Chapter 13 #3
The doors open on the seventh floor, and I practically bolt out, putting distance between us before anyone can notice the tension crackling in the air.
But I’m not fast enough.
Flora, Steven, and Joshua are already at their desks, and all three heads turn toward us with varying degrees of curiosity. Flora’s eyes widen slightly as she takes in our arrival together, Steven raises an eyebrow, and Joshua’s expression shifts into something calculating.
“Well, well,” Joshua drawls, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk. “Look what the cat dragged in. Together, no less.”
“We’re not together,” I snap, dropping my bag on my desk. “We just happened to park near each other.”
“And walk in at exactly the same time,” Steven observes mildly.
“Traffic,” I lie, busying myself with organizing my desk. “We both got caught in the same backup on Fifth Avenue.”
“Must have been some traffic jam,” Joshua’s grin widens. “You’re both never late.”
I glance at the clock. Shit. It’s almost ten.
“City construction,” Caleb says smoothly, settling into his chair like nothing happened. “Turned a fifteen-minute drive into an hour.”
Before anyone can probe further, Iris storms out of her office, her face pale and her hands shaking as she clutches her phone.
“We have a problem,” she announces, her voice tight with barely controlled panic. “A big one.”
I straighten immediately, my personal drama forgotten. “What kind of problem?”
“Martin Brewster just called.” She runs a hand through her blonde hair, looking more rattled than I’ve ever seen her. “He’s backing out of the Serastra project.”
My blood goes cold. Martin Brewster—the master woodworker from Maine who specializes in traditional yacht restoration techniques. He was supposed to be our centerpiece craftsman, the one whose reputation would legitimize our entire heritage angle.
“What? Why?”
“Someone offered him triple our fee to work on a competing yacht launch.” Iris’s voice cracks slightly. “And he said they made him a better offer with a more flexible timeline. Apparently the other company has no problem paying the fees for his contract breach.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “When did this happen?”
“This morning. And that’s not all.” She looks around our small group with barely concealed panic. “The other two have pulled out as well—Leonardo, the metalsmith from Newport, and Vince, the leather specialist from Italy. All citing better offers elsewhere.”
My hands clench into fists. A month of work. A month of building relationships with these craftsmen, of carefully coordinating schedules and securing commitments. All destroyed in a single morning.
“How long do we have?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
“The board presentation is in seventy-two hours,” Iris says. “If we can’t replace these vendors and prove the event is still viable, they’ll pull funding for the entire Serastra relaunch. And we can kiss our jobs goodbye. They’re going to do a complete overhaul of the Marketing Department.”
The office falls silent. Seventy-two hours to rebuild what took a month to construct. It’s still nearly impossible, but at least we have more than two days.
“First things first,” I say, my mind racing. “We need to try to get them back. What exactly did they say? Maybe we can counter-offer.”
“Martin was pretty firm,” Iris says. “But you’re right. We should at least try. I have the numbers for all three.”
“I’ll call Martin,” I volunteer, already reaching for my phone. “Caleb, can you try the metalsmith? Steven, you take the leather specialist.”
“On it,” Steven says, pulling up his contact list.
Caleb nods, his expression serious. “What’s our ceiling for counter-offers?”
“We can go up to double our original offer,” Iris says. “But that’s pushing our budget to the limit.”
I dial Martin’s number, my heart pounding. The phone rings twice before his gravelly voice answers.
“Brewster.”
“Martin, it’s Eve Lopez from Thalvyn Maritime. I understand there’s been a development with our project.”
There’s a long pause. “Eve, look, I like you folks, I really do. But this other offer—”
“What if we could match it?” I interrupt. “What would it take to keep you on our project?”
Another pause. “You’re talking about a lot of money, Eve. Triple your original offer, plus they’re giving me complete creative control and a shorter timeline.”
My heart sinks. “What if we could offer double, plus creative control?”
“I’m sorry, Eve. I already shook hands on it. My word is my bond.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone in disbelief, muttering, “Greedy fucker. He gave us his word, too.”
“Any luck?” Caleb asks, hanging up his own phone.
“No. You?”
“Same. Vince won’t even take my calls now.” His jaw tightens with frustration.
Steven shakes his head as well. “Leonardo said the deal is done. They’re already processing the contract breach fees today and drawing up the new contracts.”
The defeat in the room is palpable. Iris sinks into a nearby chair, looking older than her years.
“So what now?” Flora asks quietly.
“Now we rebuild from scratch,” Caleb says, already opening his laptop. “We need to find replacements, and we need to find them fast.”
“With what?” I ask, the hopelessness creeping into my voice. “We don’t have a list of backup craftsmen sitting around. These were the best in their fields.”
“Maybe not the best,” Caleb says, his fingers already flying over the keyboard. “But there are others. We just need to think outside the box.”
I watch him work, surprised by his determination. “You have someone in mind?”
“A few someones, actually.” He looks up, an enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I have some contacts who might be able to help.”
“What kind of contacts?” I lean forward, intrigued despite myself.
“The kind who owe me favors.” His smirk is back, but there’s something serious underneath it. “Give me an hour to make some calls.”
As he reaches for his phone, I hope this works.
The morning stretches on with tense phone calls and frantic research. I find myself impressed despite everything by how methodically Caleb works, how he seems to know exactly who to call and what to say.
By lunchtime, we’ve managed to secure one potential replacement—a woodworker from Vermont who’s willing to work on our timeline. It’s progress, but we’re still missing two key craftsmen with less than three days to pull everything together.
“I need food,” I announce, rubbing my tired eyes. “And coffee. Real coffee, not the sludge from the break room.”
“I’ll come with you,” Caleb says immediately.
“No need—”
“I need to stretch my legs, too,” he cuts me off. “You coming, Joshua?”
Joshua shakes his head. “I’m going to order in.”
Something in his tone makes me pause. Joshua has been acting strange since we arrived—less chatty than usual, more focused on his computer screen. When I glanced over earlier, he quickly minimized whatever he was working on.
“Alright, then.”
But as we head toward the elevator, I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck.
I shake off the suspicion. We’re all just stressed.
Caleb and I grab meatball sandwiches and coffee to-go, neither of us in the mood to talk. As we’re heading back, I ask, “So I guess you’ll be telling your brother this?”
Caleb gives me a surprised look. “Ethan? Why would I tell him?”
I blink. “You’re kidding, right? All of our craftsmen were poached overnight. This is sabotage.”
Caleb looks contemplative, and for once, he’s completely serious. “My job isn’t to prevent the sabotage, Eve. I’m here to manage the situation and slowly weed out the mole. I’m not going to run to Ethan over every attempt this person makes.”
He gives me a slow smile. “Don’t worry. The situation isn’t that hopeless.” His confidence makes me want to believe him, but my heart is sinking.
We’ve just turned the corner to our building when Caleb says, “Well, hello.” I look up and see Luis standing across the road from our office. He has a cup of coffee in his hands, and his eyes are trained on the entrance. I go still.
“Son of a bitch. What is he doing here?”
Caleb glances down at me. “My guess would be stalking you.”
“Damn it.” We’re both standing at the corner. “This is becoming a problem.”
Caleb looks over at Luis, considering my words. “I gave you an out. Just take it. We’ll hang out a couple of times. Hold hands. He’ll think you’ve actually moved on.”
“He’ll tell my mother.”
“And?” Caleb blinks. “What can she do?”
“Aside from making my life miserable?” I ask tightly.
“Eve.” I look up at Caleb, and he looks serious. “So what if your family thinks we’re dating? It’s a good cover. Even if you don’t like me, I’m your best bet. There’s no downside to this.”
“I’m sure I can think of one if you give me enough time,” I mutter.
“Eve.”
I throw my head back with a groan. “Fine. You’re right. Oh god, this sucks.”
“Thanks.” Caleb grins. “I like the idea of dating you, too.”
“Fake dating,” I remind him. “We’re just going to hang out a couple of times in public, and once he leaves me alone, that’s it.”
“And if we fall into bed together, let’s consider it an unfortunate side effect.” Caleb waggles his brows at me.
“Stop that.” I begin walking. “We’re not sleeping together.”
“Of course not,” he says pleasantly.
“I mean it, Caleb. Once was enough.”
“You’re absolutely right,” he agrees as we reach the building. I can feel Luis’s eyes boring into the back of my head.
“Can you actually try to sound like you mean it?” I demand, irritably.
“How can I, Lopez?” Caleb leans down, pretending to brush a strand of my hair off my cheek, his eyes filled with laughter. “You have such a cute butt. Makes me want to see how my handprint will look on it.”
We’re already in the building now, and he heads towards the elevators as I stay stock-still, my brain catching up to his words.
That jerk!
But he’s already stepping into the slowly filling elevator, and I hurry to catch up.
Like hell is he touching my ass.
* * *
Back at the office, I throw myself into research, trying not to think of Luis stalking me and Caleb’s casual arrangement I just agreed to to keep him at bay.
I have more important things to worry about, like finding craftsmen who might be available on short notice.
But every call leads to another dead end—everyone who’s any good is already booked for months.
By five o’clock, the office is empty except for Caleb and me. Even Joshua left early, claiming he had dinner plans. Iris is in meetings with the board, trying to buy us more time.
“We need to pull an all-nighter,” I say, rubbing my temples. “There’s no other way we’ll have everything confirmed by Wednesday afternoon.”
“Agreed.” Caleb loosens his tie, and I try not to watch the way the fabric slides against his throat. “I’ll order dinner. Chinese okay?” He’s no longer in the cheerful mood from this afternoon.
“Fine.” I turn back to my screen, then pause as my laptop screen flickers strangely. For just a moment, a command prompt appears and disappears so quickly I almost think I imagined it.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
Caleb is beside me in an instant, his hands moving over my keyboard with surprising expertise. “Don’t touch anything.”
“What are you—”
“Your system’s compromised.” His voice is grim as code scrolls across my screen faster than I can follow. “Someone’s been copying your files.”
My blood turns to ice. “What kind of files?”
“Everything. Vendor contacts, project timelines, budget information.” He continues typing, his fingers flying over the keys with the kind of precision that comes from serious training. “There’s a data mining program running in the background, sending copies of everything to an external server.”
“That’s impossible. I would have noticed—”
“Not if it was installed by someone with administrative access.” He glances at me, his expression dark. “Someone who could input it during normal work hours when you wouldn’t think to look.”
The implication hits me like a physical blow. “Someone on our team.”
“Looks like it.” He continues working, windows opening and closing as he traces the program’s origins. “This is sophisticated stuff. Professional-grade surveillance software.”
I watch him work, and despite everything, I can’t help but be impressed. This isn’t casual computer knowledge—this is expert-level programming and security work.
“How do you know how to do this?” I ask.
“I majored in computer science before switching to business,” he says without looking up. “I like to keep up with coding. Good for my business.”
I sit in silence, watching in awe as he focuses on the screen. He’s usually so relaxed, almost lazy even, when he’s working. Seeing him like this, hyper-focused, all business, it makes something inside me unfurl.
“Got it,” he says finally, hitting a final key sequence. “The program’s disabled and removed. But Eve...”
“What?” I try to keep my voice steady.
He turns to face me, his expression serious. “Whoever did this has been collecting your data for months. Every vendor contact, every strategy meeting, every confidential detail about the Serastra project.”
The room feels like it’s spinning. “You think that’s how our competitors knew to target Martin and the others?”
“Has to be.” His voice is grim. “This explains everything. Someone’s been feeding information to rival companies, letting them know exactly who to target and when. And it’s through your laptop.”
And as the full scope of the betrayal hits me, I realize that working all night to save the Serastra project might be the least of our problems.