Chapter 2 #4
Nothing happens. She waits for a moment, wondering if perhaps Ghost Mom has decided it’s actually dreadfully boring to watch Frannie do her job …
And then there appears a tall, broad-shouldered, slightly gauzy blond woman, standing next to Frannie’s desk. Wearing a black turtleneck and plaid, high-waisted gray pants with black pumps, she looks like a cross between Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe, straight out of the 1960s.
Frannie can hardly breathe. She’s stop you on the street, drop your glass, lose your tongue kind of gorgeous.
Maybe early thirties, with eyes like frosted ice, and glaring at Frannie like she’s the most exasperating person on the planet—this was not the Ghost Mom Frannie was expecting.
The fact that she’s a ghost barely even registers.
“Can I help you?” Frannie manages, her voice choked.
“Why are you here?”
Frannie blinks, then glances at her computer, and back to Hot Ghost Mom. “I work here.”
Hot Ghost Mom scoffs again. The sound makes Frannie shiver, which is embarrassing.
“Why are you sitting in this godforsaken disgrace of an office, when your boss has a perfectly nice apartment downstairs?”
Frannie gapes at Hot Ghost Mom. “What?”
“There is an eighth-floor apartment just yours for the taking. Why aren’t you there?”
“It’s not my apartment to use. Henry told me to water his plants, not work out of his dining room,” Frannie argues, indignance rising.
Hot Ghost Mom tilts her head toward the ceiling, like Frannie’s being deliberately obtuse. “Are you really that spineless? He’d have no way of knowing, and yet here you sit in this hovel.”
Frannie tries to look intimidating in her silly Aeron chair. “Maybe I like it here,” she says, going for tart and coming out pathetic.
Hot Ghost Mom arches an absurdly perfect eyebrow. No one would like it in this office.
But working out of Henry’s apartment, without permission?
“The kids are in there, anyway,” Frannie deflects, like it helps her point at all. Hot Ghost Mom is standing unnervingly close now. “I’m assuming they’re your kids.”
Hot Ghost Mom huffs and glares at Frannie. The barrel curls at the bottom of her bobbed hair bounce and Frannie’s momentarily stunned. “Don’t assume anything about my children.”
“Have I done something to offend you?” Frannie asks, crossing her arms. “They’re welcome to chill there for the next two months. No one’s going to come in but me, so it should be a nice spot to post up.”
“You don’t know anything about our lives here,” Hot Ghost Mom says firmly.
She knows some things. Like the kids clearly come from other eras. And Michael’s studying schematics Hot Ghost Mom doesn’t like. And Bridgette has her own free will to come and see Frannie whenever she wants.
“You’re right,” Frannie says, holding up her hands. “But I’d imagine Henry’s apartment is nicer to spend time in than—”
“What? How do you suppose we spend our time?”
Hands on her hips, snarl in place—why does Frannie find Hot Ghost Mom so attractive when she’s being so hostile?
“I don’t know everything, but given they popped up in Henry’s apartment the second he left, I’m assuming they, and you, spend time all over the building. An empty apartment has to be better than a full one.”
“What a penetrating insight,” Hot Ghost Mom says archly.
“What an unnecessary use of the word ‘penetrating,’ ” Frannie says immediately, then winces.
Hot Ghost Mom’s eyebrows rise into her hairline.
Her and her big mouth. “What’s so wrong with the kids spending time with me?
” Frannie deflects quickly. “I hardly think I’m the worst person in this building. ”
The woman’s—ghost’s—eyes narrow. “How would you know?” The lights flicker overhead.
Frannie opens her mouth to argue, but has to concede it’s not an entirely unreasonable point. Still, “Have you met Henry?”
“I wouldn’t waste my time with him. It’s bad enough so many of you have,” Hot Ghost Mom mutters.
Frannie stares at her. Does that mean she’s talked to his other assistants? Surely Keith would have mentioned that during her onboarding.
“Regardless, I do not want you interacting with my children. Understood?”
Frannie sucks on her cheek. The smart choice would be to agree, immediately. But she wants to see the ghost kids again. They’re ghost kids. And Hot Ghost Mom …
“I really don’t see what the big deal—”
“I won’t have my children getting attached to someone so oblivious,” Hot Ghost Mom interrupts, glaring at Frannie, jaw clenched. “Don’t go looking for them. Don’t encourage them. Just … don’t.”
“Oblivious?” Frannie repeats, confused. “What do you—”
And then Hot Ghost Mom is gone. The room is empty, lights steady, like nothing ever happened.
Frannie sits there, baffled, insulted, and, concerningly, more than a little hot and bothered.
She’s not oblivious. And, anyway, oblivious to what, exactly? Why would it be bad for Bridgette and Michael to see her twice a day when she waters the plants? What did she do to piss off Hot Ghost Mom?
… and why does she kind of want to do it again?