The soft whir of the air conditioning filled the silence within Jamie's car as he stared down at the screen of his phone. A text stared back at him, an invitation to another beach weekend with his friends that he would have to deny. Of the bunch, he was the "stiff", as they liked to call him. His frequent cancellations and regretful absences were chalked up to his job. While the others had three years of experience under their belts, Jamie was only just starting out at the bottom of the totem pole in the legal department for Stanford Construction. With a major promotion on the line and a major project graciously placed in his lap, he was forced to bail once more - hopefully for the last time.
Stepping out of his hybrid, Jamie cursed himself for choosing a career that demanded formalwear. Under the blistering July heat, the slim gray suit felt more like a wool sweater. He envied the men in wife beaters and raggedy Levi's dragging cement and sheets of metal around the construction site. Of course, standing at a modest five foot eight, half the size of those blue collar grunts, he envied much more than their outfits. Checking his styled blonde hair in the car's mirror, Jamie made a beeline for the trailer in which the foreman resided, eager for a new A/C source.
Knocking on the door, Jamie's knees were knocking with the desire to get out of the sun's glare like a child who couldn't hold his bladder. Lumbering footsteps were heard through the door, a sign of coming relief. When the door swung open, Jamie's trembling ceased, eyes squinting as he was forced to look up to see the man's face.
"Mister Hank Richards?" Jamie questioned, intimidation causing his voice to hike up ever so slightly. The man's thick brow rose in response as he let out a grunt before turning on his heel and heading for his desk. It wasn't exactly the polite workplace greeting Jamie expected, but he followed behind nonetheless - only to discover with a pathetic look of misery on his face that the window unit in the trailer was silent and the heat was hardly abetted by the roof.
"You that legal yuppie they sent to try and tell me to work faster?" Richards barked, his filthy foreman's boots slamming on the surface of his desk. Jamie's attention was brought back to the task at hand, standing lamely in the middle of the trailer before he cleared his throat and came back to himself.
"Yes, sir. I'm Jamie - Jamie Donovan. I b-believe the office sent over a copy of the contract we signed with your firm?" Jamie's voice trembled ever so slightly before he recovered. He had no idea what had thrown him off his game. Perhaps it was the heat, or the rancid smell that seemed to fill the whole office. He made himself comfortable, unbuttoning his designer suit to settle into the flimsy chair across from the foreman's desk. With the man reclining, so big and bulky, Jamie felt more like a teenager called into the principal's office than a professional meeting with an equal.
"You get dropped on your head as a kid? I know what the fuck I signed." Hank practically spit the words at Jamie, crossing his thick arms over his barrel of a chest. In his company's t-shirt - which happened to be soaked around the pits and neckline with sweat - he looked every bit the blue collar man his company's commercials proclaimed him to be. Jamie had been briefed of course. He had a reputation for the stereotypically brutish behavior associated with his industry, though his boss had failed to mention he was a staggering six foot five with more hair coating his arms and bursting out of his collar than a gorilla. Even his mustache was fuller than anything Jamie had ever grown. Not to mention his shirt was wrapped tightly around a bulging belly to match the paunchy red face. He looked more like a hog than a man with his piggish features and ruddy complexion mixed with his burly figure.
Jamie couldn't understand how quickly things had gone south. In law school, he'd been famous for his quick thinking, slicing through opposing arguments with his sharp tongue and an arrogant look. Now he sat stationary on the folding chair in his sweaty suit, stammering like a child being scolded by his father, heart pounding like a drum.
"Now listen here, boy," Hank grumbled, his dismissive nickname going unaddressed. "My men are working in hundred degree heat day and night to finish this project so you can stroll in here, light in your loafers, and flaunt your hundred dollar haircut. You think that's fair, boy?" Jamie was speechless before Hank slammed his fist on the desk. "Answer me when I ask you a question, son!"
"Y-yes, sir!" Jamie spit, sweat now dripping from his temple. Hank didn't seem impressed one bit as he eyed the young lawyer, though there seemed to be a flash of understanding in his eyes. Jamie's nerves drove him to shakily reach for his briefcase, popping the latches to search for the contract as a bit of backup. At the same time, Hank reached for his boots atop his desk, beginning to undo the laces. As Jamie slammed his case shut, laying the contract atop it, his nose twitched only for him to realize the source of a filthy odor when he turned back to the foreman. His massive feet were now exposed in their socks, laid out over the desk.
"Mister Richards, I fear we've gotten off on the wrong foot," Jamie mumbled, shuffling the contract as he tried to ignore the intoxicating stink of those feet in the heat of the trailer. Flipping a few pages, Jamie struggled to collect himself. "However, we - our firm, we explicitly outlined procedure for a struggling time table --"
