Coldhearted Boss(13)
“Taylor?” Max asks, leaning down to peer under the brim of my hat.
I act deeply shocked to see him there. “Max?! No way. What are you doing here?”
His brows furrow in confusion.
Max was the “it” guy at my high school. Universally attractive with his boy band haircut and winning smile, no girl was immune to his charms. He also happened to be slightly more well-off than the rest of us thanks to his mom’s job as the middle school’s principal. He was the one with the cool new shoes at the start of every school year while all the rest of us were rocking hand-me-downs that had someone else’s feet imprinted on the soles. He and I only dated for a few months our sophomore year, but I’ve always had the impression that Max would change that if I gave him the chance.
His confusion gives way to intrigue. His dimples pop.
“I’m applying for a job. What are you doing here?”
Jeremy grunts loudly. Max looks toward him, and I barely notice my cousin shake his head in warning. The guys around us in line are starting to take notice. I don’t blame them. It’s been pretty boring so far, and I’d be curious about the man-child drowning in adult clothing too.
“Taylor and I are both applying,” Jeremy says simply as we all shuffle up one place in line.
A few of the guys behind us observe Max and the fact that he’s lingering. “Hey bud,” one of them says gruffly, “we’ve all been waiting here for an hour. If you want to get in line, get in the back.”
Max holds up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right, I’m going.” Then he aims one last smirk my way and adds a wink. “I’ll catch you guys in a little bit.”
Jeremy and I exchange a glance but otherwise keep silent. It’s obvious we’re both having second thoughts about going through with this. It’s going to be so embarrassing when we get to the front of the line and the recruitment team calls me out in front of everyone.
She’s a woman! Get her!
I’ve spent my time carefully assessing the situation so I can limit my chances of failure. Ahead of us, there’s a large white portable construction trailer, which Lockwood Construction staff has been filtering in and out of all day. In front of the trailer, there are three tables, each manned by a recruiter. When an applicant reaches the front of the line, he (or in my case, she) steps up to an available table, hands over his completed paperwork with his ID, answers a few questions, and if all goes well, he’s then given a small sterile cup for a urine sample. Ah yes, drug testing. I’m actually glad they’re doing it because a handful of guys awkwardly shuffled away and headed home once they realized that was the case, which shortened our wait time by a little bit.
To the left of the tables, there’s one of those fancy porta-potties—the kind with a mirror and sink inside. A man in scrubs stands at the door, allowing one person in at a time and subsequently collecting their urine samples after they’re finished.
That’s all I’ve got to get through. There’s nothing that should call undue attention to me. They’re not forcing us to perform daring feats of strength or prove our skill with a hammer. You there! Flip over that human-sized tire with one hand!
Nothing will call attention to my gender unless a great gust of wind whips my hat off and my hair goes tumbling down my back.
Just the thought makes me pull the brim down so it sits a little more snuggly on my head. Any lower and I’ll be blind.
The line moves forward and dread fills my stomach. It feels like I’m doing something wrong, but nowhere on the application does it specify that women aren’t allowed to apply for jobs today. It’s just heavily implied. When’s the last time you pulled up to a construction site and saw a bunch of ladies rockin’ hard hats? Oh right, never.
To be clear, I’m not pretending to be a man. I’m just trying to blend in like a chameleon. Yup, don’t mind me, just your average red-blooded American construction worker with a heart-shaped face, button nose, and pouty mouth.
“Next!” one of the recruiters shouts.
The line moves and we’re only a few people away from the front now.
My hands start to tremble, and Jeremy notices.
“You okay?” he asks, keeping his voice low.
I nod, but I’m not…really. A strange sensation grips hold of my spine and I swear I’m being watched. No shit, Sherlock. You look like a doof. I glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a bunch of guys shuffling around in line, bored. Some of them are chatting amongst themselves. Some are on their phones. One guy is ferociously tearing into a cinnamon roll, and I think I like him the best of all. If I get hired, I hope we work together.
Jeremy nudges me forward as the line moves and when I turn back around, my attention catches on the trailer behind the tables where Lockwood Construction staff is presumably watching the events of the morning take place.
That’s why I feel like I’m being watched—we probably all are.
Before I know it, I’m at the front of the line, heading toward a recruiter who looks like he’s ready to call it a day. I don’t blame him. He’s dealt with dozens of guys already and he doesn’t even look up right away, just asks for my ID and application while he continues typing on his laptop.
“Name?”
“Taylor Larson.”
He confirms that’s the name on my ID and application then continues typing, filling in things like my date of birth and address, asking me to clarify the name of my current employer since my handwriting is so bad. Then he turns back to my ID for some other piece of information and stalls, hands hovering above his keyboard, no doubt finally noticing my photo. Was it really so important that I wear my hair down to the DMV that day? No one on Earth would confuse me for a dude in that photo.