Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chris was a smalltime metal fabricator with seven employees, six of them men in the warehouse and only one a woman who handled everything in his office. Betty had dark hair, was in her thirties, and was divorced, with two young girls—and she had to be wondering what the hell was going on.
He’d called in the two idiots who had delivered the flatbed of goods to the client, and of course they’d apologized, felt like crap, and sworn up a blue streak about the man who’d looked them in the eye and promised to have the check in the morning. The problem was that while Chris’s bank manager had been sympathetic about the situation, the expected payment that was now a loss, he hadn’t granted Chris an extension on the amount owing.
As he leaned back in his chair, taking in his
