Page 11 of Ghost's Obsession

“I’ll also make a materials list based on the design you pick. There will be two sets of options, baseline, and upgrade.”

“An upgrade means more money, right?”

“Upgrade meaning better finishes. But yeah, more money.”

I chuckle. “Give me both. Doesn’t hurt to see what’s possible.”

She nods, jotting something in her notebook. “And I’ll pull paint and tile samples for you to look at. I’ll bring those next time I’m out at the site.”

“Let me know what day. I’ll be there.”

She tucks the pen behind her ear and zips her bag. Her movements are fluid, graceful, and no-nonsense—just like everything else about her. I stand when she does, and for a second, we both just stand there.

There’s something different now. Not because of what Roxy said—Heather doesn’t strike me as the type to get rattled by thatkind of crap. It’s because she saw how I handled it. Saw that I didn’t laugh it off or let it slide. I had her back.

And maybe that matters.

“Thanks for lunch,” she says finally. “Even if it got a little… dramatic.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “That’s par for the course here at the Savage Legion clubhouse. The food is great, but the club girls are off the chain sometimes.”

That earns me the tiniest smile from her. Just a twitch at the corner of her mouth. This was her recognizing that I can’t control other people, but I can speak up when I see things going sideways.

“Yeah, I get that. Spicy food and even spicier club girls.”

I chuckle, “You ain’t wrong about that.”

She shifts her bag onto her shoulder and turns towards the door but pauses just before taking her first step.

I’m intrigued by the hesitation. I wonder if she wants to tell me something important or just wants to hang out with me a little longer. I wish it was the latter because I feel like some kind of shift just took place between us, like we found common ground. All I know is that I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.

When I don’t move or speak, she walks out the door. Her strides show no sign of uncertainty, but I catch a glimmer of hesitation when she steps over the threshold.

Chapter 4

Heather

Iwake up feeling nauseated. Clasping my hand over my mouth, I make a mad dash for the bathroom sink, barely making it there in time to empty the contents of my stomach into the sink. I grope for the faucet and watch all the grossness swirl down the oversized hole in the shop sink. Still, I don’t stop throwing up until I’m dry heaving. By the time it’s over, I’ve broken out in a full body sweat and feel a headache coming on.

That’s when I pull my clothing off and step into a warm shower. I allow the water to splash into my mouth and swish it around to rinse my mouth out before spitting it out. My mouth tastes vile and I feel like the most disgusting creature that ever walked the face of the earth. Making short work of cleaning my body, I jump out, dry off, and get dressed. I rush because I’m eager to get a toothbrush into my mouth. After scrubbing my mouth for a full ten minutes, I rinse and put my toothbrush away.

Standing there, looking into the rough piece of glass nailed over the sink, I brace my hands on the rim and contemplate my life. I’ve been dealing with a dodgy stomach for a couple of weeks now, but I’ve never woken up so nauseated before. I probably should make an appointment with my doctor when I get a chance in case it is an ulcer.

I walk out the door and haul in a lungful of crisp, clean air, hoping that it will help settle my stomach. Standing there, I rest my hands on the new barrel Ghost has bought for us to burntrash in. It was unused and clean, so it doesn’t trigger another round of what in the hell just happened to me. Standing there watching the sun come up over the horizon, I admire the soft gold and blue sky.

When my mind clears, I go back inside, fold up my bedding and get ready to face another day.

I grab a brush and a fresh ponytail holder from my gear bag, brushing my wet hair until it’s almost dry and then twisting it up into a messy bun with practiced hands. I quickly pull on my work boots while making a list in my head of everything we need to do before the structural engineer arrives.

The place is a bit too messy for my liking. I quickly clean up the debris lying around, then put all our tools into the large tool chest near the door. After that, I head out to mark off where the utility lines should be placed. Of course, I double-check all my measurements because my grandfather always taught me to measure twice and cut once. It was a wise saying in the construction trade, and one that has stuck with me all these years.

All the while, I’m pretending like I didn’t throw up a lung an hour or so ago. I really want a morning coffee, but I’m unsure if my stomach will reject it. I’m just brushing sawdust off the table when the side door creaks open and Ghost steps in.

He looks pretty amazing this morning, wearing his cut over a black hoodie. He has a new pair of work gloves tucked under one arm, and a cup in each hand. This man always looks like he’s just stepped out of a gritty action movie. But he also always brings coffee, so that’s yet another mark in his favor. When he holds out a steaming cup of morning brew, all my doubts disappear, and I eagerly reach for his kind offering.

“You’re up early,” he tells me with a lopsided smile.

Nodding, I tell him, “I wanted to get the place cleaned up and prepped for the structural engineer’s first visit.”

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