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ChapterFour
Bobbie
Bobbie climbed into her Volkswagen Beetle and headed home, but her mind wasn’t on the route. It was focused on the almost kiss. Her hands kept drifting to her lips—where Beau’s mouth had grazed hers with a heat she’d never experienced.
It was a wonder she made it to her Thirteenth Street building. A bigger miracle when she got to her fourth-floor apartment. She could undoubtedly afford better, but it was safe, and the neighborhood was centrally located. Spurs was a few blocks away, and she could hop on the light rail to the Auraria West College Campus. Two classes shy of finishing her undergraduate degree in environmental sciences, she was one of the older students, but not the oldest. She planned to apply for a job at the Environmental Protection Agency when she graduated.
Since her mother’s passing, she had been passionate about stopping the global abuse of chemicals and the companies that blatantly ignored the law. Becoming a lawyer was her first thought, but after careful consideration, she realized she was more of a tree hugger than an attorney. She loved to argue, which would have made her an excellent candidate for the law, but the lawyers she met while suing on her mom’s behalf soured her taste in going into the field.
She tossed her keys on the table next to the business card that said Beau Westhaven, architect, and project manager. He was nice enough, but anyone who worked for Pete and Todd couldn’t be trusted in this situation.
With the press of a button, her computer sprang to life, and she typed his name into the search bar. With such a unique name, there were only a few hits. He was listed as one contractor who had worked on the 9/11 Memorial. That was nice.
She scrolled down and found an article written years ago. Attached was a picture of a young boy, his eyes full of pain and anguish. Next to him was his mother, but her eyes were lifeless. They were vacant as if something had stolen her soul. The caption below read New York Mourns Westhaven Construction. Beau’s family had owned offices on the 108th floor of the South Tower, just above the impact site. Over one hundred employees had died, including his dad, Brian Westhaven.
Beau had lost his father when he was a teenager, and by the blank look in his mother’s eyes, he’d lost her too. Emotions overwhelmed her. She knew what it was like to lose a parent to a tragedy. The ache in her heart sucked the breath from her lungs. After readying herself for bed, she climbed under the covers, thought about her loss and his loss, and cried herself to sleep.
* * *
Beau
The rest of the day went by without event. Kyle rewired the boxes, so they had lights on all floors. That was a plus because some floors were rotted clean through. Safety first—he’d never put his crew in danger.
When he returned to his desk, he found several envelopes containing the results of the sample surveys they’d sent out for testing. Old buildings like this often contain lead and other toxic materials that could cause long-term health issues for workers and future residents. He was glad Pete Schiff had been proactive and asked him to order the testing.
Since he wasn’t in town, Kyle opened the doors and let the representative collect the samples a week before he arrived in Colorado.
The thing about lead and asbestos was that it was a yes or a no. There were no safety guidelines on allowable increments: it was an all-or-nothing scenario, and nothing was what they were going after. The tests confirmed the site was toxin-free.
Next time he saw Bobbie, he’d invite her into his office and show her the letters that gave him the green light to proceed—maybe letting her witness the documentation would make her lay off a bit. Aspen Construction was playing by the rules.
As if summoned, Pete Schiff knocked on the door and walked inside. He didn’t need an invitation because he owned the place, but Beau hated the unplanned interruption.
“Beau.” Pete tilted his head in greeting.
“What brings you in, Pete?” He shuffled the letters to the side of his desk and cleared a spot in case Pete needed a space to work.
“The news. What was that little stunt out front this morning?” He slapped his keys on the worn and pitted desk. The layer of dust that gathered overnight lifted into a cloud that hovered around them.
“You knew there would be issues.” He waved his hand in the air, trying to move the dust from in front of his face. “We talked about it.” He breathed in, and the dust tickled his nose and made him sneeze. It rose again and danced in the sunlight that crept through the dirty east window. “She’s harmless.”
“What the hell are you smoking?” Pete pushed the folding chair in front of him, upending it and sending it flying across the room. “Don’t let the Mile-High state go to your head, young man. She needs to go away.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He clenched his fists at his sides, digging the nub of nails he had into his palm. Nothing was worse than being threatened, which was a threat against Bobbie and him, and he didn’t like it. “Anything else?”
Pete righted the chair he’d tossed about. “You’re young, Beau, and I gave you this opportunity because I like to see young men succeed.” Pete pushed his hair back and stared at him. “Don’t make me regret my decision to hire you.”
“I won’t disappoint you.” He grabbed his hat and hoped to escape out the door, leaving Pete behind, but Pete spoke again.
“The thing is, I saw the kiss, and I just wanted to offer some advice.” Pete walked over and put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You don’t shit where you eat, and you don’t screw around where you earn your money.” He gripped him with measured force, firm enough to be felt but not hard enough to cause genuine pain, then turned and walked out.
He rubbed the spot where Pete’s vise-like grip had been. What the hell was that about? With Pete gone, he returned to his desk and collapsed in the chair. Shit was getting weirder by the day.
Kyle walked into the office, tossed his hard hat in the corner, and closed the door. “What’s happening? I was standing outside and only heard the end.”
“Bobbie.” He removed his hat and threw it across the room. It ricocheted off the wall and stopped in the center of the floor.
“Who the hell is Bobbie?” Kyle pulled a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator and drank deeply.
