Chapter Nineteen
CHASE
“I don’t givea damn who did it, Marcus.” I kept my voice even despite the pressure building behind my temples. “It’s wrong. The inspector cited multiple code violations on this wall alone.”
Marcus, my project manager, nodded tightly and avoided meeting my angry glare. “I’ve already called Walsh Electric. They’re sending someone first thing tomorrow.”
The Franson electrical inspection had failed in spectacular fashion. Standing under the harsh work lights, I stared at the exposed north wall wiring like it was a personal betrayal. Every single outlet had been flagged—wrong gauge, improper grounding, the works. What had started as a routine inspection this afternoon had morphed into a full-blown crisis threatening to sink a cornerstone project for my fledgling firm. And somewhere across town, Harper and Finn were probably finishing pizza without me.
“Tomorrow’s not good enough.” I crouched down to examine the junction box. “Mr. Franson wants this guestsuite finished by the end of next week. We need someone here tonight.”
“Chase, it’s almost eight?—”
“Then call Tommy directly. If he gives you some crap about needing to pay the emergency rate, tell him I’ll use another contractor from now on.” I straightened up, dust clinging to my jeans. “And call the drywall guy too. They were lined up to start first thing tomorrow.” Because I’d assumed the electrical would pass.
Around us, the half-finished guest suite stood in limbo, an unlikely marriage of luxury and construction chaos. Imported Italian tile worth more than my first car sat stacked near an exposed wall cavity. Custom brass fixtures waited in their protective wrapping while fine sawdust coated every surface. The contrast was almost comical—high-end finishes meeting construction disaster.
But I wasn’t laughing. Not even a little.
Marcus stepped away to make the calls while I pulled up the original plans on my tablet. The Franson project wasn’t just another job. William Franson was a retired real estate developer with connections throughout South Florida, and his home was one of many in this exclusive, high-end residential development. This guest suite addition to his waterfront home represented the kind of high-end residential work that could put Latitudes Design on the map—or sink us if we screwed it up.
If I screwed it up.
My phone buzzed. Marcus had sent the inspector’s full report. Fifteen violations, each one requiring rework. I scrolled through the list, mentally calculating costs and delays. This would damn near destroy my profit margin.
“Walsh can have someone here by nine,” Marcus said, returning with a grim expression.
“Fine. The drywall guy?”
“They’re on standby.”
I rubbed my eyes. I saw a night of minimal sleep ahead. “Call the inspector on his cell and get him back here tomorrow. We need to get that drywall started as soon as possible.”
“Okay. Chase.” Marcus lowered his voice. “Franson called while you were checking the bathroom. He’s… not happy.”
“I’m sure he’s not.” I forced a tight smile.
As Marcus stepped away, my mind drifted to Harper. To the way her voice had changed when I called to cancel our plans. Our routine meeting about the resort flooring renovation had somehow evolved into dinner plans with her and Finn. Pizza and a movie—nothing fancy, but something I’d been looking forward to.
I pulled out my phone, checking for texts. Nothing from Harper since our call earlier. My stomach twisted with something that felt uncomfortably like guilt. The memory of our conversation played back in my head. Her tone had been professionally polite—the exact same voice she used with difficult resort guests. Then it had transitioned to icy, bordering on glacial. Not the warm, teasing Harper I’d grown accustomed to.
Despite her words that she understood, her clipped responses told me it wasn’t fine. And the thought of Finn’s disappointment made my chest ache. The kid had been excited about us building his LEGO creation together. And dammit, so had I.
For the next hour, I coordinated with suppliers, arranged for rush deliveries, and worked through contingencies with Marcus. The project was salvageable, but it would take precise execution and a lot of overtime.
When my phone rang with Franson’s name on thedisplay, I stepped outside to take the call. “William,” I answered, injecting confidence into my voice.
“Chase.” Franson’s tone held the distinctive note of a wealthy man unaccustomed to inconvenience. “I understand there are… issues.”
I laid out the problems and our solutions succinctly, emphasizing our immediate response and the quality control measures we’d implement going forward.
“This will not affect your finish date,” I assured him. “My team will work through the night if necessary.”
“I expect nothing less,” Franson replied. “My wife has her heart set on her parents staying in that space next weekend.”
After promising updates by morning, I ended the call and leaned against the side of the house, exhaustion settling into my bones. The evening stretched ahead—hours of supervising emergency repairs when I should have been enjoying myself with Harper and Finn.
Harper.
