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As did the woman stretched out across the hood, gazing up at the stars with her back propped against the windshield. She wore Doc Martens with slouchy black pants and a cropped muscle tank, revealing her lean stomach and the very edges of a floral tattoo climbing up her rib cage.

My body went up in flames, torn between shocked irritation and a staggering lust. I didn’t spend all of last night playing out imaginary arguments with Eve Bardot.

I actually spent a good amount of that time thinking about kissing her. Just shutting her up by fusing my mouth to hers, seeing if this undeniable—if infuriating—attraction I’d felt was reciprocated.

It certainly felt reciprocated in my fantasies, which occurred exclusively on that rolling ladder back at The Wreckage.

Broad enough that Eve could lift me onto one of the rungs with her hand between my legs and her snarky mouth at my ear, whispering encouragement as her fingers worked and worked and—

“No fucking way you’re here, too.”

Eve’s husky voice snapped me out of it, just in time for me to realize she was now sauntering toward me with a scowl. “Did you really follow me this time, Hendrix?”

I responded with a glare of my own. “Contrary to what you might think, I do have a job to do here, Eve. An article to write and diamonds to find.” I brushed past her, stalking toward where I was supposed to meet my contact. “You’re not the main character in this story.”

Eve caught up to me easily. Where my muscles had gone taut, she’d already relaxed into her loping swagger. “Hard for me to think differently when you keep showing up and immediately picking a fight or trying to best me.”

A blush burned my cheeks, and I was grateful for the moody darkness. “You were a potential lead. And then a possible opportunity. Now? You’re nothing but an obstacle.” I flashed her a mocking smile. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Something edgy danced in her eyes, almost playful. “Then stop following me.”

“ I’m here to meet Waylon Boyle,” I said archly. “So can we please—”

Eve stopped in her tracks. “That’s why I’m here, too.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She held out her phone, which showed the same text confirmation from Waylon that I’d gotten, for the exact same day and time. I gazed down at it, stunned, until she dropped it back into her pocket and raised an eyebrow. “Looks like we’re night hiking together—again.”

My lips twitched, and I pressed them tight, moving past her again down the path. A bat burst from one of the saloon doors, startling me, and I fell back with my hand on my chest.

Ghosts aren’t real, ghosts aren’t real, ghosts aren’t—

“You okay?” Eve asked softly, dark brows drawn together with what looked like real concern.

“Yeah, just…just jumpy,” I managed. “And I’m sure this man only made an administrative error. I’ll wait outside while you meet with him. At least we won’t have to see each other much longer.”

A slightly awkward silence lingered after that, and I wondered if I’d been too harsh. Though I didn’t need to spend time I didn’t have caring about a complete stranger I’d never hear from—or see—again, especially once I was on my flight back to New York.

“I don’t get it,” Eve finally said. “Why does this matter to you so much?”

I sent her a sideways glance. “Because I want this story. I…genuinely think your aunt is interesting. Inspiring, even.”

She rubbed a hand across the back of her head. “But that’s not your only reason, right?”

“Sure is,” I lied.

I could feel the weight of her eyes on my profile. “No, I don’t think that’s it. You’re getting something from this. Something additional.”

I reached up and fussed with my bun. “So what if I am?”

As if I’d let slip the personal reason buried within the professional—my father’s aggravating ego and my own petty quest. The memory of that dinner party with my father as crisp as the night air around us.

He’d spent the entire time using me to make himself feel superior to the colleagues sitting next to us.

And what I didn’t say then, what I never said about the great Bruce Sullivan, was how lucky he was to have had a teenage daughter like me who never complained.

Who accepted the role of being responsible after Mom died and he left Daphne and me, essentially on our own, while he was off earning Pulitzers.

All the birthdays and holidays, the school lunches and field trips falling on my shoulders.

I was fifteen, bowled over by grief, carved out by the immensity of it, but I still got my ten-year-old sister to the school bus stop on time.

“Monty Montana, the one who got away,” he’d said wistfully that night. “I always did assume I’d be the one to bag that interview after she went into hiding. It was such a shame, you know, what happened to her. But if I couldn’t find her, no one will . ”

“My guess is you’re getting a bonus or an extra fancy byline,” Eve said, yanking me back to the present moment. “Maybe a promotion, a bigger office. You’ve got workaholic written all over you, Hendrix.”

When I peeked over at her with curiosity, she shrugged a shoulder. Let loose a hint of the grin that had charmed me on the day we met. “It takes one to know one.”

“You, a workaholic? No way.”

“Former,” she admitted. “An extreme case, actually.”

I slid my hands into my trouser pockets.

Squared my shoulders back. “I don’t know why everyone in my life right now is convinced I work too hard,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too petulant.

“A career is important to me. So is stability, building a life for me and my sister where we don’t have to worry if anything…

” I swallowed. “You know, if anything bad happens.”

“But are you happy?” she asked.

The simplest question in the world and suddenly every nerve ending in my body was shrieking into fight-or-flight mode. This would have been a great time for Waylon to show up and save me from having to answer. But I had no such luck. “Why do you care if I’m happy?”

She laughed softly under her breath. “That’s right, I forgot. I’m nothing but an obstacle to you. My bad.”

“You’ve been pissed at me since the moment we met,” I shot back. “Why drop the act now? You can’t possibly think I’ll divulge some crucial diamond information after bickering with you for the past three days.”

“Do you ever wonder if everyone in your life thinks you work too hard because of that giant stick up your ass?” she asked. Taunted, really. And when I whirled on her, her eyes blazed with annoyance again.

“Anyone ever tell you that your arrogance is immensely off-putting?”

Her eyes deliberately traveled the length of my body, sending a searing heat all the way to my toes.

“Is it arrogance? Or do I just have you already figured out? Because I’d have to be an idiot not to notice every telltale sign that the only thing you care about in this world is climbing some bullshit career ladder that’s never gonna make you actually happy. ”

I reared back in total surprise. “And you are…what, the person who’s transcended capitalism? Figured out a way to bypass having to earn a living so you can feel smugly superior? Thank you so much for imparting these breadcrumbs of wisdom, Eve. Whatever would we do without you?”

Both of us were breathing heavily now. Both of us, from the look of Eve’s flushed cheeks, legitimately pissed. If there was a time for me to kiss the hell out of my aggravating competition to make her finally shut up…it would be now.

And I almost did, too—my upper body curling toward her, Eve’s eyes glued hungrily to my mouth, her hands already raising, as if to cup my face.

But then came a mechanical-sounding whoosh to our right, and a screeching phantom flew right into us.