Chapter 16 Odin
The crunch of tires on gravel pulls my attention away from the blueprints sprawled across the pool house desk, a makeshift command center. Frowning, I glance up. I’m not expecting anyone today. Certainly not here.
The rolling chair squeaks against the polished concrete floor as I push back to get a better look. Through the window, a black SUV idles near Nicola’s place across the street. Greg Hoyston. What the hell does he want?
My jaw tightens. High school. The word itself tastes like ash and rivalry. Greg has always shadowed me, desperate to eclipse me. Pathetic then. Still pathetic now. I'd thought returning home might bury that childish competition, but some relics refuse to stay buried.
He slides out of the driver's seat, hair lacquered, smile plastered on. He’s wearing a suit, naturally. That’s Greg, always posturing success. Success built on inherited wealth. Mine has been forged in dive bars and late nights, amplified amps and now, steel girders and poured concrete.
Greg swaggers toward the Victorian, a forced confidence that scrapes at my nerves.
Is he going to bother Nicola? She'll be in there, likely knee-deep in plaster dust and good intentions.
A flicker of something possessive, unexpected, sparks in my chest. Nicola is…
mine. Fake fiancée or not, the thought of Greg's shadow falling across her porch sets my teeth on edge.
I shove open the pool house door, stepping into the sharp afternoon air. "Hoyston," I bark, voice flat, unwelcoming as I approach.
Gre g stops, spins, that practiced smile flashing, not quite reaching his eyes.
"Odin! Fancy running into you. I didn't realize you were already…
settled in." He gestures vaguely over at the pool house, gaze flicking over it, assessing.
Calculating its value against his own overblown suburban palace.
"Temporarily," I clip out. "What brings you around?"
He closes the gap between us, smile widening, predatory now. "Business, Odin. Always business." He claps my shoulder, a false camaraderie that feels like a brand. I shrug him off like a cheap suit, stepping back.
"Spare me the act, Greg. Get to your point."
His smile flickers, then snaps back, tighter. "Right to the heart of it. Efficient. I've been watching your…developments. Impressive. Redwood Hills is certainly…changing."
"That's the intention," I say, gaze narrowed. I still haven't figured out his angle.
"And I admire vision," Greg purrs, voice slick as engine oil.
"Especially when it aligns with…opportunity.
" He brandishes a sleek tablet, a document illuminating the screen.
"I've been thinking, with your hotel, your spa…
and my… extensive land portfolio in the vicinity…
synergy, Odin. Mutually beneficial partnerships. "
Partnerships. Right. Greg only partners when he plans to bleed you dry. "What kind of partnerships?" Skepticism drips from every syllable.
He grins, finally dropping the pretence.
"Land, Odin. Prime land just outside town.
Perfect for… expansion. Think. This boutique hotel is going to explode.
Demand will go through the roof. You'll need more rooms and more amenities.
I have the acreage. We can go in fifty-fifty. A joint venture. Think big."
Fifty-fifty. He’s delusional. Greg wants a free ride on my ambition, to leech off my success. Always the same. Coveting the win, allergic to the work. "No thanks, Greg," I cut him off. "I work alone."
His smile thins, the forced charm cracking like cheap veneer. "Don't be impulsive, Odin. We have a golden opportunity here. Pure gold. Together, we can dominate the market."
"I don't need a partner to dominate," I say, voice hardening to granite. "I'm managing perfectly well."
He takes a step closer, his tone shifting, the pretense dissolving completely. "You are always so arrogant, Baxter. Acting like you're above us all. Wake up. This is Redwood Hills, remember? Not Dallas. There are different rules here."
"Different how?" I challenge, meeting his gaze head-on. "Because last I checked, I'm still the one building something real, while you're still hawking cookie-cutter houses on postage-stamp lawns."
His face flushes crimson. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Billionaire rockstar playing developer. This town remembers, Odin. The headlines, the tragedy…"
Fists clenched, anger sparking, hot and raw.
Deliberate. He’s poking, prodding at old wounds, trying to provoke me.
I inhale, forcing calm. "My past isn't your business, Greg.
Neither is my future. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual work.
" I turn, dismissing him, heading back to the relative sanctuary of the pool house.
"Speaking of business," Greg calls after me, a new, with an unsettling edge sharpening his voice. "I heard your little fiancée is quite the project herself. That old Victorian…with it’s charming decay. It must be bleeding her dry."
I freeze. Every muscle locks. Fiancée. He knows about Nicola. And he is weaponizing it. I spin back, eyes narrowed to slits. "What did you say?"
He smirks, nasty and knowing. "Oh, just a bit of town gossip, Odin. This is a small town, remember? Everyone's business is everyone else's. And the buzz? The schoolteacher and the rockstar billionaire. Quirky pairing some might say." He lets the words hang, laced with insinuation.
My jaw clamps so tight my teeth ache. "Nicola is my fiancée," I grind out, my voice low, a rumble of warning. "And you will not speak of her that way. Understand, Greg?"
He throws up his hands in mock surrender, smirk unwavering. "Hey, reality check.
And she's… unexpected for you, Odin, isn’t she? Earthy. Not exactly your… type." His gaze flickers towards the Victorian, then back, with cruel amusement glinting in his eyes. "Maybe she's just after the Baxter fortune. Using her charm to hook you. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Rage detonates. White-hot, blinding. I surge forward; fists clenched, wanting to smash that smug satisfaction off his face. "You son of a bitch—"
"Odin?" Nicola's voice, clear and bright as a chime, drifts from the Victorian porch. "Who is it?"
Nicola. Her voice, slicing through the red haze of fury. I glance towards the house. She stands on the porch, brow furrowed, concern etched on her face. Paint-streaked overalls, hair a messy knot, but to me, in that moment, invulnerable. And Greg Hoyston is here, spewing venom about her.
I haul in a breath, forcing the tempest down. I can't let Greg see the rage ripple. And I can't let Nicola witness me lose control. Not in front of this viper.
I pivot back to Greg, face a mask of arctic indifference. "Get off my property, Greg," I say, voice dangerously level. "And stay away from Nicola. Mention her name again, and you'll regret it. Guaranteed."
Something flickers in his eyes then—genuine fear, maybe? The smirk finally dissolves. He backpedals, eyes darting between me and the house. "Alright, alright," he mumbles, retreating towards his SUV. "This was just a friendly visit. No need to get…territorial."
Territorial. He has no concept. I watch him scramble into his SUV, slam the door, and fishtail out of the driveway.
I s tand there, heart hammering against my ribs, fists still clenched.
Rage simmers, yes, but something else mingles with it now.
A fierce protectiveness, a possessiveness that startles even me.
An untamed thought streams across my consciousness.
Nicola is mine . And no one, least of all Greg Hoyston, will disrespect her.
Turning toward the Victorian, I force a smile as Nicola descends the porch steps. "Everything okay?" she asks, green eyes searching mine. "I heard shouting."
"It was just Greg," I say, keeping my tone light, casual dismissal. "Brainstorming business ideas. Incompatible ones."
"He seemed agitated when he left," she says, brow still creased.
"He’s always agitated when he doesn't get his way," I wave Greg off. "Forget him. That’s just Greg." I draw her closer, gaze locking with hers. "You okay?"
She nods, a small smile flirting with her lips. "Fine. Just… curious." Head tilted, eyes sparkling. "Incompatible business ideas, huh?"
I shrug, leaning closer, voice a husky murmur. "It's nothing you need to worry about. Boring real estate drivel. Worlds away from last night's entertainment." My gaze drops to her lips, memory of her taste, her heat still burning.
Delicate rose blooming in her cheeks, smile widening. "Oh?" she teases, voice breathless. "And what exactly was so entertaining last night?"
"You remember." Thumb traces the curve of her jaw. "Dinner. Bowling. Near-death experience via faulty wiring in your bathroom." Chuckle, tension leaching away, replaced by a familiar warmth. "Standard Tuesday night for an engaged couple."
Her laughter, a bright cascade, washes away the last grit of anger. "Right," she says, eyes dancing. "Utterly normal."
"Utterly normal for us," I agree, drawing her closer until our bodies almost brush. "And utterl y… ours." Bending my head, I brush my lips against hers, a soft, lingering promise. Greg Hoyston, petty rivalry – vanished. Only Nicola matters.