The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(9)
An amused smile crossed her face but faded immediately as Murphy blustered up behind her.
“Can’t you get rid of these losers hanging around out there?” he shouted.
Eloise swiveled to face the man, his potted face red with anger. Back in the day, he might have been considered passably attractive. Heir to the Murphy’s Finest Irish whiskey empire, he certainly had enough money to dress well and take care of himself, in addition to having the means to buy an NHL franchise. At fifty-something, he still kept a reasonably trim figure, though his short stature likely had him watching calories in order to do so. His steel-gray hair formed a stylish brush cut atop his head.
“Good morning, Mr. Murphy,” Eloise said in her calmest, polished PR voice.
Murphy slowed his tirade just long enough to pierce her with his famous annoyed-and-I’m-going-to-pout face.
“Morning,” he said gruffly. “I’m trying to build a high-class establishment here, and those morons,” he pointed to the growing crowd outside, “don’t know enough to get out of the way. They’re costing me money.”
Like any high-powered, billionaire businessman, Murphy only cared about the bottom line. Eloise wondered if one shred of empathy ever coursed through his beefy body.
“I’ll speak to the foreman,” Eloise said. “There should be more barricades and safety measures put in place to keep bystanders out of the danger zone.”
“Oh, you’re a construction expert now, are you?” he asked. “I really don’t give a shit about their safety, Eloise. I want work to be done on time and within budget. It’s called a cost/benefit analysis. Didn’t they teach you about that basic business concept during your time at the prestigious Carlson School of Management?”
Eloise smiled patiently. “Yes, they certainly did. And I have family in the construction trades. My dad was a union pipefitter for thirty years, so I learned a few things along the way.”
“Union!” Murphy scoffed. “Another barrier to progress just like these idiots,” he thumbed toward the crowd again. “If the union had their way, this bar wouldn’t be opening until next year, costing me an extra million. I have kids in college, Eloise. Ivy League colleges. This shit needs to get done and get done on time!”
Unwilling to enter the polarizing territory of unions after her conversation with Ryder, Eloise changed the subject. “Shall we proceed with the walk-through, Sheehan? We both have a busy day ahead of us. I’m sure once we’re done, both our minds will be set at ease with the progress.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “But make sure you clear that street before going back to your desk.”
“I said I would talk to the foreman,” Eloise answered. “But I can’t deny people their right to free assembly, and they are taxpayers, after all. They have a stake in how their neighborhood is developed.”
“Fuck free assembly.” Murphy waved his hand. “Make it go away, Eloise, because it’s what I pay you to do. You clean up messes. Let’s start upstairs.”
The design for the upper level included a massive viewing deck, a circular wall of windows that overlooked the city’s downtown on one side, and a premium view of the ice surface on the other. Seats on that side would sell for thousands, as would the cost for private event rentals. Prices would be completely out of reach for the regular fans like those lining the street right now, and this thought weighed on Eloise. It was her job to put a positive spin on this venture, and Sheehan wasn’t making it easy with his elitist bullshit.
As they made their way around the project, Sheehan continued to complain about the protesters, the “piddly mom-and-pop shops” that dotted the surrounding streets, and the speed of his workforce, or rather, the lack of it. He made rude comments to the carpenters and electricians they passed by and barked at Barbara, his assistant, when she approached him with questions about his schedule. At this rate, Eloise wouldn’t be surprised if some overly offended blue-collar worker popped him in the jaw.
Eloise made notes and edits to the checklist on her iPad. By the time they’d finished the tour, she’d decided that Sheehan Murphy was not a particularly nice man and represented everything people disliked about big corporations; greedy, uncaring and able to call the shots only by virtue of their deep pockets. She’d never really liked him, but he’d stayed out of her way up to now, so she’d been able to keep her distance and get her job done. Once the restaurant was completed, his focus would return to other projects, and she could breathe a sigh of relief.
As she’d promised, she sought out Stan Walters before returning to her office, urging him to widen the radius of the safety barriers and put up extra “No Trespassing” signs as soon as possible. Looking at the growing group of demonstrators outside, Eloise decided to go right to the heart of the matter and pushed through the door.
“Good morning,” she said, mustering her calmest public speaking voice. “I’m Eloise Robertson. I work for the Rochester Riot. For your safety, I ask that all of you move back to the opposite side of the street. The Riot would be devastated if something happened to one of you during this project.”
“What about the safety of our neighborhood?” one of the onlookers cried.
“Yeah, what about our businesses?” hollered another.
The questions fired at her like a machine gun repeating at sixty decibels for minutes until she finally put her pointer finger up to her lips.