I steal another glance at him as we drive toward the Olympus site. He’s staring holes through the road. It’s like he believes that, if he concentrates hard enough on the asphalt, he won’t have to think about what just happened between us.
If only it were so simple.
We pull up to the Olympus construction site, and I force myself back into project manager mode. Or at least, I try to. It’s hard when I can still taste wintergreen gum. But ya girl is doing the best she can.
Frank Moretti is waiting for us outside the main entrance, hard hat tucked under one arm, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.
“Mr. Hale,” he greets as we approach. “Ms. Hunter.”
“Frank.” Bastian is all business now, showing no signs that he had his tongue in my mouth twenty minutes ago. “Show Ms. Hunter the problem.”
Frank leads us through the construction site. “Now, I know the HVAC situation isn’t ideal,” he begins, waving a hand at the skeletal framework around us, “but I want to focus on what’s goingrightfirst. The structural work is ahead of schedule. The plumbing passed inspection on the first try—thatneverhappens. And the electrical contractor says we’re looking at completion two days early on their end. Ain’t that something?”
I make notes on my tablet as we walk, dodging stacks of drywall and coils of copper wire. The space is massive—twelve different restaurant concepts under one roof means it’s basically a small city of kitchens and dining rooms, all in various states of completion.
“The tile work in the sushi concept ischef’s kiss.” Frank smooches his fingertips to underscore his point. “Imported from Kyoto. Hand-laid. Looks like a million freaking bucks.”
“It costtwomillion bucks,” Bastian drawls.
Frank’s smile falters. “Right. Yeah. But it looks great, don’t it?”
Bastian doesn’t answer. He’s walking with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, jaw clenched tight.
I recognize this version of him. This is the Bastian who ridiculed me in front of the test kitchen staff. This is the asshole who tore up my resignation letter, the tyrant who pinned me against the wall of the walk-in freezer.
The one who kissed me in an elevator is nowhere to be found.
“The bar installation for the cocktail lounge is also coming along beautifully,” Frank tries again. “Custom walnut. The grain pattern is?—”
“Which part of this concerns the HVAC?” Bastian interrupts.
Frank’s shoulders slump. “Right. Of course. This way.”
We follow him through a maze of I-beams and plastic sheeting. I wrinkle my nose to ward off the heavy scent of sawdust and paint primer.
“Watch your step here,” Frank warns. He points at a gap in the flooring where subflooring hasn’t been laid yet. “We’ve got?—”
But even though I hear the words, my brain is engrossed in the HVAC specs I’ve got cued up on my tablet, so I don’t see the two-by-four lying across the walkway until my toe catches on it.
I pitch forward with a yelp.
It’s one of those life-flash-before-your-eyes moments. Mine is a bit too bland and depressing to be good primetime viewing. I mostly get a montage of lonely Lean Cuisine microwave meals and half-hearted jogs through Millenium Park after an over-long Instagram doom-scroll convinced me that I had to get abs or I’d die miserable and alone and be eaten by housecats.
My real death, however, is looking like it’s gonna be a bit more dramatic than that. Because there’s a hole between the plank and the finished section of subflooring, and that hole opens up onto a three-story drop that’s got my name on it.
This is how it ends,I think.Speared to death on a piece of rebar. At least I’ll make the five o’clock news.
But death is not getting its hands on me. Not today, at least.
Because Bastian gets his hands on me first.
I don’t know where he came from or how he moves so fast. All I know is that, one second, I’m contemplating demise by construction material, and the next, the familiar heat of that hand is wrapped around my wrist.
He drags me back to safety.
Our eyes meet.
His face—God, his face. For just a second, the asshole mask is gone and there’s arealman there. A man who cares more than he’d ever say out loud.
