“You okay?” he rasps.
“Dandy,” I manage to splutter, though my heart is hammering for reasons that have nothing to do with almost falling three stories to my death.
His fingers linger on my wrist for one beat too long before he releases me and steps back. He shoves both hands in his pockets again like he doesn’t trust them.
The asshole mask reappears.
And life goes back to what I always thought it was:lonely.
Frank clears his throat awkwardly. “You alright, Ms. Hunter? ‘Bout gave me a heart attack there.”
“I’m good,” I promise, wiping my hair out of my face. “Just, y’know, genetically clumsy. Sorry. Proceed.”
“Right.” He squints at me for another second before turning and lifting up a curtain of plastic sheeting. “Uh, the station is just through here.”
We form a half-circle in front of the truffle oil station. It’s like a giant church organ, insanely complex, pipes and wires running every which way.
I glance at Bastian, but he’s saying nothing and gazing strangely into the distance, so I take the lead. “Pretend I don’t know anything and tell me what’s going on,” I instruct him.
With a cough, Frank launches into his explanation. “So basically, the original specs called for a standard commercial system,” he’s saying, “but once we started the install, we realized the heat output from the truffle oil prep station is gonna be way higher than anticipated. The existing HVAC can’t handle the load without creating a fire hazard. So…”
I nod along as he keeps talking. I’m making notes on my tablet, but I’m only half-listening. The other half of my attention is on Bastian, who’s gone very still beside me.
His eyes have narrowed, focused on something across the room. I follow his gaze to see that two of Frank’s crew guys are having what looks like a heated conversation near a stack of copper piping.
One of them, a younger guy with a Bears cap, keeps glancing over his shoulder toward us like he’s worried about being overheard.
The other one, older with a gray beard, puts a hand on Bears Cap’s shoulder and says something that makes the younger guy shake his head emphatically.
Bastian’s frown deepens.
“—which is why we need the upgraded system,” Frank finishes. “Make sense?”
“Er, yeah,” I tell him. “I think I follow. Don’t see any faults in the logic, but the whole thing is pretty unfortunate. As you know, we’re on a very tight launch schedule here. Lots of money and moving pieces in the balance.”
“Of course, of course,” he says. “Believe me, I’m the last person who wanted this to happen. It’s just that?—”
Bastian’s jaw ticks. Then, without warning, he’s striding across the construction site toward the two workers.
“Excuse me,” Frank calls after him. “Mr. Hale. Mr. Hale?—!”
But Bastian’s long legs eat up the space in seconds. Frank is a full head shorter and he’s struggling to catch up. Seeing as I’m shorter than both of them, I’m the turtle in this race.
By the time I arrive on the scene, Bastian’s already inserted himself between Bears Cap and Gray Beard.
“Gentlemen,” he says, “care to share what’s so important it can’t wait until after my walkthrough?”
The younger guy goes pale. “Nothing, Mr. Hale. We were just…”
“Just what?”
Gray Beard shifts his weight. “Just discussing the timeline, sir. Nothing to worry about.”
“What about the timeline?”
The two workers exchange glances. Neither speaks.
Bastian turns to Frank, who’s finally caught up, breathing hard. “Frank. What the fuck is going on?”
