“That’s what I’m talking about!” Ian exclaims, pounding his fist on the table.

The one downside about Ian is that any idea that even subtly resembles anything he’s ever said is, in his mind, his idea.

“What do you think?” I ask.

Ian’s already on board, and I have no doubt it’s not going to be long before he’s lobbying to have his name included in the company banner. José doesn’t seem so convinced.

“How many guys are you talking about taking on?” José asks.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “It would vary a bit depending on the size of the first job like this, but I don’t think it’s unrealistic to have, say, twenty, thirty guys by the end of the month.”

José smiles, but I don’t think it’s a sign of agreement.

“We’ve been running a four-man crew,” he says. “Five when we can keep someone new on long enough. Do you really think we can change everything about the way we work in a single job?”

“Let me ask you this,” I start, “José: If I wasn’t there to do it myself, how confident would you be that you could run the crew, get the work done well and make a solid name for the company?”

José looks away.

While Ian makes no bones about his ambitions, José’s always been more modest. Even with that, though, he knows he could take the whole company if it came to that.

José nods.

“That’s why you’re my number two, and that’s why I can feel confident leaving you guys to do your thing when something comes up on the business side that I have to take care of. All we’d be doing is focusing all of our energies in the areas where we have the most knowhow and the most experience. I think, if anything, that can only make us better and make the guys working under us better as a result. What do you say?” I ask. “Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t. From where I’m sitting, though, I think it’s our best shot.”

“I’m in, boss,” Ian says. He puts his hand over the middle of the table like we’re in one of those kid’s sports movies that are so depressing.

I close my eyes and shake my head at him and his hand retreats.

“José?” I ask.

He still doesn’t look quite convinced.

When we’re working, he’s the most confident man on the planet. He knows what he’s doing and he knows how to get the best out of everyone that’s around him.

Outside that context, though—I don’t know if it’s because I’ve kept him at number two in such a small crew for so long or what—he’s a lot less self-assured.

“One thing I do know,” I tell him, “is that if this thing has any chance of working, we’re not going to be able to do it without you.”

He’s smiling. José never smiles.

“All right,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

From there, the rest of the business lunch—if that’s what we’re calling it—is all smiles and handshakes. There’s still one big problem, though.

We’re still just three guys sitting at a table with absolutely nothing but our enthusiasm to tell us that anything’s going to really change.

We need to find a job.

Before leaving the restaurant, I excuse myself for a moment to call Alec.

I fill him in on what we’re talking about and he seems pretty thrilled over the chance to “exercise his world-class charm.” Once I remind him that we’re a legitimate business, not a mafia operation, he’s a little disappointed, but he’s still on board.

Nothing has really changed, at least not yet, but for the first time since we got that job remodeling Jessica’s store, there’s a glimmer of hope that things are going to finally turn a corner.

When I get back to the table, I set up a time for all four of us to get together and further solidify our new roles in the company and develop a strategy for landing the bigger jobs that we’re going to need to stay afloat.

We say our goodbyes and we all have smiles on our faces as we walk out of the restaurant, but with every step I take away from the restaurant and away from my guys, the less convinced I am that I’ve done anything more than give my crew one last thing to smile about before we all end up looking for different jobs.

What can I say? Faith has never been my strong suit.

By the time I get back to my building, any vestige of a smile has long since passed, and I’m feeling a rush of anxiety running through me.

Shaking up the division of labor is a positive step, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be enough to save the company.

That anxiety only grows as I come to my hallway and find Jessica sitting with her back against my door.

“Hey,” she says, looking up at me.

“Hey, are you all right? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days,” I answer and help her up from the floor.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she says. “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” I ask.

“Well, we’re still just starting to get off the ground with whatever this is, and it’s not fair for you to have to carry everything,” she answers.

“I really don’t mind,” I start, but I don’t get a chance to finish the thought.

“I’d really rather not talk about it,” she says. “Are you going to invite me in?”

I unlock the door and open it, motioning for her to go ahead inside.

“I’m not drunk today, so that’s a plus,” she says.

I shut the door. “I’m glad to hear that,” I tell her. “I went into a bottle when my mom—”

“Yeah, I’d really rather not talk about it,” she says. “I was thinking maybe we could do something else.”

“What’d you have in mind?” I ask.

She lifts an eyebrow and starts undoing the buttons on her blouse.

“Jessica,” I start, “as much as I enjoy, you know, I think I’d rather talk to you for a little bit.”

She stops unbuttoning her shirt, saying, “Well, this is what I need right now.”

“I know you want to block it all out with sex and liquor—”

“Ah, but I’m not drunk today,” she says.

“Still,” I continue, “it’s just putting off dealing with the situation. I hope things get better for your mom and fast, but you have to deal with what’s going on right now.”

“Why do people always say that?” she asks. “Everyone thinks that confronting your emotions at all times is the best way to stay healthy, but does anyone ever consider the fact that sometimes it’s just a little much?”

“I know it’s not easy, but—”

“I don’t even like my mother,” she says. “I mean, I love her, but she’s never been the kind of person that I could really share anything with. Every fucking thing I did was never good enough, and even now, laying in that stupid hospital bed, she’s still telling me that I should sell the store and go back to working as a waitress—something about how it’s more suited to my capabilities. Even with all that, she’s still my mom and I still love her. I don’t know that I can get through this unless I have some detachment, so come here,” she says, unbuttoning another button, “hop on.”

Hop on?

“Jessica, I don’t know what our relationship is and I don’t know where it’s going, but I do know that we’re never going to be on a solid footing unless we can start talking to each other about things.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she says. “There’s something from you that I want and there’s something from me that you want. I’d be willing to give you yours if you’ll give me mine.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“We do things my way for a while,” she says, “and when we’re done with that, I’ll answer any question that you have.”

“Just one question?” I ask.

“That wasn’t it, was it?” she returns.

“No,” I tell her. “But I think I’m looking for a little bit more than that.”

“I don’t think I’m there,” she says. “Maybe if things wouldn’t have happened with my mom the way they have, it might be different, but we are what we are and the facts are the facts.”

“I don’t think it would be any different,” I tell her.

“What do you mean?” she asks impatiently, sitting on my couch, the front of her blouse coming open.