CHAPTER 10
Cole
It’s been two weeks and I still can’t get her out of my head. I buried myself in work, convinced myself that if I just kept moving—board meetings, supply orders, endless construction noise—I could drown her out. But there she lingers.
One night, and she’s under my skin like she was always meant to be there. I told myself not to look for her online, not to stoop to sliding into her DMs like some teenager or, worse, a carbon copy of Chad. But it hasn’t stopped me from thinking about her in the quiet moments.
The weight of her in my lap. Her scent, jasmine and vanilla, clinging to my shirt. The way she leaned into me like she’d done it a hundred times before. I tell myself it was nothing more than a game. She was just playing along. But the lie doesn’t stick.
Every detail of that night is imprinted on my psyche. I want her in my life, in whatever capacity, and I don’t know how to make that happen. If I’d found her earlier, before the distractions, before Chad, maybe things would be different.
My phone buzzes: three sharp vibrations against my leg. I don’t even need to check.
For a second, I consider ignoring it. He hasn’t shown up once during daylight hours since we signed the papers six months ago. If he wants to talk business, he can try actually working. But, of course, I sigh and answer, pressing the back of my knuckle against the bridge of my nose.
“Where are you?” he demands, voice grating against my ear.
“Working.” I swipe grit from my forehead, the sweat stinging as it mixes with drywall dust. My phone shifts against my shoulder as I balance it there. “What’s so urgent?”
“She quit.”
I stop moving, still as stone. “Who?”
“Casey. The interior designer.”
“You mean Cate?” I straighten and press the phone tighter against my ear.
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Shit.” My boots scuff across the concrete as I start pacing, eyes skimming the half-finished room.
“We needed her. We’re already cutting the deadline close. Don’t tell me you went there with her too.”
He laughs it off, the sound tinny but unmistakably smug through the speaker. “Not my fault she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”
That explains the missed walkthroughs, the sudden sick days.
I wanted to believe, for once, that he was growing up.
Clearly not. Chad’s always seen everything as a game.
Even after we became stepbrothers, nothing changed.
Still chasing the win, even when no one else is playing.
He could’ve been good at something if he ever cared to try.
Instead, he coasts on smarmy charm and lets everyone else clean up his messes.
“You’re going to ruin this for us both. Keep this up and there won’t be anything left to inherit.” My voice tightens as I press my palm hard against the desk, the wood biting into my skin.
“Yeah, well, Father should’ve thought of that before roping me into something this trivial,” Chad mutters.
My jaw locks. Don’t speak ill of the dead. Markus’s voice rings in my head, but it’s hard when his golden boy refuses to carry an ounce of the weight.
“You don’t own this company yet.” My pacing quickens, each step echoing across the hollow floor.
“I own more than you do.”
“Not for long if you carry on this way.” I pinch the phone tighter, teeth grinding.
“Relax, bro. I’ll find someone new.” He yawns, like this is nothing more than small talk.
“No.” My voice sharpens, slicing through his nonchalance. “I’ll handle it. And you’ll keep your hands off her. I’m serious. This isn’t a joke anymore.”
“Cool. Thanks, man. Knew you’d come through,” he says back, and I bristle. I pull the phone from my ear, staring at the screen like I could strangle him through it.
I hang up before I say something worse. Step outside, needing air. The sun’s low, shadows stretching across cracked pavement. I lean against the doorway and drag both hands down my face.
Why does he make everything harder than it needs to be?
And still, despite the noise, Quinn cuts through it all. Bright hazel eyes steady on mine, a drop of lemon glistening on her plush lips. For a moment there, it’d felt like she wanted more too. And even though it ended before it began, the memory sticks.
Maybe fate’s not finished with us yet. Maybe the next person who walks through that door won’t be a supplier or a contractor.
Maybe it’ll be her.