It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

What Do You Get When You Feed the Birds? (1)

As the scaffolding rose around the kitchen wing of the house, Matthew swallowed back an impending sense of dread and claustrophobia as he squeezed his bedsheets in his arms. He'd planned for the roofers to be scrambling over the copper-patina-d roof, but he hadn't expected the house to be encased in metal and wood while it happened. Matthew headed into the living room, only to be dismayed that the skylight had been completely covered in a tarp, casting the normally light-filled space under a dull blue glow. The whole house seemed to sink further under darkness. "I hate this," he whispered. "There's no part of me that doesn't hate this."

"No kidding," Toby whispered, the tape measure slapping back into its protective plastic cover. "This sucks."

Matthew sighed, rolling his head and hearing the vertebrae crack in his neck. "So, Olmsted, find out anything good?"

It was Toby's turn to sigh, latching the tape measure on his belt. "Not really," he muttered, pulling a clipboard with measurements scribbled all over the page. "Nothing I didn't know before. Now it's just waiting for finding out if the wing's structurally sound, and if the Sullivan Foundation approves my window choices."

He laughed, though cleared his throat and glanced away a moment later. "Good luck. Their response times are...a solid month."

Toby sighed, glancing back to the conservatory. "It's such a good space, though."

Matthew shoved his bedsheets into Toby's arms. "Earn your hours. Help me move while they tear apart – " From the kitchen, he spied a spectacular white spark flash from the china and silverware storage room. " – the electrical work there."

"God, what I wouldn't do to – " Toby did not complete the thought, as the doorbell – a confusing, low and slow chime – rang out from a speaker by the front door. It sounded like the chime itself was dying. "Your cue. I don't answer to him like you do."

He rolled his eyes, his slippers slapping against the carpeted floor. Watching Toby head stroll passed the offer, and checking for any audible signs of the children, Matthew opened the door.

Mr. Culpepper turned, his blue eyes widening at the sight of the nanny. He'd gotten rounder since Matthew had last seen him. Gaze narrowing slightly, he offered a simple, "Matthew?"

Behind stood Audrey, who shared the same reaction as her father. Her hair, makeup, everything still stunned him.

Matthew closed the door with a hard swing. Only realizing what he had done, he turned and swung himself into the office.

"What," Mr. Yang asked, tone flat.

"Mr. Culpepper is here, why is Mr. Culpepper here?"

Sunken brown eyes met Matthew's gray ones. "Oh?" Mr. Yang stood. "Interesting," he mused, running his hand down his front to smooth out the nonexistent creases in his blazer. "You might want to watch this."

There were a thousand and five things Matthew wanted to do than listen to his employer talk to his ex-girlfriend's dad. He needed to move his things to another bedroom while they stripped the old electrical and the gas lines. Maybe he wanted to watch the heating people test the radiant heating, and then listen to them determine if the floor needs to be torn up. Hell, he'd go outside and watch the roofers talk about roofing. Anything but this.

"It's good to see you, Mr. Culpepper."

Matthew blinked, very alone in the office. Despite himself, he drifted towards the voices back to the entryway.

"How can I help you today?"

Mr. Culpepper chuckled. "I wanted to discuss business with you."

Mr. Yang hummed. "I don't normally take walk-ins. May I ask why you're here?"

The rounder man turned back to Audrey, who kept her head down. "May I come in?"

"Does this concern why I decided not to back you?"

Mr. Culpepper chuckled again. "Mr. Yang, if we may come in to discuss this – "

"I felt the memo I sent out was straightforward enough. Did you not get it?"

"I-I did, but I'd still like to discuss – "

"It's the same reasons why Wellington North didn't back you, either."

Mr Culpepper, trying to control himself, tapped his fingers against his crossed arms. "Your firm's a social anchor of the community, of the region, Mr. Yang," he explained. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. No reporters, no photographers, just myself and my daughter. I ask you to reconsider."

Mr. Yang hummed again. "Yes, well, I certainly appreciate the visit, however, under the present circumstances, I will still not be backing you for the reasons listed in my memo." He clasped his hands together. "Is there anything else you need?" The man turned to Matthew. "Mr. Robinson, offer them drinks before they go."

"...yes, sir."

"Don't sound so disappointed, Mr. Robinson," Mr. Yang chastised, "they'll – "

"Mr. Robinson?"

Matthew turned.

Mr. Culpepper smiled.

He never hated a smile before, yet Matthew found the smirk so repugnant.

"Have you discussed your relationship with my daughter, Mr. Robinson?"

Matthew opened his mouth to speak, yet Mr. Yang interjected, "I assure you, Mr. Culpepper, Mr. Robinson's opinion of your daughter had nothing to do with my decision." He paused. "Her behavior the night of the benefit dinner was...quite interesting to observe, yet Mr. Robinson's account of their relationship only seemed to solidify my initial thoughts of her." He eyed Matthew for a moment before continuing, "As you know, Mr. Culpepper, I deal in people. Your daughter, based on her behavior the night of, is, unfortunately, not one of those people I wish to deal in." Yang turned back to Matthew again. "Some drinks before they leave, Mr. Robinson?"