Quitting time. Thank Christ. While Colin didn't appreciate being shunned by his colleagues, the lack of interruption meant he was getting lots of work done. He may have lost the marketing battle, but he was going to win this goddamned war. He still had control over the book, and he planned to write the hell out of it. Crafting a story was something he knew how to do, and when he was finished, Miguel would readily sign off and Henry would eat crow.
As he shut down his computer, a smile spread across his face. Yes, giving his boss a figurative kick in the nuts made him happy. Buoyant even.
He spent the commute home thinking of ways to celebrate his little victory. A solid day's work deserved some kind of reward — a movie perhaps, with Ryan.
The construction trucks were still parked outside his house when he got home. No matter. He could retreat to his office until they finished. It was nothing that a drink and a pair of noise-cancelling headphones couldn't handle.
Within seconds of stepping inside the house, Maureen appeared. "You're home early," she said.
He consulted his watch. "Not really."
"Joe and his men are still here."
"So?"
"It's just that . . . the dust and noise bothers you."
"It's fine. I'll be in my office." He took a step, but she put a hand on his chest to stop him.
"Maureen . . ." She was already killing his buzz.
"You don't want to get in their way." She gave a nervous laugh and Colin stepped back again.
"What's going on?" he asked.
At that moment, Joe came around the corner. His face brightened at seeing Colin.
"Come see what we've done," he said. "I think you're going to love it."
Maureen slumped and stepped aside. Colin followed Joe down the hallway toward his office. An uneasy feeling crept up from inside, and when he stepped inside the room, Colin's heart sank.
Everything was gone. His desk, his books and music . . . everything. Even the gyprock. All that remained was bare studs and wires.
"Great isn't it?" Joe beamed at him.
"Great?" If by "great" he meant "great big fucking disaster," then yes . . . yes, it was.
Maureen scurried over. "Wait until you see what we have planned."
"This room was to be left alone." It was all he could do to keep an even tone.
"We couldn't do the rest of the house and leave this room old and dingy." She scrunched up her nose in disgust. "Don't worry, you'll love it."
"I loved the way it was."
"Your wife wanted to surprise you," said Joe, stepping between them. "I know this can be a bit of a shock, especially if you aren't used to renovating. But once the work is done, you'll wonder why you waited so long."
"And when will that be?"
"Hmm?" Joe seemed not to understand him.
"When will the office be ready? You've been here for five months, and nothing is finished yet. Not one room."
A worker set his toolbox on a bench and a cloud of dust puffed into the air.
"These things take time."
"It's my fault," said Maureen. "I keep changing my mind about the fireplace in the front room."
"Yes," he said, ignoring his wife. "I imagine these things do take time. But how much?" Colin looked up at the ceiling and the exposed floor joists. Christ, what a bloody mess.
Joe shrugged. "Hard to say."
"You'll be starting work on the Costa residence soon — Miguel told me he'd hired you — and I'd like some reassurance that my house will be back in one piece before then."
"Oh, don't worry about that," said Joe with a laugh. "You'll have my undivided attention until the work is done."
Colin smiled back. "Isn't that lucky." He didn't really care whether the sarcasm showed through. "Are you sure you haven't said the same to the Costas?"
"Positive. That deal fell through."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Apparently it's a heritage property. We could have renovated, but they wanted a complete demolition and council said no. They're looking at renting in Manhattan now, so you are my top priority."
Maureen started toward the door, but Colin held her in place with a stare. "When did this happen?"
"A month or so ago," said Joe.
"They're not buying the house?"
"Nope."
Maureen blushed so hard that ugly white splotches covered her cheeks and neck. She refused to look him in the eye and that one act confirmed for him that she'd known. But of course she did — she would have known before Joe. And no house sale meant no commission. It was all gone.
Colin, fearing his legs might buckle, sat on a workhorse and rubbed a hand across his jaw. Joe's employees had left, and now the house had an eerie stillness to it. He looked around at the tools and bits of insulation lying about. The ground floor of his home was little more than a construction zone. Uninhabitable. At last he managed to look at his wife. "Do you want to tell him or will I?" he asked.
Maureen's face hardened, warning him to stay quiet.
"I guess I'll tell him then." He didn't bother to stand; he doubted he'd have the strength for it anyway. "Joe," he said, "you're fired."
Joe's face flushed in anger.
"We have no money for you to finish the job." There. It was done. He'd admitted to an outside party that they were broke. Daggers shot from Maureen's eyes, but he just didn't care anymore. "Send me an invoice for any outstanding balance, and I'll do what I can to ensure you're paid. Would instalments be ok?"
Joe seemed more embarrassed than he did, but he nodded in agreement. "The boys will be back tomorrow to gather up their things," he said. After shaking Colin's hand, he left.
"How could you?" Maureen's lips quivered in anger. Or perhaps, it was hatred.
"Funny," he said, making his way toward the door. "I was about to ask you the same thing."