of bed when Monica lightly knocked on the door after eight and told her she was late.
A trip to the hotel for a refresher was out of the question. Considering the amount of drywall that would have to come down, it was a good thing she didn’t delay her arrival.