Read The Fixer Upper for Free Online Page B

friends who might be able to find him work. His old classmate at college, Mitch Moskowitz, ran a rehab-and-renovation business in New York, and he’d come through with a job offer. When Ned had run the idea past Eric, Eric had freaked out. “New York! That’s so cool! Let’s go!”
    Ned had planned the move carefully. He’d done research. The apartment he’d found for them was right near a primary school with a solid reputation, and it fell within the district of a high-scoring middle school. By the time Eric was ready for high school, Ned had assumed he’d either get into one of the elite public high schools—Eric was, after all, a flipping genius—or they’d rethink their plans and maybe leave the city.
    He’d met Eric’s fourth-grade teacher at the local elementary school, and she’d impressed him as a tough, smart woman. Ned had believed that things would work out. And they would, he assured himself, even if Eric didn’t get intothe Hudson School. But if Eric wanted the Hudson School, Ned would do what he could to get him in.
    He waited for a few stragglers to race up the steps ahead of him, then climbed the front stairs and entered the building on the left. The vaulted entry smelled like lemon, leather and money. The walls were paneled with dark wainscoting, and a turned mahogany staircase ascended out of sight. A few framed bulletin boards held fliers and announcements, and an easel in the curve of the stairway displayed a placard with the date printed on it in bright block letters. High-pitched voices echoed from above, tumbling down the stairs.
    An open door to his left led into an office. He glanced at his watch. Eight-fifty. He’d phoned Mitch to say he’d be arriving at the Colwyn job a half hour late, but he hoped this wouldn’t take that long.
    Smoothing the collar of his shirt beneath his denim jacket, he wondered whether he should have worn a tie. Maybe he ought to have splashed on a little cologne, too, instead of his usual no-name aftershave. Did he even own any cologne? He recalled buying a bottle when he’d decided it was time to start dating again, but given how messy that whole period had been, he’d left the bottle behind when he and Eric had packed up their belongings and moved.
    Drawing in a steadying breath, he strode through the doorway and smiled at the woman behind the counter. She stood at a long worktable, inserting papers into an electric stapler that bit down on them in a crisp, quick tempo. Glancing up, she smiled hesitantly. She appeared middle-aged, her brown hair streaked with silver and her eyes obscured by large-framed glasses that gave her face a buglike appearance. “May I help you?” she asked.
    “I need to see whoever’s in charge of admissions,” he said, moving a step to his left so the huge bouquet of flowers balanced in a vase on the counter wouldn’t block his view of her.
    Her smile chilled. “I’m not sure if Ms. Kimmelman is available for unscheduled meetings with parents,” she told him.
    “Well, if you’re not sure, perhaps you could find out.” She didn’t seem convinced, so he added, “My name is Ned Donovan. I’m here for my son, Eric,” as if that would make a difference.
    Refusing to shift her gaze from him, the woman pursed her lips and crossed to a desk. She lifted a phone, pushed a button and listened for a moment before speaking. “Tara? There’s a gentleman here who wants to see Libby. He says he’s here for his son—” she eyed Ned quizzically “—Eric Donovan.” She paused, then said, “I have no idea.” Another pause, and, “All right.” She lowered the phone and told him, “Ms. Kimmelman’s assistant said she’d check.”
    Ned nodded and tried to guess what the assistant was checking. He didn’t have a police record. Nor did he have a legacy of family members who had attended the school, or a well-connected associate who would vouch for his son, or a history of making huge donations to the endowment