“Well,” Lena grumbled. “That’s just great.”
“We’ve got two hours of potable water at most before the tanks go dry,” David said, fingers still flying over the circuits, pulling wires, cutting, replacing pieces. “We have to get the pipes clamped and rerouted, or sections replaced, or we’ll be refilling tanks with bottled water. For a hundred guest rooms.”
It didn’t need to be said. That would be a disaster. She swallowed hard, pulse throbbing like a warning.
“You’re promoted.” David offered the briefest quirk of a smile. “Congratulations, new plumbing assistant. Call Maintenance. They should’ve sent someone already, but we need every piece of four-inch and six-inch PVC piping they’ve got.”
Grateful for a concrete task, Lena retreated a few steps, put her phone on speaker, and called the emergency maintenance line. The screen felt slick under her thumb. The moment Andy picked up, his voice bled irritation. “Lena, I know we have water issues. I’m working on it.”
The condescension hit her like a slap.
She froze for half a second—stunned—before something cold and angry inside her rose to the surface.
“Oh, really?” Lena said, evenly. Ice layered her voice like frost creeping across glass. “Wow, thank you, Andy; that’s very enlightening because I was under the impression David and I were the only ones here at the water plant. I didn’t realize you have invisible staff. Or that calling you when the resort had no water would be considered a revolutionary inconvenience.”
She barbed her next sentence with enough sarcasm to draw blood. “I didn’t call to report the obvious. I called to relay specific instructions from David, if you can manage to listen without commentary.”
Another pause. Longer. She could almost feel him recalibrating.
“You’re right,” Andy said, although his voice sounded resentful, not apologetic. “Sorry, that was out of line. Go ahead.”
“First,” she said crisply. “David wants to know why no one from your team is here. Second, we need whatever you’ve got in four- and six-inch PVC, stat.”
She didn’t wait for him to explain himself again—anger still simmered in her gut. Men always assumed she wasn’t technical enough, smart enough, capable enough—the little blonde doll behind the desk who smiled prettily at angry guests and printed invoices. Sure. Let them keep thinking that. Until she tore them down one word at a time.
Go ahead. Underestimate her. That would be fun.
“The full crew starts at 7,” Andy offered weakly.
“So, what you’re telling me,” Lena’s tone was bone-dry, “is you don’t staff a third shift? Or call in workers early in an emergency? Or perhaps you think water before 9 am is optional for people paying a small fortune to sleep in our little slice of paradise?”
A beat of silence. Then, confusion. “Ben isn’t there?”
Her teeth clenched. “Did I not just freaking say only David and I are here? No. One. Else. Seriously, Andy, listen with an actual brain cell for once.”
A hand plucked the phone from her before she could continue. She spun, blinking, to find David at her side, sweat-drenched and irritated in a far colder-than-fiery rage.
“Andy.” David’s voice dropped into a growl that made even Lena’s skin go cold, like thunder rolling off a black sea—measured and ominous. “Why is my front office manager the only person with a functioning brain in this entire crisis?”
Silence again. They both knew Andy was trying to come up with an excuse David would accept. None existed.
“You find Ben and get him here,” David continued, each word clipped and final. “You get that PVC here in the next ten minutes or start packing your desk. Clear?”
He ended the call with a calmness more terrifying than yelling and handed the phone back to her.
“Good on you,” he said, shifting back toward the panel. “Don’t ever take that kind of crap, Lena. You’re his equal in rank, and he talked to you like a child. That says more about him than it does about you.”
Lena blinked, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his praise. Her mouth parted, searching for a response, but David was already gone, back to the circuits, carrying the weight of this catastrophe on his shoulders.
Still stunned, action returned as instinct—her body moving before her mind caught up. Outside, the air was mercifullyclearer, though still laden with jungle damp. Zach paced beyond the shed, coordinating with someone on a comms link. His facial aspect revealed little—closed, unreadable—but his posture screamed fury.
When he looked over and saw her, he veered in her direction, cutting his conversation short with a murmur.
“How’s he doing?” he rumbled.
Lena rubbed the back of her neck. “Overworked. Focused. Angry at everyone and everything, and rightly so. Maintenance hasn’t shown up. Andy is being,” she blew out an annoyed breath, “Andy. David stepped in and threatened his job.”
Zach’s jaw tightened.
