Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Eli
“They did what?”
My words cut through the air, sharp enough to make Roberts flinch. The conference room falls silent, every executive suddenly fascinated by the quarterly reports in front of them.
“The permits have been delayed.” Xander’s voice remains level, though the tension in his jaw betrays him. “Wolfe’s people raised safety concerns with the committee.”
The rage building in my chest is cold. Precise. Nothing like the hot temper I fought to control in my youth.
“Delayed.” I taste the word, bitter as ash. “Not denied.”
“Not yet.” Xander shifts, a barely perceptible movement that speaks volumes. “But they’re demanding additional reviews.”
“Reviews we’ve already passed. Twice.”
“Apparently, new evidence has emerged.”
My fingers find my cufflink, adjusting it with meticulous focus.
“Evidence that conveniently surfaces the moment we break ground.” I stand, unable to remain still with this storm building beneath my skin. “The moment Isla returns.”
No one speaks her name. They don’t need to. Her ghost has haunted these meetings for years. Now that she’s flesh and blood again, no one quite knows how to navigate her presence in my life.
Least of all me.
“She needs to know.” I move toward the door, the decision already made.
“Eli.” Xander’s warning carries across the room. “Let legal handle this first.”
“No.” The word leaves no room for debate. “This is her project too. And if Wolfe is targeting it because of her?—”
“We don’t know that.”
“Don’t we?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with implications neither of us is ready to voice.
I find her in the innovation lab, bent over a blueprint with her new team gathered around.
Her copper hair catches the afternoon light, and I notice the stray strands as she gestures toward something on the page.
For a moment—just a breath—I’m back at Columbia, watching her command a room full of cynical professors with nothing but raw talent and sheer determination.
She senses me before she sees me. I know the moment she registers my presence—the slight stiffening of her shoulders, the pause in her hands’ fluid movement. She doesn’t turn.
“Take fifteen,” she tells her team, still not looking up.
They disperse, eyeing me with curious glances as they pass. Only her junior architect hesitates, protective loyalty clear in her stance.
“I’ll be fine, Sophia,” Isla says, finally lifting her head.
Our eyes meet across the lab. Like magnets finding true north.
“What happened?” she asks when we’re alone, reading the fury I thought I’d concealed.
“Wolfe.” The name falls ominously between us. “He’s filed objections with the Ethics Committee.”
“On what grounds?” Her voice remains steady, but I catch the slight tremble in her fingers as she sets down her stylus.
“Safety concerns about the sustainable integration design.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed quickly by something darker. “My designs.”
“Our designs.” The correction is automatic. Necessary.
“No.” She turns away, pacing toward the windows. “We both know what this is about.”
“Do we?” I move closer, drawn into her orbit despite myself. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like Wolfe has a vendetta against this entire project.”
“Not the project.” She faces me, chin lifted in that stubborn tilt I once found both infuriating and irresistible. “Me.”
The confession hangs between us, unexplained. Unelaborated.
“Why?” A simple question with a complex answer I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.
“Does it matter?” She moves past me, close enough that her scent wraps around me like a memory. “What matters is fixing it.”
My hand catches her arm before I can stop myself. The contact burns through the silk of her blouse, searing against my palm.
We both freeze.
Her pulse hammers beneath my fingers, a frantic cadence that matches my own. For a moment—one dangerous, electric moment—we’re not enemies, not colleagues, not even former lovers.
We’re just Eli and Isla. As inevitable as gravity.
“It matters,” I say, voice dropped to a register meant only for her ears.
Her gaze flickers to my mouth, just for a heartbeat, before climbing back to my eyes.
“We have more important things to focus on.”
“Do we?”
My thumb traces a small circle against her skin, a liberty I shouldn’t take but can’t seem to deny myself. She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t move at all except for the quick rise and fall of her chest.
“The permits,” she whispers, but the word lacks conviction.
“Right.” I release her, immediately missing the warmth of her skin. “The permits.”
The space between us expands again, professional distance reasserting itself like armor we both desperately need.
“Drake might have insights,” she says, turning back to her worktable. “He’s been tracking Wolfe’s digital movements.”
The mention of Drake’s name is a knife between my ribs, though I keep my expression neutral. Five years, and I still can’t quite shake the jealousy that rises at the thought of him in her life when I wasn’t.
“Call him,” I say, the words tasting bitter but necessary. “We need every advantage we can get.”
She nods, already reaching for her phone.
“I’ll update the team,” I add, moving toward the door. Creating distance before I do something stupid. Something reckless.
Something like pulling her against me and reminding us both how perfectly she fits in my arms.
“Eli.” Her voice stops me, a command I can’t ignore. “We’ll fight this. Together.”
Together. Such a dangerous word from her lips.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and continue toward the door. But her presence lingers on my skin, in my lungs, beneath my ribs—a memory I couldn’t shake, now flesh and blood and close enough to touch.
This project might be in jeopardy, but I’m in far greater danger.
The coffee’s gone cold in my hands as I scan Drake’s findings. Night presses against the windows of my office, the city lights a constellation of possibilities below.
“It’s coordinated,” Drake says, pacing the length of my desk. His typical laid-back demeanor has hardened into something sharper, more focused. “Every objection, every delay—they’re surgical strikes targeting specific parts of the design.”
“Her designs,” I clarify, though I already know the answer.
“Yes.” He stops, studying me with those too-perceptive eyes. “Though I’m surprised you care.”
The challenge hangs between us, the unspoken accusations condensed into six words.
“She’s my partner on this project,” I say, the explanation hollow even to my own ears.
“Right.” His smile holds no warmth. “Professional concern.”
“What exactly are you implying, Thorne?”
“Nothing, Alderidge.” He leans against my desk, too close to my territory. “Just finding it interesting how quickly you slipped back into protector mode.”
“Is that what you think this is?”
“I think,” he says, voice dropped low, “that you never stopped looking at her like she’s yours.”
The accusation lands with precision. I don’t deny it. Can’t deny it.
“We have history,” I say instead, setting down the coffee cup before I crush it in my grip.
“History.” He laughs, the sound sharp as broken glass. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“What would you call it?”
“Unfinished.” The word hangs between us, heavy with truth neither of us can escape. “And dangerous as hell.”
He’s right, of course. Whatever exists between Isla and me—whatever still pulses like a live wire whenever we’re in the same room—it’s anything but finished.
“This isn’t about Isla and me.” I stand, needing to move, to do something with the restless energy building under my skin. “This is about Wolfe trying to destroy a project five years in the making.”
“Is it?” Drake pushes off from my desk. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like he’s using this project to get to her. And you’re caught in the crossfire.”
The implication settles like a stone in my gut. “What do you know that I don’t?”
Something flickers in his expression—hesitation, perhaps. Or loyalty to her.
“Ask her,” he says finally. “She’s the only one who can tell you what happened five years ago.”
“She won’t.”
“Have you tried?” His question catches me off guard. “Actually tried, instead of lobbing accusations from behind your COO position?”
I don’t answer. Don’t need to. We both know I haven’t.
“Yeah.” He gathers his tablet, heading for the door. “That’s what I thought.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find Isla. We need to review the committee’s new requirements before tomorrow’s inspection.”
“I’ll come with you.” I grab my jacket, ignoring the knowing look he sends my way.
“Professional concern?” he asks, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
“Precisely.”
We both know it’s a lie. But some fictions are necessary, even between enemies.
The elevator ride to the innovation lab is silent, tension crackling between us like static before a storm. When the doors open, Drake steps out first—a territorial move that doesn’t go unnoticed.
“She’s probably still in her office,” he says, leading the way through the darkened lab.
But the office is empty, her computer screen still glowing with abandoned designs.
“She must have gone home,” he says, reaching for his phone.
“No.” The certainty in my voice surprises us both. “She’s still here.”
I know it like I know my own heartbeat. Some instinct, some invisible tether between us that time couldn’t sever.
I find her on the rooftop garden, a solitary figure silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline. She stands at the edge, arms wrapped around herself against the chill, copper hair a flame in the darkness.
She doesn’t turn when I approach, though I know she hears me. The city sprawls beneath us, a tapestry of light and shadow, possibility and ruin.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Her voice carries on the night air, soft as a confession. “Worth fighting for.”
“Yes,” I say, not looking at the view. “It is.”
She turns then, reading something in my tone that makes her breath catch. For a moment, we’re suspended in time—just the two of us, without history, without baggage, without the walls we’ve built between us.
“Wolfe requested another safety inspection,” she says, breaking the spell. “Tomorrow morning.”
“I know. Drake told me.”
The mention of his name shifts something in her expression. “He found you.”
“He was looking for you, actually.” I move closer, drawn by that invisible pull that’s always existed between us. “We need to prepare for the inspection.”
“I’ve been reviewing the original designs.” She gestures to the tablet in her hand. “There’s nothing wrong with the integration points. Nothing that could justify these delays.”
“It’s not about the designs.” I stop beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, to smell the faint traces of her perfume mingling with the night air. “It’s about you.”
The truth settles between us, heavy and unavoidable.
“What did Drake tell you?” Her voice holds an edge now, something defensive and raw.
“Nothing.” The admission costs me. “He said it wasn’t his story to tell.”
She exhales, a small sound that might be relief or disappointment.
“He’s right.”
“Then tell me,” I say, voice rougher than intended. “Tell me why Wolfe is targeting you. Tell me why you disappeared five years ago without a word.”
“Eli—”
“Tell me why you look at me like you still—” I catch myself, the words too dangerous to voice.
Her eyes meet mine, luminous in the darkness, filled with something that makes my chest ache.
“Like I still what?”
The question hangs between us, delicate as blown glass. One wrong move could shatter everything.
“Like you still feel it,” I say finally, the confession raw and honest. “This thing between us.”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. The truth is written in the way her breathing changes, in the slight parting of her lips, in the pulse that flutters at the base of her throat.
“We should go,” she says instead, stepping back. Creating distance neither of us truly wants. “Early inspection tomorrow.”
“Isla—”
“Please,” she whispers, and there’s something in her voice I’ve never heard before. Something like fear. “Not tonight.”
The vulnerability in her plea stops me cold. I’ve seen Isla Carrington angry, passionate, determined—but never afraid.
“Okay,” I concede, letting her retreat. “But this conversation isn’t over.”
“It never is with us, is it?” A ghost of a smile touches her lips, sad and knowing.
She moves past me toward the door, close enough that our shoulders brush. The contact is fleeting but electric, sending a current through my body that leaves me momentarily breathless.
Tomorrow, we face Wolfe and his inspection. Tomorrow, we don the armor of professionals with a project to protect.
But tonight, standing alone on the rooftop with her scent still lingering in the air, I’m forced to confront a truth I’ve been running from for five years.
I never stopped loving her.
And that might be the most dangerous revelation of all.