This time, she’d be the one who didn’t look back.
CHAPTER 10
The humof power tools faded, and the crew packed up for the day. Gus and Finn were off somewhere doing—who knew what?
Lainey sat in her small office next to the bakery going over punch lists and invoices, trying to ignore the creeping sense of dread in her gut.
Renovations hadn’t started on this building yet. The cracked tiles and a ceiling fan that had seen better days didn’t exactly scream progress. The air smelled faintly of dust and mildew and, if she were being honest, disappointment. Plus, the numbers on her spreadsheet didn’t lie. They didn’t look good. It was depressing as hell.
She stared at the screen, then around the dingy space, at the peeling paint on the wall. All those years studying historic preservation at the College of Charleston, dreaming of breathing new life into forgotten buildings, juggling work, chasing permits, and nursing a newborn while half asleep?
For what?
A sad little office and a spreadsheet full of red numbers?
Was this what survival looked like?
Because it sure as hell didn’t look like success.
She used to have vision. Drive. Hope.
Now she had invoices she couldn’t pay and contractors who were on the verge of leaving.
She could still hear Richard’s voice. “You’ve got vision, Lainey. This project will change everything.”
He said it over drinks at that rooftop bar in Charleston the night she signed the contract. He made it sound like her future was golden. They had celebrated long into the night—first with champagne, then with each other back at his condo while her mom watched Luke.
She believed every word he said and even let herself believe he was the future. She trusted him.
So she ignored the inconsistencies, the vanished invoices, the numbers that never quite lined up. Richard always had an answer, a reason not to ask more questions.
And when it fell apart, her name was the only one on the paperwork and in the headlines.
He disappeared.
She didn’t.
Lainey’s jaw clenched as she looked at the spreadsheet again.
She didn’t come here to fail.
A knock. Then the door creaked open, reminding her of everything that was slowly falling apart. This building. This project. And her grip on it all.
She didn’t look up. “We’re closed.”
“Ha. Didn’t come for a coffee klatch.”
Lainey froze; her heart stuttered.
Finn.
He stepped inside looking as yummy as he did this morning except for the tension he wore on his face. Broad shoulders, serious dark eyes.
“Gus said you’d be here.”
“So?” Lainey sighed. “You come to lecture me about not calling for help? Or do you already have a list of suspects?”
“Neither.” His voice was low. “I came to check up on you.”
