2. Natalie
CHAPTER 2
NATALIE
I 'm awoken from my restless sleep by an incessant buzz on my nightstand.
I squint against the sunlight filtering in through the thin curtains and fumble for my phone, groaning as my stiff muscles refuse to cooperate. The phone continues to buzz—a harsh reminder that, ready or not, my new life demands attention.
Throwing back the blankets with a huff, I force myself to sit up and snatch the phone from the nightstand. It's my boss, Lottie, and despite the rebellious ache in every inch of my body from yesterday's ordeal, I know better than to ignore her call.
"Natalie,” Lottie chirps, far too energetic for this early in the morning. “I hope you're settled in, because we need you at the Langford Art Building first thing today." Her voice, crisp and devoid of any real concern for my personal upheaval, leaves no room for protest.
"I thought I wasn't starting until Wednesday," I try, the words sounding feeble even to my own ears.
Lottie doesn't bite. "You're contracted, Williams. You know the drill. We've got a tight schedule, and the Langford project is a big one. We can't afford any delays."
“I know, I know.” Already annoyed, I drag my hair through my fingers.
“You practically begged me for this job,” Lottie pointedly reminds me. “I allowed it, given your circumstances. Don’t make me regret it.”
Sighing, I concede. "I'll be there." Oh, the joys of being an interior renovator.
I know that this is Lottie’s way of being kind, of keeping me on track. She did go out of her way to relocate me, giving me a job in my hometown after I left Hayden even though I was mid-project at another location. So, she's right, I really can't afford to let her down.
I’m about to say as much, but the line goes dead, and I'm left staring at the phone, the first prickles of anxiety swirling in my stomach. Starting a new job the day after moving isn't wise, but in the world of renovating historical buildings, timelines are more like suggestions, always at the mercy of the next unforeseen delay. I need to take advantage of the time I have now.
By the time I arrive at the Langford Art Building, the builders are already busy setting up scaffolding, the clatter and clang of metal a jarring contrast to the building's delicate condition. Frustration bubbles up as I weave through the chaos, stepping carefully over various pieces of heavy equipment.
We were supposed to conduct a thorough survey together first, to ensure the integrity of the structure isn't compromised by hasty enthusiasm. With the way they're slapping these things together, we risk toppling the building before we even begin.
"I need to see your boss," I demand, of no one in particular. "Who authorized this? The agreement was to send me a survey before starting exterior repairs."
A few uncertain glances are exchanged before one of the workers reluctantly points me in the direction of the person who mistakenly believes he is in charge of this operation.
I round a corner and come to a sudden stop, just managing to keep myself from slamming into a broad back in a fluorescent work vest. My gaze travels upward, and my heart sinks as I recognize the unforgettable head of a snake, its eyes fixed on me like I'm its prey.
"Julian?" My surprise is evident, the word escaping as a half-whisper.
He turns quickly, and the recognition in his eyes is immediate as he takes a step back. "Natalie.” It takes him less than a second to assume the same cool exterior he held last night. I can see the moment it clicks together for him, punctuated by another one of his trademark smirks. “Looks like we'll be working together."
Annoyance simmers beneath my skin, mingling with confusion and another unidentifiable emotion that clouds my thoughts. "I thought you were in the military," I blurt out suddenly, the words unintentionally tinged with accusation.
It's been eight years since I left town, and the Julian I remember was all about being in the service—so much so that he left me behind. And now here he is, standing before me in that garish vest, taunting me.
Julian's expression remains unfazed, those steely eyes giving nothing away. “I was in the military," he says, his voice steady, leaving a trail of unspoken words hanging between us. “And now I’m the project director.”
My irritation isn't easily quelled. If anything, I'm only more riled up by his patronizing response. My senses return to me, and I clear my throat before continuing. “Regardless, you shouldn't have started without a proper survey. We're supposed to work as a team, discuss the plan together. This is a listed building, Julian!" The words spill out in a rush, fueled by a professional zeal and a personal sense of betrayal. How typical of Julian to decide he knows best, and trample over everyone else in the process.
Julian's gaze meets mine, unwavering, as he closes what little distance there is between us. "The owner approved the scaffolding. It's not my fault nobody told you about the change of plans." His voice is calm, but firm, leaving little room for argument. “Besides, you’re just here for the interior.”
His obvious dismissal makes my blood boil. “And there might be structural problems inside that affect my work,” I spit through gritted teeth.
The revelation that the project is moving forward without my input stings. As much as I want to continue arguing, to fight for the respect and consideration the Langford Building deserves, I realize that directing my frustration at Julian won't change the situation.
All at once, I realize how close Julian and I have gotten. The space between us sizzles with the confrontation. I force myself to step back, both physically and mentally. "Alright," I concede, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "Let's make sure this doesn't happen again. We need to coordinate better, for the building's sake."
Julian nods, the briefest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Agreed.”
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I mutter, “Let's get to work then."
Stepping inside the Langford, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The cool interior is a welcome respite, not just from the summer heat, but from the unexpected havoc Julian's presence has stirred in me.
I steal a glance back, watching as he bends to pick up a set of blueprints, the movement pulling his shirt taut across his back. Again, I'm confronted by how much he's changed from the boy I remember—lean muscle replacing youthful slimness, his skin a canvas of ink, with loose strands dark hair falling carelessly around his face.
As much as I loathe to admit it, Julian is unfairly sexy. And he knows it, too. A combination that makes me want to jump his bones and rip his head off at the same time.
It's been so long, so many years of trying to move on, and yet the truth nags at me: perhaps my feelings for Julian never truly faded. They just lay dormant, waiting for the right moment to awaken. But distractions, especially ones wrapped in tattoos and haunted by shared pasts, are the last thing I need.
I cannot get wrapped back up in Julian Rodriguez. Especially not now.
I shove those feelings down—way, way down, burying them under layers of professional resolve.
Shaking my head, I focus on the task at hand, pulling out my blueprints and starting the initial survey. The building whispers secrets of a bygone era, each crack and crevice a reminder of a storied past.
I lose myself in the work, the peace it brings, and the real matters at hand return to me. Pulling out my phone, I dial my boss, ready to discuss the change of plans and ensure we're still on track for my portion of the project.
The conversation is brief but productive, a plan forming amidst the chaos of unexpected starts and unsolicited scaffolding. As I end the call, my gaze drifts to the window, catching sight of Julian orchestrating his team with a quiet authority that's both new and familiar.
A small smile tugs at my lips, unbidden and unsettling in its ease. Julian Rodriguez, it seems, has changed in more ways than just the physical. Despite my best efforts to suppress every thought of him, professional or otherwise, I can't escape the undeniable pull he holds over me.
Whatever history lies between us, whatever baggage we’re both carrying, that pull is still there after all these years, and I can't expect it to lessen any time soon.
But for now, the Langford Building demands my attention. Hopefully, its opportunity for redemption can grant it a new beginning, and perhaps, I'll find my own in the process.