Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
HARPER
It only took forty-eight hours for the conference room to take on the ambience of a fallout shelter after too many days underground.
Half-empty coffee cups, mountains of plans and receipts, wrinkled Post-its clinging to every surface like paper barnacles—my version of structural triage.
Somewhere under the layers, the faint scent of panic lingered, edged with mildew and that sharpness old AC units get.
I wasn’t sure which was fraying faster, the walls or my mental state.
A knot of tension sat at the base of my skull, threatening to bloom into a headache.
Every surface, my laptop screen included, was crusted with a thin layer of stress.
In this fluorescent, flavorless light, Chase had become the storm’s eye.
His blueprints shouldered the biggest piece of real estate on the table, diagrams annotated with block letters and, now and then, a snatch of profanity if you looked close enough.
He was hunched over the plans, fingers braced against the edge as if holding back a flood.
We’d just finished another triage meeting, more dire warnings from Jules and tense updates from Joe.
Chase tapped out something on his phone—probably tracking down a materials supplier or asking for updates from Elena. He didn’t look up. Didn’t look at me. Hadn’t looked at me, really, since that flash of connection we’d had in this very room two days ago.
The almost kiss.
And that hurt. I rolled my shoulders, considering his reaction. Right now, staring grimly at that structural report, Chase looked less like a confident architect and more like someone bracing for impact. He wasn’t talking about our future, but he wasn’t running away either.
He was still here, trying to hold the damn roof up.
Did I need to have more faith? It was obvious in every single way that Chase wasn’t Jarod. But that didn’t mean he and I wanted the same things.
I shook my head and got back to the current crisis. “Jules, the contingency isn’t going to cover this. We need to be realistic. The new projections Chase sent over this morning are… astronomical. Is there any chance the bank will extend our credit line? Even a short-term bridge loan?”
Across the table, Jules sighed, pushing escaped wisps of hair from her forehead.
She’d been putting in the extra hours too, and it showed.
“I already spoke with Dan Gillespie at the bank this morning. He was sympathetic, but the answer was a firm no. Given the existing loan size and the… unforeseen nature of these structural repairs, they’re not willing to extend further credit at this time. We’re maxed out.”
The words landed like lead weights. Maxed out. No more wiggle room.
Chase’s eyes flicked to the spreadsheet on his laptop, then to Jules. His hair, always artfully controlled, looked one run-through short of wild. His stubbled jaw clenched.
I folded my hands on the table. “So what are our options? Pause the Room Block One reno indefinitely?”
“Delaying will hurt our projected revenue significantly,” Jules countered. “We were counting on that income to service the current loan. Pushing it back means we’re just kicking the can down the road and potentially digging a deeper hole.”
Even Joe, in a sweat-stained Latitudes Design T-shirt, shifted uncomfortably as he pushed to his feet. “Not to interrupt the war council, but those guys with the shoring are coming at three. I’ll get started on prepping the space now.”
“Thanks, Joe. Just text me if you need anything.” I mustered my management smile, knowing how unconvincing it sounded. He gave Chase a wary glance, then slipped out, boots thudding heavily as he went.
I returned to Elena’s structural report. The verdict was that the damage didn’t extend all the way through the first floor, but everything affected would have to be replaced. Fully one-quarter of the first floor.
It was a financial and structural disaster. We were staring at a six-figure repair bill with no clear way to pay for it without compromising the entire renovation vision or the resort’s immediate financial health.
“What if we scale back the finishes in Room Block One and the bungalows?” Jules suggested. “Go with a more basic tile, standard fixtures instead of the custom ones?”
Chase finally looked up, his gaze direct and pained. “We could, but that undermines the entire premium experience we’re selling. It’s a short-term fix that devalues the long-term investment. And it still wouldn’t cover the full structural cost.”
“We may need to delay the next phase, then,” I added softly. “I know how much you like the new lobby design.”
The silence in the room was heavy, thick with unspoken fears. No one had a magic bullet.
As I stared at the report, willing solutions to present themselves, Chase fielded three more calls in five minutes—contractors, a hardware supply, then Marilyn from Latitudes.
With every interruption, his responses got shorter, the edge in his voice more pronounced.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, staring at the report again.
“Thanks for the update. I’ll wait to hear from Marcus,” he said, ending the last call. The silence he left behind was deafening. For a beat, the only sounds were my typing and the hum of the air handler.
Finally, Chase closed his laptop with a defined click. The exhaustion was plain on his face, but beneath it, a new resolve was hardening his expression.
“Okay.” His voice was low but firm, cutting through the despair that had settled in the room.
He stared at me, then at Jules. “There are no good options on the table right now. Gutting the project isn’t one I’m willing to consider, and neither is bankrupting the resort.
” He paused, taking a deep breath, and met my eyes squarely.
“Give me a day or two. I need to run some numbers, make some calls. I’ll come up with something. We’re not sunk yet.”
Jules looked skeptical but also tired enough to grasp at any offer of a solution. “Chase, if there were an easy answer, we would have found it.”
“I know.” He met her gaze. “This won’t be easy. But I’ll find an answer. We’ll make it work.”
“Let’s hope so.” Jules gathered her things and headed out the door. “Let me know what the magic answer is when you find it.”
He pushed out a sigh, folding his arms across his chest. The fatigue etched in the lines around his eyes looked like it was weighing him down from the inside out. I glanced at his hands—strong, steady, but tight at the knuckles.
I wanted to say something. To do something that didn’t involve shuffling another stack of invoices or untangling the resort’s spaghetti knot of budget disasters. It felt wrong, watching him hollow out right in front of me, knowing how much pride he took in never letting the seams show.
I thought about Finn, about how I’d learned to sense his meltdowns half a mile before they happened, the subtle warning signs in his posture or voice. Chase, on the other hand, had armor honed from years of never letting anyone in deeper than surface-level warmth.
My phone vibrated—a low buzz against the pile of folders. I ignored it. Instead, I reached for the French press someone had abandoned and refilled Chase’s mug and my own with the dregs. The brew was tepid and harsh on the tongue. Still, it filled the silence.
“I haven’t seen you eat today,” I tried, sliding the mug within reach of his elbow. “If you don’t start taking care of yourself, the termites are going to win by default.”
That got a ghost of a smile from him, gone before I could take hope in it. My reward was three solid seconds of him almost relaxing, his eyes slipping closed as the caffeine hit.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
Small victories.
I let the silence stretch, not wanting to scare him off. He’d talk when he was ready. Or maybe he wouldn’t, and I’d have to go first. Again. Eventually, the tension pressed too hard on my chest. I shifted, leaning forward, voice softer.
“Chase, I know things are wild right now, but are you okay?” I gestured to his wrinkled clothes—the same ones he had on yesterday. “You look like you haven’t slept. Can I get you anything?”
He raked a hand through his hair. His face was frustrated, harried, maybe even a little panicked.
For the briefest second, his eyes met mine, that complicated hazel laced with gold, before flicking away toward the structural report.
“I’m fine, Harper. Just…” He stopped, collecting himself.
“Just focused on solving this before the entire block collapses.”
I tried again, gentler this time, reaching for the spot between us that was supposed to be safe. “You don’t have to handle all this pressure alone, you know. I’m here. You can lean on me.”
His mouth flattened, expression shifting to something tight and closed.
There was a flash of pain—almost, then gone—before he leaned back in his chair.
“I appreciate that. You’re always such a rock.
I should take lessons from you. You’re right, and we’ll get together soon, okay?
Please, Harper. Right now, I need to focus on fixing this.
I will find a solution. Just give me some time. ”
I tried to nod like it was fine, like that didn’t hurt, but my throat threatened mutiny.
The part of me that knew how to book entertainment and soothe tantrums insisted I push again, press past his walls.
The woman in me—the one who remembered how to want and ache and hope—wanted to take his face in my hands and make him look at me, make him see how hard I was trying.
His phone rang, jarring in the overworked quiet.
He snatched it up, glancing at the screen.
His face tightened a notch further. “Yeah, Marcus? What’s going on?
” The minute he heard the reply, his whole bearing changed—crisp, focused, that professional confidence kicking back in. “Okay, I’m on my way.”