Chapter 9 TESSA
TESSA
I sink onto the edge of the makeshift command chair in the dim glow of the emergency lights, muscles trembling like they’ve forgotten how to hold themselves upright.
My hands are smudged with dust and grease, streaks of sweat running down my neck and back, hair plastered to my forehead.
Outside, the tornado has passed, but the air is thick, heavy with the smell of rain and overturned soil.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady the pounding of my heart.
Everything’s quiet now, too quiet. The barns are safe, the livestock accounted for, and the critical systems humming back to life.
For a moment, I let myself lean back, letting exhaustion pull me down like gravity finally remembered me.
I glance at the control panels, the digital readouts blinking steadily. It’s surreal—just hours ago, every warning light screamed at me, alarms blaring like the world was ending. And I actually helped prevent it from doing so.
A small, incredulous part of me wants to smile, to let pride bloom, but it’s buried under the heat, the adrenaline crash, and the thought of him watching me.
I push the thought down and start gathering my gear, stuffing the laptop and cables back into my bag with shaking hands.
My body is screaming for sleep, but my brain won’t shut down, not yet.
I need to vanish before Jace asks questions I’m not ready to answer.
I swing my bag over my shoulder and exit the command center, taking the path back to the main house to get the rest of my stuff. The halls are quiet, and I’m feeling optimistic about making an easy escape, that is, until I hear the familiar hum of wheels behind me.
“Going somewhere?” Jace’s unmistakable voice cuts through the air, calm but carrying the weight of command, the kind that makes you freeze without even realizing it.
I stiffen and turn around to face him, bag halfway off my shoulder. “I—uh... I just wanted to—“ My voice falters. I know I shouldn’t lie, but I can’t tell him the truth.
“You’ve done well. Working side by side all night has allowed me to see that,” he says, stepping closer, the wheels of his chair creaking softly on the polished floor. “And I’d like you to stay.”
I swallow hard, heart hammering. Stay? After everything?
“You can leave as soon as your work here is done,” he adds, reading my expression, calm and sure, the kind of certainty I haven’t met in months. “You’ll get paid in full, no questions asked, as long as you finish the original contract.”
I pause. The money is good, enough to disappear for a while, to lie low until the AegisTech fallout dies down. Plus, he’s assuring my safety while I figure things out. If he sticks to his word and doesn’t call the cops on me, then I’ll be good to stay here. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.
His eyes linger on me a second too long, and I feel that subtle spark again—the one I’m trying so hard to ignore. I force my attention back to my bag, clenching it tight, telling myself this is just business.
I clutch my bag a little tighter, my knuckles whitening.
My brain is screaming at me to run and disappear before he looks too closely, before he asks the wrong questions.
But I freeze, because the way he’s looking at me—it’s not just authority.
There’s a flicker there, something I can’t quite name, and it makes my chest tighten.
“You’re serious,” I say, voice tight, testing him. “You’re really letting me stay?”
His lips twitch, almost like a smile, but it’s cautious, measured. “Yes. I’ve got to take advantage of your skills while I can.”
I let out a shaky breath, trying to force my racing thoughts back into order. That’s the practical part of me speaking, the part that survived the tornado and every nightmare I’ve faced since AegisTech blew up. Safety and money. That’s all that matters.
“And that’s it?” I ask, watching his eyes. “No background checks, no more interrogations about my past?”
He leans back slightly, the creak of his wheelchair subtle under him. “No,” he says. “You’ve earned at least that much credit.”
I swallow, feeling a weight lift but also a strange tension knot in my stomach. I want to argue, to demand more clarity, to push back, but I know better.
“Alright,” I finally say, voice firmer than I feel as I extend my hand. “Then it’s a deal.”
He pauses for a beat, and I swear I feel him studying me, the way his dark eyes linger longer than necessary. The air between us hums with unspoken words, half-acknowledged tension, and maybe something more dangerous.
He takes my hand, firm and steady, and I shake it.
The contact is brief, formal, but I can feel the warmth through the touch, a quiet pulse that leaves my fingers tingling long after.
I pull my hand back, forcing myself to focus, forcing myself to ignore the spark, the memory of the way he held me before, the one-night stand I can’t quite shake.
I nod, swallowing down my racing heartbeat. “I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll expect nothing less,” he says, voice low and serious, but with that subtle edge that makes me question everything I’ve decided to feel.
I turn to leave, and my brain starts calculating the systems I need to audit—the passwords, logs—but even as I focus on the practical, I can’t shake the look he gives me.
The way his gaze lingers just a second too long, the way his mouth curves, almost like he’s amused at me, at my tension, at. .. us. Focus, Tessa. Focus.
Still, as I cross the threshold of my bedroom, I can feel it lingering—the heat of that handshake, the pull of those eyes, the unspoken acknowledgment that this wasn’t just a contract. Not entirely.
And for the first time in days, I allow myself a small, quiet thrill. Just a spark, nothing more. Let’s see how far this goes.
I shut the door behind me and lean against it for a second, just long enough to let out a shaky breath.
The quiet hum of the mansion feels surreal after the chaos of the storm and the whirlwind of systems I just fixed.
My pulse is still high, mind still tangled in the unexpected chemistry I can’t afford to indulge.
This is temporary. You get paid. You leave. That’s it.
I set my bag down on the polished bed before wandering into the bathroom for a shower.
As I wash the grime, rain, mud, and sweat off my body, I cannot stop thinking about him.
I hate that he affects me this much. I’m supposed to be cautious, calculating, and professional.
But he’s a hurricane of control and charm, and he doesn’t even need to touch me to leave me rattled.
After I exit the bathroom, my phone buzzes with a message as I’m getting dressed.
I grab it, expecting Sienna’s voice to be on the other end, telling me to keep my head down and do my job.
My thumb hovers over the screen as I glance at the photo I keep of her, of us, laughing like nothing in the world could touch us, and I feel a pang of longing.
The message is just a random ad, but since I’m already thinking about Sienna, I message her to update her on the change of plans. She tells me that she’s at work and will call me later so we can properly talk about it.
Feeling hungry, I wander out of my room for something to eat. It’s been a long night, and I need nourishment and sleep.
The aroma hits me before I even enter the dining room: roasted meats, herbs, fried potatoes, fresh bread, and sauce.
I pause at the doorway, taking in the warm, golden glow of the chandelier, the long polished table, and the Morgan family, who have gathered for a meal.
They all look happy—which is good since it means the tornado chaos is now behind us.
“Tessa, we saved you a seat. Join us,” Ella calls out cheerfully, giving me a nod that’s more welcoming than I expect. My chest tightens a little as I consider turning her down.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me I don’t have the energy for it, so I force myself to walk in.
I want to turn around and walk out, but instead I find myself perched at the end of the table. “Thanks,” I murmur. I can feel him across the room, his gaze calculating, alert, but not accusing. That alone is enough to make me relax slightly.
“Dinner’s ready,” Daisy mutters, plopping a plate of mashed potatoes in front of me with all the seriousness a seven-year-old can muster.
“Thanks, Daisy,” I say, and she beams like I’ve just handed her the moon.
The conversation is light, laughter spilling over at small jokes, stories about the ranch, and tales of livestock gone rogue during the storm.
Every so often, I catch a glance from Jace—quiet, reserved, but not cold.
There’s a faint acknowledgment there, an understanding that we’re both still dancing around something unspoken.
Zane and Beck lean over, clinking glasses with me in a silent gesture of thanks. “We owe you,” Zane says softly. “Really.”
I shrug, cheeks warming. “Just doing my job. Jace would have had me thrown out if I didn’t fix the systems.”
Our eyes meet, and he doesn’t bother denying it.
“You saved more than just systems,” Beck adds, smiling. “You saved our livestock and us a lot of stress.”
I cannot hold back a proud smile. “You’re welcome.”
“To Tessa, the savior we didn’t know we needed,” Beck toasts, catching me off guard.
“Hear, hear,” everyone echoes as we clink our glasses together.
For the first time since I arrived, I feel a flicker of belonging, no matter how small. Even with the tension and Jace’s hovering, the warmth of the family, soft chatter, and clinking of glasses—it feels human.
Dinner continues with easy conversation, and for the first time, I allow myself to simply be present. Daisy chatters on, the women share stories, men laugh deeply, engaged, and even Jace, ever vigilant, joins in lightly, his usual guarded demeanor softening just enough for me to notice.
When the meal winds down, I retreat back to my room, quietly grateful for the respite, the warmth, and the subtle reminder that even in the most unlikely places, moments of normalcy—and maybe even connection—exist.