Page 6 of Zylus

“Less commute means I’ll have more time on the job. More time on the job means it will be finished sooner which means our first guests will be plunking down their deposits in record time.”

I cross my arms in front of my chest even as I wonder why it felt so imperative that I move into the inn. “Final offer.”

“Fine, but I pick which room is mine. As she marches into Mrs. Slizzax’s office to sign the papers, she mutters, “Ass,” under her breath.

Chapter Five

Misty

On the drive to lunch, or whatever they call the meal between lunch and dinner–linner, I guess–I kick myself for my impulsive behavior. Did I really just sign a bank loan for 150,000 credits? The thought of it makes me woozy.

Glancing over at Zylus, his profile so perfect it’s hard to take my gaze off him, doesn’t make me feel better. Did I really just agree tolive witha male I’ve known for less than four hours? Someone should put me in a straitjacket.

I didn’t agree to his moving in because it was one of his conditions, or because he’s so gorgeous he makes my mouth dry. Whatever I witnessed last night has me terrified. Although I was originally scandalized by his presumptuous demand, I soon realized I’ll feel much safer knowing Zylus is just down the hall.

My door has a lock. I won’t need protection fromhim. It’s the ghost who can move through walls that terrifies me.

As much as I want reassurance, I vow to myself I won’t whisper a word to him about last night’s visitation. He must already think I’m the mostimpulsive person he’s ever met. Why else would someone offer a perfect stranger such a business deal?

“Here we are, the Heirloom Cafe.”

I try to control the huff threatening to escape my mouth. I don’t know why it irritates me that in addition to having vid star good looks, Zylus just whizzes up to our destination and finds a parking spot directly in front of the restaurant’s door. Some people have all the luck.

He slides into a red leather booth in the corner and orders themelioncrott, which he describes as planet Hallion’s version of a deep-fried PB&J. I decide to indulge and order one, too. It sounds as though I’ll be earning some sweat equity myself. I’ll be burning off a lot of calories as we demo, strip, and reconstruct a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion.

Somewhere between our order and the moment I scrape the last morsel of food off my plate, Zylus and I strike up what could only be called a budding friendship.

We share a few childhood memories. I tell him about being a tomboy, climbing trees, and spending all my free time lost in books.

It’s interesting to hear he’s quite the reader too. He used to spend a lot of time at his grandparents’ house, reading in their backyard gazebo. When he speaks fondly of those moments in the outdoor structure, I realize we have a lot in common. It was the Interstellar’s gazebo that finally made me pull the trigger and spend a thousand credits to enter the drawing.

We move on. Other than religion and politics, we cut a wide swath of topics.

“I disagree,” I say, licking my finger and swiping the remains of the powdered sugar the cook dusted over the amazing sandwich. “I think Chanpin Bergin’s acting in theMaritime Pirateseries was far superior to Agnon Prednum’s in theByzantium Witch’s Treasure.” I lick my finger with a flourish, then await his response.

Instead of launching into a debate, holding onto his original position come hell or high water, he gives my opinion serious thought.

“I think the difference might not be so much in their acting ability, but the quality of the scripts.”

I can’t hide my smile at the way he’s finessing this argument. Most guys would be steamrolling me by now in their quest to make me wrong and themselves right. I like our give-and-take.

“You might be right,” I concede. “The Pirate series was clearly the better concept.”

He nods, pops the last bite of sandwich between his peach-colored lips, and somehow manages to look handsome even as he chews.

His startling good looks fall to the back of my mind, as we share tidbits of our history. His piercing blue eyes bore into me when I tell him about the job market back on Earth. I feel as if he’s with me every step of the way when I explain how employers can promise everything and deliver nothing. Yet the handsome male, with his long, black hair, square jaw, and sexy white fangs, is an interesting juxtaposition of contradictions.

He’s capable of deep, genuine belly laughs, especially when I make my trademark snarky quips. It’s endearing to have a male laugh at my jokes.

I haven’t survived on my own for so long without having a spidey-sense. Although he’s warm and engaging, he dances around certain topics, especially when I ask questions. Enquiring about his immediate family seems to be off-limits. That’s okay. We just met.

Now that we’ve broken the ice and developed an easy camaraderie, he goes to his truck and returns with a computer pad. If I’d had any questions about his construction experience, that he has a pad in a protective cover strong enough to get run over by a truck, as well as being dotted with at least twenty different colors of paint, reassures me he does, in fact, have a history in the trades.

For the next two hours and several cups of strong coffee, we use the blueprints we retrieved from the town database and discuss room-by-room changes we’d like to see.

Some of our tastes are so similar it’s shocking. The bedroom I slept in, clearly the master, will be tastefully appointed in sky blue and milk chocolate.

“It will appeal to both sexes,” he says, with a nod. “That room will be easy. How do you say it in Earther? A piece of barnacle.”

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