Page 8 of Working for the Mountain Man

I write in my notebook:not grumpy. just load-bearing.

Then I cross it out because I shouldn’t be making notes about him.

I’ve sworn off men.

I remind myself and I have a feeling that I’ll be reminding myself that a lot more frequently.

"So, you're the one brave enough to touch his filing system." I look up and see a man in a high-vis jacket and a baseball capleaning against the door frame, grinning at me. He seems to be in his late twenties, with a broad smile, and mud up to his knees.

"Someone had to," I say with a grin.

"Three other people tried," he says. "One cried because it’s a mess."

"I write romance novels for a living. I've seen worse disasters in chapter twelve."

He laughs. "I'm Corey."

"Elsie." I hold up one of the tablets. "You named a folder of photos, the ‘maybe bridge’ folder."

He shrugs like it’s completely normal. "It made sense at the time."

Lord help me. "In what universe?"

He gives me the cockiest grin as he crosses his arms against his chest. "The one where I wasn't sure it was the right bridge."

"Then you label it with the date and the location, not maybe bridge."

"I see why he needed you," Corey says, still grinning.

"Corey." Hugo's voice comes from behind him, flat and even. "I need those shoulder readings on my desk before noon."

Corey straightens immediately. "On it, boss." He gives me a quick salute and disappears.

Hugo looks at me for a moment, says nothing, and goes back to the radio call he was on.

I look back at the tablets as I realize he didn’t raise his voice, or threaten anything, he just said Corey's name and that was enough to have Corey stand up straight and leave and for some reason I find that interesting.

I’ve been matching photos to the repair log section by section for three days now, and it has mostly been working. It’s messy, slow, and requires more patience than I actually have, but it’s been working. Until I get to the final inspection phase of the SB-1 deck repair and find that the written log references a sealed expansion joint on the south end, but none of the photos I have show a sealed joint. I have photos of the damage, the prep work, and the deck patch. I have no after photo of the joint itself.

The written log says it was completed, but there’s no documented proof of that which for a grant inspection isn’t going to work.

"Hugo," I call out, he’s at the other end of the office, looking at a map, but he turns at me calling him. "The SB-1 final inspection log references a sealed expansion joint on the south end. I have no photo of it."

He frowns. "There should be one."

"I have two hundred and seventeen photos. I have gone through all of them. There’s no sealed joint."

He crosses the office and comes around behind me to look at the screen. He’s way too close and I can feel his breath against my face. His arm brushes the back of my chair as he leans forward to point at the screen. "This section," he says, tapping a photo. "The repair note says joint sealed same day as deck patch. These photos are all deck patch."

"Right," I say, my voice is completely normal despite the close proximity. "So either the photo was never taken, or it's somewhere not in these camera rolls."

"Could be on Darnell's phone."

I narrow my eyes. "Crew members document repairs on their personal phones?"

He glances down at me. "Sometimes."

"Hugo," I groan.