Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
CHASE
“I don’t give a damn who did it, Marcus.” I kept my voice even despite the pressure building behind my temples. “It’s wrong. The inspector cited multiple code violations on this wall alone.”
Marcus, my project manager, nodded tightly and avoided meeting my angry glare. “I’ve already called Walsh Electric. They’re sending someone first thing tomorrow.”
The Franson electrical inspection had failed in spectacular fashion.
Standing under the harsh work lights, I stared at the exposed north wall wiring like it was a personal betrayal.
Every single outlet had been flagged—wrong gauge, improper grounding, the works.
What had started as a routine inspection this afternoon had morphed into a full-blown crisis threatening to sink a cornerstone project for my fledgling firm.
And somewhere across town, Harper and Finn were probably finishing pizza without me.
“Tomorrow’s not good enough.” I crouched down to examine the junction box. “Mr. Franson wants this guest suite finished by the end of next week. We need someone here tonight.”
“Chase, it’s almost eight—”
“Then call Tommy directly. If he gives you some crap about needing to pay the emergency rate, tell him I’ll use another contractor from now on.
” I straightened up, dust clinging to my jeans.
“And call the drywall guy too. They were lined up to start first thing tomorrow.” Because I’d assumed the electrical would pass.
Around us, the half-finished guest suite stood in limbo, an unlikely marriage of luxury and construction chaos.
Imported Italian tile worth more than my first car sat stacked near an exposed wall cavity.
Custom brass fixtures waited in their protective wrapping while fine sawdust coated every surface.
The contrast was almost comical—high-end finishes meeting construction disaster.
But I wasn’t laughing. Not even a little.
Marcus stepped away to make the calls while I pulled up the original plans on my tablet.
The Franson project wasn’t just another job.
William Franson was a retired real estate developer with connections throughout South Florida, and his home was one of many in this exclusive, high-end residential development.
This guest suite addition to his waterfront home represented the kind of high-end residential work that could put Latitudes Design on the map—or sink us if we screwed it up.
If I screwed it up.
My phone buzzed. Marcus had sent the inspector’s full report. Fifteen violations, each one requiring rework. I scrolled through the list, mentally calculating costs and delays. This would damn near destroy my profit margin.
“Walsh can have someone here by nine,” Marcus said, returning with a grim expression.
“Fine. The drywall guy?”
“They’re on standby.”
I rubbed my eyes. I saw a night of minimal sleep ahead. “Call the inspector on his cell and get him back here tomorrow. We need to get that drywall started as soon as possible.”
“Okay. Chase.” Marcus lowered his voice. “Franson called while you were checking the bathroom. He’s… not happy.”
“I’m sure he’s not.” I forced a tight smile.
As Marcus stepped away, my mind drifted to Harper.
To the way her voice had changed when I called to cancel our plans.
Our routine meeting about the resort flooring renovation had somehow evolved into dinner plans with her and Finn.
Pizza and a movie—nothing fancy, but something I’d been looking forward to.
I pulled out my phone, checking for texts.
Nothing from Harper since our call earlier.
My stomach twisted with something that felt uncomfortably like guilt.
The memory of our conversation played back in my head.
Her tone had been professionally polite—the exact same voice she used with difficult resort guests.
Then it had transitioned to icy, bordering on glacial.
Not the warm, teasing Harper I’d grown accustomed to.
Despite her words that she understood, her clipped responses told me it wasn’t fine. And the thought of Finn’s disappointment made my chest ache. The kid had been excited about us building his LEGO creation together. And dammit, so had I.
For the next hour, I coordinated with suppliers, arranged for rush deliveries, and worked through contingencies with Marcus. The project was salvageable, but it would take precise execution and a lot of overtime.
When my phone rang with Franson’s name on the display, I stepped outside to take the call. “William,” I answered, injecting confidence into my voice.
“Chase.” Franson’s tone held the distinctive note of a wealthy man unaccustomed to inconvenience. “I understand there are… issues.”
I laid out the problems and our solutions succinctly, emphasizing our immediate response and the quality control measures we’d implement going forward.
“This will not affect your finish date,” I assured him. “My team will work through the night if necessary.”
“I expect nothing less,” Franson replied. “My wife has her heart set on her parents staying in that space next weekend.”
After promising updates by morning, I ended the call and leaned against the side of the house, exhaustion settling into my bones. The evening stretched ahead—hours of supervising emergency repairs when I should have been enjoying myself with Harper and Finn.
Harper.
My thumb hovered over her contact. What would I even say?
Sorry I bailed on you and your son for a construction emergency?
Sorry my business has to come first right now?
The truth was, I wanted to be in both places at once, and the impossibility of that made me irrationally frustrated with the entire situation. I started typing.
Chase: Thinking of you. Hope you and Finn had a good night despite…
I deleted it. Too casual, like I hadn’t just disappointed them. Another attempt followed.
Chase: I’m really sorry about tonight. The inspection failure could have…
Delete. Now I was making excuses.
Finally, I pocketed my phone without sending anything. Harper’s silence felt weighted, significant in a way I wasn’t ready to examine too closely. When had the thought of disappointing her become as dismal as the prospect of a failed project?
The electrician arrived just after nine, a grizzled man named Ray, who greeted the disaster with a low whistle and a shake of his head. “Whoever wired this place should be banned from touching anything more complicated than a flashlight.” He leaned forward to examine the junction box.
“Agreed. Can you fix it tonight?” I asked.
Ray sized up the work, calculating. “I can get the north wall done. The rest will have to wait till morning.”
“Do what you can. I’ll be here until you finish tonight.”
While Ray worked, I used the time to review the resort renovation plans I’d meant to discuss with Harper. The flooring samples would need to be decided on by the end of the week to keep on schedule. Another deadline looming, another pressure point.
Marcus approached me around 10:30, fatigue evident in the slump of his shoulders. “Inspector confirmed for eleven in the morning, and drywall to start after lunch. Tile guy says he can still make Thursday if we get the bathroom finished by Wednesday night.”
“Good. You should head home. I’ll stay with Ray until he finishes.”
“You sure? You look wrecked.”
A wave of fatigue washed over me that I pushed back with everything in me. “Nothing coffee won’t fix. I’ll need to be back here at five anyway.”
After Marcus left, the site grew quieter. Just the sounds of Ray working and my own thoughts circling back to Harper. A part of me wanted her to understand that sometimes business emergencies happened. Another part acknowledged the guilt swirling through me at her obvious disappointment.
Just past midnight, Ray finished with the north wall. “The rest has to wait. I’ll be back with the crew by six a.m.”
After he left, I did a final walk-through of the space.
The reworked section looked good, up to code and properly done.
One crisis partially averted. In my car, I set a watch alarm for 4:30 a.m., ensuring I’d be back before the crew arrived.
I rested my head against the steering wheel for a moment, allowing myself five seconds of pure exhaustion before straightening up and starting the car.
Three or four hours of sleep, then back to this site before heading to Sunset Siesta to face Harper.
Whatever her reaction tomorrow—cold professionalism or warm understanding—I knew one thing for certain.
Her opinion mattered more than I wanted it to.
And that scared me almost as much as the prospect of Latitudes Design failing before it truly began.
I squinted against the morning light as I ended the call with Marcus, the brightness amplifying my headache from too little sleep.
“Just walk the inspector through everything we fixed. The documentation’s all there.
Then call me when he signs off.” My voice sounded like I’d been gargling gravel, matching how I felt after less than three hours of sleep.
The peaceful morning scene at Sunset Siesta—palm fronds swaying, early guests strolling toward breakfast—felt disconnected from my internal chaos.
I needed coffee, a shower, and about twelve more hours of sleep. Instead, I was here to face Harper.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and took a deep breath.
My reflection in the resort lobby’s glass doors confirmed what I already knew.
I looked like hell. Dark circles underlined bloodshot eyes, and yesterday’s stubble had evolved into the beginning of an unintentional beard.
My button-down shirt was already looking rumpled, even though it was straight from my closet.
Not exactly the polished architect image I typically maintained, but right now I didn’t care about appearances.