Page 17 of Inked Obsession

“You know the best gift for her is all of us being together.”

“Yes, but I want to get her something shiny, too.”

“That’s my son.”

I smiled, warmth filling me in a way it hadn’t in a while. This was the dad I remembered. I just hoped he stayed that way. Things had been different recently, and I had to keep hoping.

We hung up, and I headed inside. Clay was working with our electrician over in the corner, and he nodded at me. He raised his brows and tilted his head towards the front. I held back a curse and looked over at Sarah Michaels. Our client. She had on a little hardhat, expensive shoes, and was over in the corner, surveying. She was paying for all of this, but was handsy as hell.

I walked over to her, a professional smile on my face. “Mrs. Michaels.”

“You know it’s Miss,” she said and grinned. “I just wanted to come see how you were doing. Just look at all of you guys work. It’s enough to give a woman the vapors,” she said, mimicking an odd mix of Southern belle and Yankee. I didn’t know what accent she was going for, but she clearly wanted to have that cool sophistication and the sound of money in her voice and worked for it. She put her hand on my arm, giving it a squeeze as she said hello. “Beckett, darling, it’s so good to see you.”

“Ma’am,” I said, as I took a step back and looked around. I noticed how her gaze raked my body, and I felt a little unclean. She was the client, and she hadn’t done anything too overt. And, honestly, I was probably just sensitive.

“Anyway, can you give me an update? We can go somewhere a little quieter and a little more private if you’d like.”

I held back a sigh and smiled softly. “We can do it right here.”

“Oh, that sounds fun,” she said, drawing out the words.

I smiled through my teeth and went over the updates we had since the last time she came to the jobsite to check out the beefcake and touch everybody’s arms. I didn’t want any of my workers to have to deal with her, so I threw myself on the proverbial sword each time. If she’d gone any further than she had, I would have said something or dealt with it. Maybe she was just someone who liked to touch people’s arms when she talked to them—to make a connection. There were never any innuendoes—except for her comment just a bit ago—and I never really felt off. She was just handsy.

Or maybe I was overreacting.

I went over everything for a full hour, tired, a little cranky, and now behind.

By the time she left, Clay winced, and I shook my head. I didn’t want to deal with anyone. I just needed a hammer, maybe a saw, and to get to work. So, I did. I was sweaty, grumpy, and hungry, and by the end of the day, I was ready for a beer and a nap. I couldn’t. I had to go over to Eliza’s to help her.

She was my friend, damn it. Still, all I really wanted to do was scream into the void and forget that I had to do any of this shit.

It had been a long fucking day, I was woefully behind, and I felt like I had no idea what I was doing.

And why did it always feel like I had someone standing on my chest, digging in their heels, taking my breath?

Something was wrong, and I needed to fix it.

Though I had no idea how.

I ignored those thoughts and headed over to Eliza’s. Because that was at least something I could control. Something I could help with. Something that made me feel as if I were making a difference.

Chapter 6

Eliza

My fingers cramped on my pencil, and I rolled my shoulders, telling myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. I just needed to breathe. I needed to do something. It felt as if an anvil were on my chest, and I couldn’t quite keep up. I closed my eyes once again and tried to calm myself. And then I looked at my drawing and cursed. This was for another project, something I was doing on the side, and I couldn’t focus. It was a commission. I had work to do, and if I didn’t catch up, I would be late turning it in. And I was never late with work. That was my number one rule, always be on time for those who depended on me.

And yet, I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t focus.

My husband had cheated on me.

No, I hadn’t seen the child, I didn’t have DNA evidence or paperwork or anything to prove that it wasn’t just hearsay, but Marshall’s parents believed it. They had come right out and asked me for money for Marshall’s love child. For this Madison. She had his smile. His eyes. And so much more, apparently.

I had a feeling that Beverly had been one moment away from whipping out her phone and showing the likely hundreds of photos she had of her precious granddaughter.

I didn’t know if I could blame her for loving the child. How could I? The little girl had done nothing wrong but exist. Was that wrong?

No, Marshall had been wrong. And Natasha. And now Marshall’s parents. They had always chosen Natasha over me. Only I hadn’t realized until just now there had ever been a choice for Marshall in the first place. I had never been their ideal daughter, but I had done my best to become that person. When we moved to Colorado, I had included them in every family gathering we had. I had missed time with my friends when Marshall was overseas to spend time with his parents. I had helped them decorate for the holidays. Put art around the house. I had given them so much of myself to try and be the perfect daughter. Yet, I wasn’t. I hadn’t been good enough.

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