Scanning the muddy lot, I located the trailer that had been Angelica’s temporary home office for the past several months, parked my car, headed up the three steps, and went inside.

I expected to find my boss rattling off orders to her assistant, Sabrina, or with a phone to her ear, giving someone a silent glare that somehow transmitted over the line. Instead, she sat at the desk, alone, staring off into the distance, rubbing her chin pensively with one hand.

Weird.

Angelica was a lot of things, but pensive wasn’t one of them. She was all about action. Getting shit done and done right. Yesterday.

“Good morning,” I said.

She jerked toward me, as if she hadn’t heard me come in. Also out of character.

“Good morning, Chloe. Have a seat.” She offered what I’d almost call a smile. It didn’t really reach her eyes, but still, usually she didn’t even try, and I tilted my head, thinking, What the hell is going on?

“Where’s Sabrina?”

“She’s handling a meeting with the landscape architect’s team. Would you like some tea?” she asked, leaning her thin frame forward and nodding at her mug. “I’ve got cinnamon goji berry matcha.”

I was a coffee girl through and through, and Angelica always had been too. It was one thing we bonded over—as much as a girl could bond with her cold, strict boss—the coffee in the office had to be high-quality Jamaican blend, or sometimes we got ahold of some top-notch Hawaiian. Angelica insisted on it even though she was onsite at the latest property eighty-five percent of the time.

Even if I were a tea lover, that blend sounded like some kind of health potion. “I’m good,” I told her as I sat in one of the hard, uninviting chairs opposite her. I took out my electronic tablet, ready to jot down whatever I needed to act on, as I always did.

“No notes,” Angelica said, sounding… restrained. Serious. She was always serious as a heart attack, but today she was… morose.

My heart pumped harder as adrenaline shot through me. What crisis had cropped up? What obstacle did we need to overcome? Trouble-shooting and thinking on our feet were big parts of our jobs, but something in her tone in those two short words told me this one was going to be a doozy.

“What’s going on?” I prompted when she didn’t immediately speak up.

She opened her mouth as if to answer, then closed it, and my imagination went wild. Was there an issue with the latest inspection? Had someone screwed up majorly enough to make us miss our deadline for opening? Had there been a construction accident and the foreman had landed in the hospital? That was the kind of vibe I was getting from her.