Chapter 8
DELILAH
Ishould not be here.
I should be in my freezing apartment, wrapped in a blanket, aggressively ignoring my problems. Instead, I’m at Moe’s Bar, nursing a whiskey sour that tastes too sweet and not nearly strong enough for the absolute embarrassment of my day.
I take a long sip, staring at my phone, contemplating throwing it into the nearest trash can.
Because of course. Of course.
Liam had to reject me with extra smugness.
RE: Future Innovators – Partner Opportunity
Hey Delilah,
Appreciate the message. I have to be honest—I wasn’t sure we’d be a great match, so I locked in with someone else. I had a few offers to choose from, most of them people I really liked.
- Liam
That’s it?
No exclamation points or “good luck” at the end. Just flat, impersonal rejection.
I groan out loud, letting my forehead drop to the bar.
I wasn’t sure we’d be a great match? What the fuck does that even mean?
Did I not seem architect-y enough for him? Did he sense my seething hatred through the email?
And then, like a dumbass, I scroll down back to the email I sent him and I’m not surprised he ignored me.
Ugh. I sound like a perky LinkedIn recruiter or something. No wonder he rejected me.
And now that I think about it…
Didn’t I used to hate Liam? Or have an argument with him or something?
I squint at my phone, memory kicking in.
Freshman year at a late-night study group. Liam said something annoying and sexist. I said something back, accidentally out loud. Something about how his voice sounded like a YouTube ad you couldn’t skip.
Yeah, good job Delilah. Roasting him in front of everyone might have cost you the grant and your future, was it really worth it?
Moe’s is half-empty, the low hum of conversation blending with the scratchy indie music playing from the speakers. The smell of cheap beer, old wood, and greasy fries lingers in the air, the kind of scent permanently embedded into the bar itself.
It’s too early for the real crowd to be here. Just a few scattered students in booths, some older locals nursing pints at the bar, and me—pathetically swirling a watered-down whiskey sour, contemplating how my life has sunk to this point.
“You doing okay there, champ?”
I lift my head just enough to glare at the bartender.
“Absolutely not,” I mutter.
I refresh my inbox for the hundredth time, scanning the list of names again, trying to figure out who the hell I’m supposed to reach out to next.
And then—
“God, people are so fucking annoying.”
The voice comes from a few seats down, low and irritated as hell.
I glance over.
And of-fucking-course. It’s Troy Hawkins.
Slouched on a barstool, beer in one hand, phone in the other, scowling at his screen like it just told him his trust fund got revoked.
Annoyingly, my first instinct upon seeing him isn’t irritation. My heart beats a little faster because, objectively, he’s attractive. Like, really freakin’ attractive.
Which is deeply unfair.
The whole effortlessly good-looking, genetically blessed thing?
Overplayed. Overrated. And yet, he pulls it off like he was born knowing he’d never have an awkward phase.
Tall, tan, broad-shouldered in a way that suggests he spends way too much time at the gym but never has to think about it.
Ice-blue eyes, sharp jaw, and that signature grin that probably works on 99% of people.
I am the 1%.
Because he’s not my type.
I like people with substance, people who take things seriously.
Troy is full of easy charm and cocky confidence, the kind of guy who floats through life collecting admiration.
He’s got a million friends, a perfect GPA he barely has to try for, and a smile that probably gets him out of parking tickets.
Troy is a golden retriever in human form—warm, cute, universally adored.
I prefer wolves. Or panthers. Something with a little bite.
So, no. Not in this lifetime. Not even if hell froze over would I go for somebody like him.
He looks up, eyes locking onto mine.
I freeze. Because I recognize that exact expression.
“No,” I say immediately.
“No what?” he says, raising a brow.
“Whatever shitty thing it is that just happened to you,” I say, gesturing vaguely at his phone. “A shitter thing has happened to me too, and I am absolutely not bonding with you over it.”
Troy leans back against the bar, smirking now.
“Let me guess,” he says. “Networking isn’t going well?”
I scowl and take another sip of my drink.
“Why do you sound like you already know the answer?”
“Because I also just got rejected.”
I cough.
“Sorry, what?”
He tilts his phone toward me. I lean in just enough to confirm that, yep—Troy Hawkins just got rejected for the first time in his charmed existence.
The guy who literally never has to try?
I don’t know why that’s so funny.
But before I can stop myself—I laugh.
Right in his stupid, beautiful face.
“Yeah.” He sighs. “Three people. Already found partners. Unbelievable.”
“Oh my god.” I breathe, shaking my head. “You thought this was going to be easy, didn’t you?”
“I mean,” he says, unapologetic as ever, “I didn’t think it was going to be hard.”
“Wow,” I say, shaking my head. “This is actually incredible. Troy Hawkins experiencing difficulty for the first time in his life.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m being factual.”
He rolls his eyes, taking a slow sip of his beer.
“So, what about you?” he asks.
I grimace. “My last prospect was Riley Sanders.”
Troy winces.
“Jesus. That guy’s a prick.”
“I know.”
“Why’d you even email him?”
“Because I’m desperate, Hawkins.”
“Apparently not desperate enough. You still have me beat—I reached out to five people.”
I narrow my eyes and gasp. “So you’re telling me… you actually put effort into something and it didn’t work out?”
He tilts his head, unimpressed. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?”
“Tremendously.”
We both take long sips of our drinks. A heavy silence settles between us. It’s not as hostile as it usually is. It’s more…mutual defeat. He sits closer to me.
“Is that the list?” He’s leaning over to look.
“Yeah.”
I stare at my phone again, scrolling down the names. Nope, nope, nope. He touched my wrist to get a better look—innocently, accidentally—and I nearly forgot how to breathe. I hate him.
Troy moves his fingers from me and taps his fingers against the bar, still frowning at the screen.
Neither of us move or speak.
The idea hits us both at the exact same time.
“So, what’s your major again?” We both ask at the same time.
“Architecture, you?” Even though I already know.
“Environmental engineering.”
We both pause. The realization settles between us.
Different disciplines.
Compatible fields.
Partner material.
I tilt my head, pretending to be impressed. “Huh. And here I thought you were in sports management.”
He snorts. “Yeah, because that’s the only thing I’d be good at, right?”
“Well, let’s be honest— ‘Troy Hawkins, future academic genius’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
Troy grins, but there’s something sharp underneath it.
“I’m top of my department, Greer,” he says smoothly. “Dean’s List. Every semester.”
“Bullshit.”
“Nope.” He shrugs. “My GPA’s a 4.0.”
I stare at him, because that’s better than mine. Which…what the fuck? Troy sees the shock on my face and his smirk falters just a little. I watch him process my reaction. There’s a flash of annoyance he tries to cover up with an easy grin.
“What, that hard to believe?” he says, lifting a brow.
I open my mouth, then close it. Because, well. Yeah. I knew Troy wasn’t stupid, but a perfect GPA?
“Guess I just assumed you spent more time at the gym than in the library,” I say finally.
“Good time management,” he says, not missing a beat.
I sip my drink, still eyeing him suspiciously.
“So, you and I actually have complementary skills, huh?” he muses. “I could handle the technical, structural stuff. You could handle the design and planning.”
I exhale slowly, because he’s right. We could probably come up with something badass.
But. I’d have to work with Troy Hawkins.
For months.
I set my drink down, tapping my fingers against the counter. An old man from down the bar glares at me. I flip him off. If I need to finger tap, I will.
Troy snorts at the interaction. “Nope, never gonna work,” he agrees, as if reading my mind. “We’ll find someone else.”
“Plenty of time left.”
“At least a few days.”
We nod in agreement. Another beat of silence.
Neither of us reach for our phones or move to email anyone else. He runs a hand through his hair, then looks at me again.
“This is some bullshit,” he mutters.
“Tell me about it.”
He runs a hand through his hair, then looks at me again.
“We’d kill each other, Greer.”
“I know.”
“Like, actually. One of us would end up dead.”
“Probably me, considering you’ve got fifty pounds on me and clearly no control over your temper.”
“I’ll have you know I am a man of excellent control.” His voice drops and my thighs clench. I take a deep breath.
“And you have zero ability to take anything seriously.”
Troy grins, slow and sharp. “I’m kinda scared of you, Greer.”
“Good.” I lean in closer, meeting his gaze head-on.
We glare at each other, a silent battle of wills, neither of us blinking. Another long, loaded silence.
I sigh.
He drags a hand down his face.
“Fuck it,” I mutter.
“Yeah, fuck it,” he echoes.
We clink our glasses together and just like that, we’re partners.
We leave Moe's together, the night air hitting us like a slap after the bar's sticky warmth. Troy zips up his jacket as I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck. The temperature's dropped since we went in.
“Well, well. Greer and Hawkins. Didn't think I'd see this pairing.”
Jared Winters. All smug grin and swagger, his expensive coat unbuttoned like the cold doesn't touch him. Right beside him is Riley Sanders. Hands in his pockets, chin tipped slightly up, wearing that same cocky smirk he's had since first year.
Great.
“Jared,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
“Delilah,” he drawls, eyes raking over me.
In truth I was sort of into him at the party, until he started licking his lips and I couldn't decide if I still liked him or not.
I was grateful when Troy butted in, but he's still attractive.
And he has an arm full of tattoos which I like.
“Didn't realize you and Hawkins were a thing.”
“We're not,” I say quickly. “It's for FIDIC. That's it.”
Jared raises a brow. “Funny. So are we.”
I blink. “You're in the competition?”
Is every hot-popular guy just super smart now? Have I transported to some alternate universe?
Riley cuts in, voice smooth. “We're a team. I'm sorry again that we couldn't make it work, Delilah.”
“It's fine,” I mutter, biting the inside of my cheek.
Troy shifts beside me. Not toward me—toward Jared. His jaw is tight.
“I'm glad you finally found a partner, Troy-kins,” Jared says with a smirk. “It's not easy out there, man. People want to pair up with people they know can add value.” He laughs and bumps Troy's arm like it's a joke, but Troy's sneer is more pissed than funny.
“Yeah. Luckily, I've got Delilah,” Troy says, his voice hard. “She's a fucking incredible architect and knows a thing or two about machines. I think we're going to win easily, to be honest. But you guys still try, of course.”
I glance at Troy, surprised by the fierce defense.
“Oh, we will,” Jared says with a shrug. “We don't need that grant, but this one's personal.”
“Oh?” I tilt my head.
“Can't let you two win, now can we?” He glances between us, and there's something calculating in his eyes. “It's more fun this way.”
“You two should be worried. We’re laser focused.” I step in, finding myself wanting to defend our still-new partnership.
Beside Jared, Riley doesn't blink. “We're not worried,” he says. “Troy's a solid party invite. But innovation? I'm not so sure.”
My blood spikes. I open my mouth to fire back, but Troy beats me to it.
“You really want to talk about focus, Sanders?” he says, calm but sharp. “I am top of my fucking class and everyone needs to realize that. I didn't just press a few buttons and get named kid genius at 16 like you.”
Riley's eyes flash. “Better than coasting on charm and abs.”
Jared laughs. “Easy, boys.”
I glance sideways. Troy's eyes haven't left Jared. He's not smirking. He's not throwing a casual jab back. He's… locked in. Jaw clenched, hands in his pockets like he doesn't trust them not to swing.
And for the first time, he looks... dangerous.
Not reckless or wild. Just…quietly volatile.
It’s unexpected.
And kinda hot.
“Anyway,” Jared says, like we're all friends now, “we've got a call with Dr. Holwell. He's reviewing some of our preliminary concepts…just friendly feedback.”
My fists clench at my sides. “It's supposed to be a blind project.”
“Of course,” Jared says, eyes gleaming. “But the academic world's small. You know how it is.”
“That's called cheating,” I say flatly. “Or are you worried you can't win on merit alone?”
Jared's smile tightens. “My dad sits on the university board, Delilah. Merit is whatever he says it is.”
Troy's voice is cold. “We'll win because our work's better.”
“Sure,” Jared says. “May the best team win.” The way he says it makes it clear who he thinks that is.
Riley's already walking away, but Jared throws one last look over his shoulder. “See you on the other side, Greer.”
I exhale once they're out of earshot.
“What a tool,” I mutter.
Troy doesn't say anything. He just stares after them, muscles visibly tight under his jacket.
“Hey,” I say softly. “You good?”
He blinks, like I shook him out of something.
“Fine,” he mutters.
“Why are you friends with him? You clearly don't like him.”
He sighs and wipes a hand down his face. When he reappears, he's got a grin plastered back on, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
“He's alright. We used to be buddies in freshman year and it's sorta stuck. But I cannot have him beat me.”
“Well, I can't have my weirdo ex beat me, and I need to win this grant,” I say with sudden determination. “So you're all in?”
Troy's expression shifts to something genuine—a flash of that real intensity I saw when Jared was goading him.
“Yeah, baby,” he says, and for once the casual endearment doesn't make me want to roll my eyes. “Let's destroy them.”
Huh, all it took was a common enemy and I actually have some faith in my project partner.