“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “What do you think it would cost for what I’ve asked.”

“Well, I’d need to know the measurements you’re looking at for everything,” he says.

“Yeah, I was getting to that, but you decided it was appropriate to inform me that I’m not in Greenwich right now, an observation that I can only assume was made because you think I’m stupid or naïve about my design ideas, but I’ll have you know—”

“Calm down, sweetheart,” the man says. “We’ll get this worked out, I’m sure.”

“Sweetheart?”

I wonder if I’m within my legal rights to kick this guy between the legs yet. If not, I’m sure I could come up with a pretty convincing story to tell the cops.

It’s something to think about.

But, being the shrewd businesswoman I am, I just put on a smile and say, “Get the hell out of my store.”

His face morphs into a disgusting smile, but when he realizes I’m not joking and that I really am quite on the verge of showing him what it’s like to have the business end of a stiletto end up somewhere he really doesn’t want it, he quickly turns and hurries out of the store.

I walk back to my office, more frustrated than ever.

My computer’s still on my schedule screen and I make a quick note under IRP Construction, saying, “Absolutely not.”

Ivanna, one of my sales associates, knocks on my door.

“Hey, sorry to bug you,” she says.

“No worries,” I tell her. “What’s up?”

“There’s a man here, he says he’s here to bid on the job.”

“I really don’t know that I can handle another jerk who’s going to try to overcharge me while mocking everything I want to do,” I tell her.

“Oh, I think you’re going to want to take this appointment,” Ivanna says.

“I really don’t know that I do,” I tell her.

“Do you want me to get rid of him?” she asks.

I take a deep breath.

“No,” I tell her. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I get out of my office chair and walk with Ivanna until she gets to Shoes and turns off.

When I make it to the front of the store, I ask my cashier, Linda, where the contractor is.

“Oh,” she says, looking up from her smartphone, “he wanted to know where you wanted the work done, so I just sent him over to plus.” She leans over the counter and motions for me to come closer. “I think you should hire him,” she says.

“Yeah?” I ask. “Why’s that?”

“Just go over there and talk to him,” she says. “I have a feeling you’ll figure it out pretty quick.”

“No screwing the construction workers,” I tell her.

Usually, that would be a faux pas, but with Linda, that sort of thing actually has to be pointed out. There’s a bit of precedent here.

“You know I can’t promise that,” she says.

“At least try not to do it on my time, will you?” I ask.

She sighs. “Fine.”

I walk over to plus, but it takes me a minute before I can find the man. He’s crouched down, measuring the storage room wall.

“Hi, I’m Jessica Davis, and you are?”

He looks up at me, then stands and, for a moment, I’m stunned.

He’s tall and well-built; as he smiles, he’s got all of his teeth, and they’re clean and straight, too. His hair is mid-length, chestnut and gorgeous. Don’t forget about the tattoos going down his toned arms. I don’t know if it’s just that I’ve dealt with people like the guy from IRP so much over the past few days that I’d forgotten that contractors can be very attractive.

Jesus.

“Hey there,” he says, smiling and putting his hand out, “I’m Eric Dawson from Dawson Contracting. I’ve just been taking a look at your area over here, and I think I’ve got some ideas that might help you open up this space.”

“That’s great,” I tell him, “but I already have some things in mind.”

“Okay,” he says, and actually seems to be eager to hear what I have to say. This is amazing.

I run through what I told the douche-nozzle from IRP and, the only time Eric responds is to go over some finer details for his own clarification. This might just be someone I could live with—working on my store, I mean.

“I like the way you think,” he says. “Beauty and brains: my favorite combination. I was wondering, though, you said you wanted a sunken area here, and that you wanted it to go down at least eighteen inches. Now, that does sound like a really cool plan, but I’m wondering if it might be easier on your clientele to have it a little less deep. I know that a lot of women prefer high heels and that sort of thing, and I can just see a lawsuit from someone tripping over themselves as they’re walking down the steps.”

“For the effect I want,” I tell him, “I really do think that it should be eighteen inches at least, though I probably wouldn’t want it any more than two feet. We could always make the stairs wider to better facilitate foot traffic.”

“All right,” he says, “I’m sure I could work with something like that. I do have to tell you, though, that with those stairs, you’re going to lose a lot of the space you’ll otherwise gain from knocking out that old storage room. Is that all right?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I know it’s a bit of a trade-off, but I think it’ll be worth it in the end.” I walk him over to the window, saying, “The last guy that was in here said that, in order to reinforce the wall on the far side of the new window area, he’d suggest using titanium to make sure it’s solid. Do you think that’s necessary, or what would you suggest?”

“I don’t think you’re going to need titanium,” he says. “Yeah, it’s stronger, but really it’s way above and beyond anything you’re really going to have to have in order to make sure the structure is stable.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I tell him.

Just looking at him, I’m ready to hand him the job, but he hasn’t dropped the hammer yet.

“What are you thinking this is all going to cost?” I ask.

“Well,” he says, “let me do some more measurements, and I should have a quote for you here in a couple of minutes. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah,” I smile. “That sounds great.”

He’s actually bothering to measure stuff. This is great.

I make my way back to the front and wait for Linda to help the last customer in her line. When her lane is free, I lean over the counter and whisper, “I think I’m going to hire him. You know, as long as he doesn’t walk over here telling me it’s going to cost a couple of mil for the job.”

“You’re not going to regret this,” Linda says as if she’s just managed to talk me into letting her take my Mercedes for the weekend. “He is so fucking cute.”

“Not when customers are around,” I whisper.

She is right though.

“What?” she asks.

“You know exactly what,” I tell her.

“No,” she says, “I really don’t.”

For whatever reason, Linda’s got it in her head that hearing me say the word “fuck” would be the most hilarious thing ever.

Now, I’m not a word prude, if there is such a term, but I don’t feel like that’s the kind of language that’s appropriate when on the job.

“No,” I tell her.

“Aw, come on,” she says. “I thought you were about to say it when you kicked that last guy out of the store.”

“How did you even hear me?” I ask.

“Shh, he’s coming over here,” Linda says and I turn around.

“So, what do you think?”

“Well,” he says, “it’s not going to be cheap. I can tell you that much right now.”

Great. That’s the exact same line everyone before Eric has told me. My budget cap for renovations is $150,000. It’s ridiculous that it’s that high, but this is New York after all.

“Oh,” he says, “all things figured--materials, labor, all that—I’d say we should be able to do it for about one forty-five.”

“Thousand?” Linda asks. “Seriously? For that?”

With the smile still on my face, I turn toward Linda and mouth the words, “Shut up.”

“I know it sounds like a lot, but for a space like this, you know, this really doesn’t come all that cheap,” he explains. “I’d be willing to whittle the price down a bit depending on how fast you want this done, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to go any lower than one forty-two in the best conditions.”