Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Eli
“Shit,” I mutter, eyes locked on the damage reports spread across my desk.
Whoever did this knew exactly where to hit us—the heart of the Artisan Hotel project. Not a sloppy attack. A calculated one. My jaw tightens as I study the patterns, recognizing the signature of a man with nothing left to lose.
The sawdust grits under my shoes as I pace. I need a fix, a plan—anything. But my mind keeps circling back to Isla. How she’ll react. How much more of this she can carry.
And how I keep ending up here, trying to shield her from storms I can't control. Something primal and possessive still claims me when she's threatened—a reflex that defies logic, defies time.
Her safety calls to something ancient in my blood. Inescapable.
Yet I'm the danger she needs protection from most.
“Mr. Alderidge?” The site manager’s voice cuts through my brooding. “The construction team is waiting.”
I straighten my tie, muscle memory from years of board meetings. “I’ll be right there.”
Wade Stone, our lead superintendent, steps into the office, coffee in hand and safety helmet tucked under his arm. The circles under his eyes match mine.
“Morning, boss,” he says, setting his coffee down. “You’re here early.”
My phone buzzes—a text from Isla. My heart jumps before I can stop it.
On my way. How bad?
“Bad enough,” I tell both Wade and my phone. “Show me the damage.”
We step out onto the site, and the scale of progress hits me anew. Eight floors of steel and glass rise above us, morning sun catching on the partially installed fa?ade. But my attention snaps to the figure approaching through the construction maze—Isla, tablet in hand, determination in her stride.
My mouth goes dry. She’s dressed for the site in jeans and a fitted black button-down, hair pulled back in a practical bun, but it’s the shadows under her eyes that catch me. She’s taking this as personally as I am.
“You’re early,” I manage.
“Couldn’t sleep.” She nods to Wade. “What are we looking at?”
Wade launches into the details while I try not to stare. Five years gone, and she still commands every space she enters.
“Someone targeted the foundation supports,” Isla’s voice is tight, fingers skimming the damage report on her tablet. “But it’s surgical, not reckless.”
I step closer, scanning the exposed panel. “They weren’t just here to destroy. They wanted to see how we’d react.”
Her head lifts, eyes locking with mine. “They were watching us.”
The words send a chill down my spine. Not just sabotage—an open challenge.
“Wolfe,” I say. Not a question.
Isla’s lips press together. “Most likely.”
Her proximity sends my pulse racing.
“We need to do a full walkthrough,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Every structural point, every design element.”
She nods, already moving toward the stairs.
“I’ll take the east section if you take the west.”
I watch her go, struck by the strange mix of pride and worry in my chest. She’s exactly where she needs to be—and that’s what scares me most.
My voice echoes through the west wing’s unfinished corridors. I need to focus on the sabotage, not how Isla’s presence sets every nerve ending on fire.
A flash of movement catches my eye. She emerges from around a corner, tablet light casting shadows across her face. My breath catches.
“Found something,” she calls. “Third support point shows tampering.”
I close the distance, tension coiling between us as her fingers skim the exposed beam.
“See these marks?” Her voice drops, all business now. “Someone altered the structural elements.”
My gaze follows the faint scratches. Precise. Deliberate.
“They knew exactly what to look for.”
She turns, not realizing how close we are. Her scent—clean, sharp, infuriatingly familiar—wraps around me.
A crash from above. She tenses. I step in front of her.
She glances up, unimpressed. “Really?”
I force a breath. “Habit.” The space between us hums.
She doesn’t step back. Neither do I.
“Wade, status on the east wing?”
“All clear, Mr. Alderidge. However, I’m detecting an anomaly in the central support column.”
Isla’s already moving. “That’s where all the structural systems converge.”
I fall into step beside her, our footsteps echoing in sync. The familiar rhythm of working together settles over us, dangerous in its comfort.
“Wade, meet us at central,” I call ahead.
We navigate through what will become the hotel’s vertical garden. Right now it’s just steel and potential, like everything about us.
“You know,” she says, “for someone supposedly sabotaging us, they’re being awfully careful not to cause real damage.”
I glance at her. “You think they’re sending a message?”
“I think Wolfe’s too smart for random destruction.” She stops suddenly, grabbing my arm. The contact burns through my shirt. “Look at this.”
A small device sits attached to the main support beam, barely visible unless you know what you’re looking for.
“Is that?—”
“A structural weakening device.” She’s already reaching for her phone. “Drake needs to see this.”
The familiar mixture of admiration and frustration wells up in my chest. Even after five years, she’s still three steps ahead of everyone else.
“Isla.” I catch her wrist before she can dial. Her pulse races under my fingers. “We need to talk about what this means.”
She looks up, and for a moment, I see a crack in her professional armor.
“Eli...”
“Boss!” Wade’s voice shatters the moment.
Isla pulls away, leaving my skin burning where I touched her.
The central hub is a mess of exposed wiring and half-installed panels. Wade’s flashlight beam highlights what looks like a deliberate system override. I try to focus on the physical breach instead of how Isla’s perfume lingers in the air between us.
“Found this during diagnostics,” Wade says, stepping aside.
Isla moves closer to the access panel.
“This shouldn’t be possible. The structural calculations?—“
“Were bypassed.” I lean in beside her, close enough to feel her warmth. “Look at the support beams.”
She pulls up the structural log. I watch her eyes widen, fighting the urge to brush back a loose strand of her hair.
“These are using old Project Cornerstone patterns.” Her voice catches. “But that’s...”
“Impossible?” My breath stirs that wayward strand. “Unless someone had inside access.”
“Damn it.” She sets her tablet down hard. “We need to rebuild the entire structural framework. If they’re using Cornerstone patterns?—“
“Then nothing’s safe.” Our eyes lock. “The whole project could be compromised.”
She turns, not realizing how close we are. My heart pounds against my ribs.
“Eli, if we shut down for a rebuild?—”
“We’ll miss our deadline.” The weight of it settles between us. “I know.”
Wade clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, check on the crew upstairs.”
Neither of us acknowledges his retreat. The air feels thick with everything we’re not saying.
“We could try to reinforce it,” she says softly. “Run a parallel support while we?—”
“No.” The word comes out sharp. “We’re not risking lives to meet a deadline.”
“That’s not what I—“ Frustration colors her voice. “I would never risk safety. You know that.”
And I do. God help me, I do. Even after everything, I trust her instincts as much as my own.
“Then what are you suggesting?”
She steps closer, intensity radiating from her.
“Let me bring Drake in. He can build us a hybrid stabilization system—secure enough to keep standing while we rebuild the core structure.”
My hand finds her waist without conscious thought, steadying her as she reaches past me. She freezes, her body warm against mine.
“Isla...” Her name comes out rough with need.
She looks up, and suddenly we’re breathing the same air. The dim light catches the gold flecks in her green eyes. I’m drowning in memories of us, of everything we could have been.
The moment snaps like a wire pulled too tight.
Her breath skims my jaw. My fingers find her waist—anchoring, holding. Just holding.
Then she moves first. The kiss isn’t careful. It’s reckless, years of anger and longing crashing together all at once. Her hands fist in my shirt, dragging me closer, and I let her—God, I let her.
Then static hisses from my comm.
We tear apart, breathing hard, seconds from losing control completely.
“Boss.” Wade’s voice cuts in. “You’re gonna want to see this.”
She sways for half a second before straightening. Pulling her mask back on.
And just like that, the moment is gone.
Isla steps back, touching her lips briefly. The gesture sends heat through my whole body. Her professional mask slides back into place, but her voice shakes when she says, “We should check that out.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The taste of her lingers as we climb the stairs, the space between us electric with unspoken words.
Drake meets us on the eighth floor, taking one look at us before raising an eyebrow. Thank God he keeps whatever he’s thinking to himself.
“Found something in the records,” he says simply. “The sabotage signature matches Wolfe’s previous patterns. It’s his work, no question.”
I feel Isla tense beside me. The flush still colors her cheeks, and all I want to do is pull her close again.
“How long to secure it?” she asks, voice steadier now.
“Already started.” Drake glances between us. “But we’ll need a complete shutdown tonight to implement the new security structure. Two hours, minimum.”
I check the schedule, hyper aware of Isla’s presence.
“Do it after midnight. Minimal crew.”
“I’ll stay to oversee it,” Isla says immediately.
“We’ll both stay.” I meet her sharp look steadily, remembering how she felt in my arms moments ago. “This is too important to risk anything going wrong.”
Drake’s expression says he’s not buying our professional act.
“Right. I’ll set that up. Try not to kill each other before midnight?”
He disappears down the corridor, leaving us in a silence heavy with possibility. Morning sun streams through the skeletal walls, catching dust motes and the lingering tension between us.
“Eli—” Isla starts.
“We should finish the walkthrough,” I cut her off gently, though everything in me wants to pull her back into my arms. “Make sure we haven’t missed anything else.”
She nods, relief and disappointment flickering across her face.
“Right. Professional.”
“Professional,” I agree, even as my body hums with the memory of her kiss.
We head in opposite directions, but I feel her presence like a physical pull. Tonight’s security upgrade just became a lot more complicated—and not because of any technical issues.
I touch my lips, still warm from hers, and know with absolute certainty that nothing about this project will ever be simple again. Not when every moment alone with her feels like standing too close to a live wire, dangerous and irresistible all at once.
The scariest part? I’m not sure I want it to be simple anymore.