Chapter Six
HARPER
The roarof a circular saw ripping through plywood was the soundtrack to my mounting anxiety. I stepped over a tangle of electrical conduit snaking across the floor of Room 1208, my shoes kicking up clouds of fine gray dust that coated my capris and settled grittily on my skin. Bare studs framed the space where luxurious guest rooms would eventually stand, but right now, Room Block One felt less like progress and more like a battlefield casualty. Sunlight streamed through the empty window frames, illuminating the chaotic dance of airborne debris. It was organized chaos, theoretically, but the sheer scale of the simultaneous renovations—this block, the new bungalows, the pool complex—felt overwhelming today.
Because boy, had things changed.
I hugged my project clipboard, the hard edges digging into my ribs. Plumbing. That was the mission. Settle the damn copper pipe issue with Chase because we hadn’t exactly gotten around to it the other night.
And there he was. Standing near the gutted bathroom entryway and appearing utterly composed while deep in conversation with Joe, the foreman. He gestured toward the exposed pipes, his movements precise, his voice calm but carrying authority even over the din.
My stomach did a complicated flip, a mix of lingering desire, residual frustration from our unresolved argument two days ago, and the sheer awkwardness of facing him after… well,after. The memory of our night at his house was a persistent heat beneath my skin, a secret that felt too big to contain. We hadn’t really spoken since that clumsy morning-after coffee. He’d been at his office all day yesterday, while I had done all my usual juggling here.
Seeing him now, so focused andnormal, made the intensity of our encounter almost surreal. Had that really been me, losing all control on his desk? Had it been him, his usual reserve shattering into raw passion? Because that night had been unlike anything I had ever experienced.
I took a steadying breath to remind myself of the stakes. This wasn’t just about navigating awkward personal territory. It was about the resort, the budget, the schedule. I needed to be General Manager Harper Coleridge right now, not… whoever that wild, reckless woman at his house had been.
As I approached, his hazel eyes lifted and met mine. For a heartbeat, the professional mask slipped on his end too. Awareness flickered there, a spark of shared memory, before it was quickly shuttered behind his usual calm focus. But that brief moment was enough to send warmth flooding my cheeks, reminding me just how exposed I felt. Joe nodded to me as he headed toward the other side of the room, leaving me alone with Chase.
“Morning,” Chase said, his voice even, betraying noneof the turmoil that was roiling inside me. His gaze held mine for a fraction longer than necessary.
“Hello,” I replied, matching his professional tone, though my heart hammered against my ribs. I gestured toward the tangled mess of pipes revealed in the opened wall and dove in. “Seems we got, uh, sidetracked the other night before we actually solved anything.”
A ghost of a smile touched Chase’s lips, a shared acknowledgment of the colossal understatement. “Sidetracked is one word for it. My desk may never forgive us.”
I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me, tension easing a touch at his willingness to admit the absurdity. “Yeah, not the expected thing, for sure. So”—I took a breath, forcing myself back to the issue at hand—“since we failed miserably at resolving the plumbing situation then, are you ready to make a call on the copper now?”
“Lead the way.” His expression turned serious again. “But I want to say that my recommendation hasn’t changed. The only responsible long-term solution is replacing the affected sections.”
I nodded. I’d spent hours yesterday distracting myself by agonizing over the cost estimates, the potential delays, the impact on guests in Block Two. But after seeing the extent of the corrosion again in stark sunlight, Chase was right. Patching it would be like putting a cheap bandage on a gaping wound.
“I know,” I conceded. “I reviewed the revised costs again this morning. You’re right. Patching it is too risky. We’ll replace the affected section.”
Relief flashed across Chase’s face, quickly masked by professional approval. “Good. It’s the right call, Harper. I know it stretches the budget?—”
“But it’s necessary,” I finished. I met his gaze directly. “And I want to say I’m sorry about… the argument. Before. I shouldn’t have yelled or implied you weren’t considering the practicalities.”
His expression softened. “Hey, I wasn’t super diplomatic myself.” He rubbed the back of his neck in a familiar gesture that made my stomach flutter inappropriately. “I’m sorry too. Things got heated. Professional disagreements don’t have to get personal.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Things between us couldn’t have gotten more personal.
A wry smile touched my lips. “Right. Not personal at all.”
We shared another look, a silent understanding of the monumental line we’d crossed. Then we were both laughing. It was the kind of laughter that felt like a truce. Like clearing the air and getting past the awkwardness.
Chase leaned back against a stack of drywall, the shared laughter still warming the air between us. He picked up a stray wood shaving, turning it over in his fingers, his expression shifting from amusement to something more thoughtful.
“Speaking of budgets and things not going as planned.” His tone was casual but with an undercurrent I recognized as Architect Chase. “This pipe situation today…” He gestured vaguely toward the opened wall. “It’s a good reminder that Room Block One might be hoarding a few more surprises for us.”
I sobered a little, but the earlier ease lingered. “Let’s hope not. After these pipes, I was hoping we’d caught the worst of it for a while.”
He gave a short, wry laugh. “Remember our big debate about phasing the renovation in there? Doing the top floor first, leaving the ground floor to spread the cost?”
I remembered it well. “Vaguely.” A smile played on my lips. “Something about me being a budget-mindedpragmatist and you being a purist who wanted to X-ray every stud before we even ordered drywall?”
“Something like that,” he conceded, a reluctant grin tugging at his own mouth. “My point is, that phased approach, while financially sensible, still makes the architect in me twitch.”
I nodded, aware he had a point. “So, on a scale ofminor inconveniencetosell a kidney, where are we on your professional worry-meter for that?”
