Back in my office, I close the door. It shuts with a satisfying click. The sofa is already made up for the night. Clara guessed I wouldn’t be leaving. I couldn’t face the picket line again.
As I’m pulling the band from my hair and kicking off my heels, I pull my phone from my pocket. It’s been stuffed there on silent since the altercation with Julian. I didn’t want any more shit tonight.
A missed a call from Ben. Three to be exact. Then a voicemail.
I consider deleting it before even listening. He’d been moody all day, and we only have two decent contractor options available. It will demand more from the budget, which could push our timeline back anyway. I’m not sure my pockets are deep enough.
I knew he was mad when I left the site, but I couldn’t be bothered to name it.
Then I think twice and press play on his voicemail.
“Antonia… it’s Ben. I’ve just left the site. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You’re right—families don’t have time. I just… this place matters to me. I don’t want to rush it and lose what it’s supposed to be. Anyway. I’ll review the contractor options tonight. We’ll sort it out. Goodnight.”
I replay it.
A man correcting himself without ego is foreign to me. I’m used to fighting my corner until they fold.
I don’t delete it.
I don’t reply.
I don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t need to win.