As ever, thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. My muse has been sluggish, and your reviews are very comforting and motivating. I think you will like this chapter! :)

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Today was a big day! Tomorrow, we signed the contract to purchase the Haywood Street building. Even better, since he had to be here to sign, today Carlos was coming back to Trenton! I was squirming in my seat with excitement and anticipation; he was coming home!

He had decided with his counsellor to do phone consultations weekly, and travel monthly to Miami for three days to see his counsellor in person. They had tried to find another counsellor in New Jersey, but there was no one authorised under his contract who was available to see him regularly. And Carlos had developed a stable relationship with the counsellor in Miami and wanted to continue with him. It was going to be a bit inconvenient to be travelling back and forth to Miami frequently, but to me, and I hope to Carlos, it was worth it. He was coming home to me!

In terms of his living arrangements in New Jersey, I wasn't really certain what we would do. He still had his Newark apartment, and I guessed that could continue with him travelling between Newark and Trenton, but that no longer seemed like a very good option. I did not know whether I should suggest he move in with me until the Haywood Street building was renovated or whether to suggest he rent an apartment temporarily in Trenton. I did not know what he would want – hell I did not know what I wanted!

I guess we would just have to figure it out.

I tried to concentrate on the plans before me for the renovations. The three quotes we had received had varied widely. The Newark firm that had quoted seemed to me to be the most reasonable; it was not the cheapest, but there were listed suppliers, indicative prices, and specific deadlines. It seemed solid and reliable. The two from the Trenton firms were a bit trickier. One was overly cheap. None of us thought that the renovation would be done cheaply, and this quote reeked of cost-cutting and shoddy materials to keep the price down. I wondered if this was an effective strategy but guessed it would work with some people who were less interested in quality and more in cost.

The final quote had my spidey-senses tingling. It was reasonable in cost, more expensive than the Newark firm, but not exorbitant. The problem was that the quote was cloaked in vague terms, with suppliers listed as 'local firms', costs for supplies listed as 'to be advised', and timeframes listed in variations of months. I knew from some conversations I had overheard between my dad and Uncle Joe that the mob influence was still strong in some areas of New Jersey, and construction was one of those areas. The hair stood up on the back of my neck when I considered that this firm was likely mob affiliated. And that could mean trouble. Kickbacks to suppliers would increase costs, and delays would result with failure to supply the kickbacks. I felt that becoming involved, even tangentially, with the mob was not a good move for Rangeman.

Selecting a Newark firm over Trenton firms would not ingratiate Rangeman with local businesses and suppliers. And accommodation for the crews and transport costs would drive up the prices somewhat. Still, given a choice between shoddy work, mob kickbacks, or upsetting some locals, I believed the Newark firm was definitely the best option. I wondered if they would be open to employing some locals as laborers for the job. That might appease local sensibilities somewhat, as well as keeping down transport and accommodation costs. I made a note to suggest it to Carlos.

Once we had tentatively selected a contractor, they were going to work with the architect to finalise the renovation plans and engineering specifications. Then the final quote would be submitted with the full details. And the attorneys would kick in then to make sure everything was done right with permits and so on.

We had a separate quote to replace the elevator. It was expensive. The current elevator went to the basement, but the sub-basement level was only accessible through stairs currently. As was the roof. Carlos had decided that, as he was replacing the elevator, he wanted it to cover all levels of the building, including the roof. This added considerably to the cost and would be part of both the construction and elevator plans. I could not help but be glad that Carlos was investing in the elevator so heavily; I had visited the building a few times since the inspection, and I had not been able to use it, despite needing to go to the upper floors on each occasion. I had huffed my way up the stairs. The inspector had said the elevator was functional but having seen the guts of the equipment in the basement, combined with hearing the slight creak and groan as it operated was enough to cause my palms to sweat and my knees to get shaky. Sweating up the stairs was preferable until it was replaced.

At least I was keeping in shape, what with using the stairs at my apartment building and Haywood Street. Plus, the temporary office had no elevator, although it was only one floor up. I realised I agreed with Carlos about the settlement in hindsight. Fifty thousand had seemed like a great sum at the time, but in consideration of the impact it could have had on my life, let alone the impact it had already had, it was only acceptable.

I had not made a final decision on the investment, but found I was leaning toward investing in Rangeman. I thought I would discuss it one last time with Carlos when he got here, before making my final decision. Both Lester and Tank had agreed to the investment opportunity, with both taking a six percent investment for $300,000 over eight years. Both of them, according to what Carlos had said, had substantial savings from their years in the armed forces and black ops work. But they would need to work off the investment, just as I would. I was really hoping that Carlos would stay with me tonight so I could talk to him about it.

Of course, I wanted him to stay with me for… other reasons.

My heart skipped into overdrive as I heard booted steps on the stairs coming up to the office, and the back of my neck tingled in anticipation. I turned to the door, as he appeared, looking as gorgeous and edible as he always did in his cargo pants and Rangeman t-shirt and windbreaker, carrying his duffle and wearing a smile that made me feel like I could float. I barely had time to stand up when he was there in front of my, drawing me into his arms and kissing me until I felt like the whole world had just stopped.

"Babe," he breathed, and we were home.

We stood in the corporate law office in Trenton. Carlos was calm, focussed, and alert. The attorneys looked calm and professional. I was a wreck; my knees were shaking, and my heart was pounding like a drum.

Carlos read through each of the documents carefully and initialled each page as he finished. At the end of the contract, he skimmed back through to check he had covered everything and then signed neatly on the last page. As he finished, a notary stepped forward to sign as witness. The process was repeated with the estate agent and then everyone started shaking hands. A couple of people shook my hand as well, and I hoped my palms were not too sweaty or clammy.

As we walked out of the lawyer's office, the cool October air hit my face and I suddenly turned to Carlos and grinned. He returned my almost manic grin in equal measure and drew me in for a quick but heartfelt kiss. We had a building! Rangeman Trenton was on its way!

After a quick lunch, we spent the afternoon with the architect, going over the plans and the quotes from the contractors. I had discussed my concerns about the quotes with Carlos yesterday and he agreed he had noted the same issues with the cheapest quote and the lack of commitment to detail in the other Trenton quote. He had stated emphatically that the renovation would not be done to sacrifice quality for cost, and he now reiterated that stance to the architect. The architect agreed fervently, and the cheap quote was discarded. I would write a formal response tomorrow of "thanks but no thanks".

The architect, Leonie Kelly, was more cautious and reserved around the other Trenton contractor. It seemed apparent to me that she probably knew about the mob affiliation and potential risk but was reluctant to say anything outright. In the end, Carlos mentioned that I had suggested approaching the Newark firm about employing local laborers and using local suppliers, when possible, and Louise's eyes brightened at this, and she smiled at me warmly. Louise, as she told us to call her, was a woman in her late forties or early fifties, with reddish brown hair in a short, curly style and striking golden hazel eyes. She seemed friendly and came highly recommended for corporate design. Again, it was agreed that I would reach out to the Newark firm about it. If they agreed, we tentatively agreed on that quote to move forward.

Carlos then suggested a couple of changes to the initial sketches, based on the incorporation of the elevator to the sub-basement level, and I watched, fascinated, as Louise competently drew out a pencil and began to line in the suggested alterations. She was obviously very talented, and I could see my appreciation for her skill mirrored in Carlos' expression. We all discussed a few other minor changes, altering the layout of some apartments on level 4 slightly, and some practical changes to the monitoring room on level five. Carlos also told Louise he wanted to go ahead with the luxury studio apartment on level 7 for visiting partners. Louise nodded and made some notes.

Louise told us she would have the altered plans to us by the end of the week, and I confirmed that I would try and settle the contractor issue by the end of the week. If we could get everything sorted, we would go ahead and try to set up an initial meeting for everyone next week. We walked out after shaking hands and I could not help holding and squeezing Carlos' arm in excitement as we walked to his truck. He smiled down at me indulgently and leaned in to buss a kiss on my nose.

That night Carlos took me to the Blue Danube in celebration and we sat like any couple in love, exchanging heated looks and titbits of food. As we sat waiting for my dessert, Carlos refused dessert of course, I tentatively raised the question of where Carlos was planning to live. Carlos looked at me consideringly for a minute or so, before replying, "Well, Babe, I don't think Newark is really practical at this stage. I'm thinking I'll keep the apartment, since it is handy to have an apartment in Newark, close to family and the airport, but I think it is more practical to live in Trenton for now."

I nodded and looked down at my hands toying with my napkin, before adding in a near-whisper, "Would you like to live with me in my apartment?" I had been thinking hard about this and decided to take a chance and put myself out there. Besides, it was my apartment, in my name, and I thought it would be a good adjustment toward potentially moving in with Carlos to Haywood Street.

I could feel Carlos looking at me intently, "Are you sure, Babe?" His tone was tense, almost like he was holding his breath.

I finally raised my head up and looked into his eyes. I still felt nervous, almost terrified, but I braced my courage and said, "Yes, Carlos. I'm sure. Please come live with me while we build Haywood Street."

I was shocked as the light and relief seemed to pour out of Carlos as his expression changed and his rare smile beamed at me. It was something of a revelation to me that Carlos could be, and apparently was, as uncertain of taking a wrong step in our relationship as me. Impulsively I reached my hand across the table and Carlos took it without hesitation. "I love you," I said with conviction.

His smile intensified if that were possible, "I love you, Babe," he replied.

I knew in my heart at that moment that it was going to be ok. And I knew what I needed, wanted, to do next. "And I want to invest in Rangeman Trenton," I said certainly, "I'm going to take up the offer for one hundred thousand for two percent."

At this, Carlos' eyes darkened impossibly, and he signalled the waiter to come. "We would like the dessert to go," he told the waiter.

"Certainly sir, and would you like the check?"

"Yes please," Carlos handed him a credit card. Ten minutes later we were heading back to my apartment with my hand held firmly in Carlos' hand and the sexual tension thick in the cabin of the truck. It was going to be a good night. I smiled my sexiest smile at Carlos and saw his answering smirk.

Yes, it certainly was going to be a good night.

I was concentrating hard on a spreadsheet where I was tracking all the tasks and projects for the Haywood Street renovation. I knew the spreadsheet was certainly going to help me keep track of all the complexities of contractors, sub-contractors, timelines, permits, contracts, materials, and more, and Carlos' eyes had glowed with warm approval when I told him about it. He made sure I knew that he appreciated my skills and contributions. In fact, I had been shocked when he gave me the contract for my investment that showed I would be given a bonus 0.5 percent investment on the completion of the building renovations and opening of the branch. I had protested weakly, but Carlos had told me that he and Marco were in complete agreement on it and believed it would be well deserved and earned. I decided to accept it graciously, but still had to pinch myself that this was now my life and my future.

I was startled from my concentration by my phone ringing. Connie spoke, "Steph? It's Connie. We have another skip here. It's a bit of a strange one, I'm not sure how you're going to feel about it."

"What's up Connie? What's the problem with the skip?"

"It's not a problem, as such," she said hesitantly, "it's more about who it is."

"Why? Who is it?"

"Joe Morelli."

Oooh cliffie! [laughs evilly]

How will Steph and Carlos handle Morelli the FTA? I haven't written the chapter yet, so please send through your thoughts and ideas. I welcome the muse-food!