“No pressure,” Edmond jokes weakly.
“Thereispressure,” Calvin says, not joking at all. “This project has significant funding behind it. We have six months to produce results. I expect everyone to take that seriously.”
I set down my fork carefully. “Mr. Aarons, I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re all professionals. We understand the stakes. But archaeology doesn’t work on a strict timeline. We find what we find when we find it.”
“I’m aware of how archaeology works, Dr. Halford.” His voice is cool. “I’m simply setting expectations.”
The friendly rapport that had been building around the table evaporates. Edmond suddenly looks very interested in his hummus. Ahmed shifts uncomfortably. I can feel the mood plummeting.
Layla clears her throat. “I believe what Calvin means is that we’re all excited to get started. And yes, there’s pressure—there’s always pressure on digs, especially well-funded ones. But we’re a team. We’ll support each other and do our best work. Right?”
I look directly at Calvin, raising my eyebrows slightly.
He pauses, then nods. “Yes. Of course. I apologize if I came across as harsh. I’m… invested in this project.”
“We can tell,” Edmond says, and there’s something kind in his voice. “That’s good. Passion drives discovery.”
The tension eases slightly, and conversation resumes, though more subdued than before.
I find myself watching Calvin throughout dinner. He participates minimally, his mind clearly elsewhere. He checks his phone constantly. Answers questions in clipped sentences. Several times I catch him staring into the middle distance, his jaw clenched.
He’s scared, I realize. Terrified, actually. Of failure. Of disappointment. Of something.
It makes him seem less like a cold billionaire and more like… a person. A person carrying something heavy.
By the time dinner ends, everyone is talking about getting rest for tomorrow’s early start. We say our goodnights, and I head toward the elevator.
“Dr. Halford?”
I turn. Calvin is standing by the restaurant entrance, backlit by the warm interior lights.
“I’m sorry,” he says, taking me by surprise.
“We’re in this together,” I remind him. “All of us. You don’t have to carry it alone. The only reason anyone would go into the desert and do something like this is because they’re obsessed with the job.”
His face softens. “And you’re obsessed with the job.”
“Absolutely,” I say, staring him down.
“Get some rest,” he says. “Tomorrow starts early.”
“You too.”
As the elevator doors close, I catch one last glimpse of him standing there in the lobby, shoulders tense, the weight of the world clearly pressing down. And despite my better judgment, despite all my warnings to myself, I feel something shift in my chest.
Concern. Curiosity. And, yes, maybe a little bit of attraction I really shouldn’t be feeling.
CHAPTER 6
CALVIN
Dawn in Jumayah is spectacular—rose-gold light spilling across the city, turning every white building pink and orange. The call to prayer echoes through the streets, and for a moment, standing in the hotel parking lot while our driver, Khalid, loads our supplies into two SUVs, I feel the most relaxed that I have since I set my eyes on this project, because everything is working out.
Then Ella starts crying from somewhere behind me, and the moment shatters.
“I know, I know,” Georgia’s voice drifts across the parking lot, soothing but strained. “We’re almost ready to go. Just a little bit longer.”
It’s barely five in the morning. The child has every right to be upset, I suppose, but the wailing sets my teeth on edge. We haven’t even left the city yet, and already things feel chaotic.
