see Bree’s expression when her mother laid that on him at dinner.
“Really, Mrs. Leake,” Chip said for the fifteenth time. “And I can’t express this enough. There is nowhere else I’d rather be.”
And it was true. Oh, so cosmically true.
Chip had to admit he was enjoying himself. For one thing, Bree’s parents had been nothing but kind, engaging, and encouraging from the moment he met them. They said things like, “Well, aren’t you so smart!” and were impressed by even his most basic skills. He explained how to seal a pipe? Impressed. He discussed a bid he put in at a town auction? Impressed. He shared how to add two-thirds cup of sugar to the jalapeno cornbread recipe to give it that perfect combination of savory-spicy-sweet? Super impressed.
To be honest, he would head to dinner with her parents even if Bree didn’t show at this point. It was nice just to be encouraged.
Chip felt his trousers buzzing and slipped his hand into his pocket, withdrew his phone.
His father’s name flashed across the screen.
“Excuse me a second. I’ll just be outside.”
The pair nodded as he slid the phone to his ear.
There was no greeting.
“Chip. What the heck have you done?”
He pushed open the doors and stepped into the fresh air.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Chip replied. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“I’m looking at an email from Richardson’s engineers saying they are doing a complete rework of the original drawings for bid. Do you have any idea how much more it’ll cost to make just some of these things happen? I don’t even know what some of these items are, much less how to get them.” A paper rustled in the background. “‘Forty-foot illuminated replica of night sky?’ What on earth is he talking about?”
Chip felt his throat tightening. “Why do you think I’m to blame for this?”
“Because you and I well know you were with him at the Barter today. And because every other businessman in this town has been trying to limit Richardson’s sky-high fantasies for weeks. But one hour with you and suddenly everyone is scrambling. And only you would come up with something as crazy as this.”
Chip felt the pressure in his chest as he exhaled. “I’ll have you know that the Fox is a landmark theatre that has maintained similar designs since the 1920s,” Chip retorted, then winced. He walked right into that confession.
“That’s fine and good, but do you know how much profit Pete estimates losing for these alterations with this grand new plan? Three percent. Three percent, Chip. On a profit margin already as thin as a rail tie. Because, sure enough, unlike blue paint by the five-gallon bucket, Lowe’s doesn’t stock”—he paused and read from the sheet—“‘ColorCast 14 lighting luminaires’ to make up any ‘bright night skies.’” There was a heavy pause. “You aren’t seriously considering throwing in a bid for this, are you?”
Chip moved aside for a family to pass and meandered in the other direction. “I don’t see why not. I live in the area. I own a construction company.” He nearly found himself adding a tongue-in-cheek, I specialize in historic renovation, but resisted. “I have the experience.”
“Nobody’s asking about your experience, son. Or where you live. Do you have the money? The resources? Taking on a job like this out of the gate could kill you.”
“It won’t.”
“But if it did?”
“It won’t,” Chip repeated.
“Chip, I’m going to say this once, so you’d do well to hear me and hear me now. The risk is too much. And I love you, but you can’t expect me to catch you, or your company, from a fall like this.”
Right. Because that’s what this was about, wasn’t it? Making sure his father didn’t have to come save the day when he failed. Well, he wasn’t a child anymore. Chip wasn’t a twelve-year-old kid signing up to sell too many fundraiser chocolate bars that his parents would have to buy in the end.
As if reading his mind his father continued, “You know, your mother still has a box of your chocolate bars in the basement.”
He frowned. “They’re twenty years old, Dad. She needs to throw them out.”
“She keeps them for sentimental purposes. I keep them as a reminder of situations like this.”
Good grief.
This was exactly why he had decided to branch out on his own. The McBride men were always so methodical, so emotionally detached from everything but the calculator. Everything came down to a number. If the profit margin came to a certain level, it