Page 19 of Working for Him

"You okay?" she asks.

"I'm pissed off. At the city for having terrible records, at myself for not somehow anticipating this despite the fact that it was literally impossible to know."

"None of this is your fault." She crosses over to me, her hands sliding up my chest. "You shut it down immediately, called in the right people, and you're prioritizing safety over schedule. That's good leadership, Caleb."

The praise makes me feel a little better. "The city's going to fight us on this."

"Probably. But we'll fight back. Together." That word lands with weight, and reminds me I'm not carrying this alone anymore. "You're going to take heat for this too," I say quietly. "They're going to blame you for more delays."

"I know. But I'd rather take heat for doing my job right than live with someone getting hurt because I was too worried about being popular."

I don't know what I did to deserve having her in my corner, but I'm grateful for it. "Come home with me. Let me feed you something that isn't gas station coffee, and we can decompress before tomorrow brings whatever fresh hell this has spawned."

Later, cooking side by side in the kitchen, I ask her the question that's been sitting under my ribs all day. "You want to quit? Because it's this hard?"

"No," she says immediately. "Which is new for me. I'm just pissed off that it's hard, and not ready to leave because it's hard."

The distinction matters, and we both know it. She's not running.

"Choose actively," I challenge, stepping between her legs where she's perched on the counter. "Tell me you're staying because you want to, not just because you haven't left yet."

"I'm staying because I want to," she says, her voice steady despite the fear I can see behind it. "Because what we're building here matters to me. Because you matter to me. Because for the first time in my adult life, the idea of leaving actually hurts more than the idea of staying."

That's all I need to hear. Dinner waits considerably longer than either of us intended.

CHAPTER 12

Rena

The problem with being right is that sometimes it pisses people off more than being wrong ever could.

I'm standing in front of the city planning committee, project files spread across the table like evidence at a trial, and I’m making the case for why we need to shut down the entire eastern section until we can reinforce the substructure. The room is cold, the fluorescent lights are buzzing, and five committee members are wearing expressions ranging from skeptical to openly hostile.

"Ms. Black," the chair says, dripping with condescension. "Surely there's a way to continue work while addressing these concerns. The project is already behind schedule."

"With respect, the stress fractures I've documented indicate systemic issues with the original foundation work. Continuing to build on compromised infrastructure isn't just unsafe, it's negligent." I pull out photos I've been documenting for a week. "This is a structural compromise that will only get worse if we ignore it."

One of the committee members, a man who has spent the entire meeting so far reviewing something on his phone, glances up long enough to ask if the fractures are "cosmetic." I resist the urge to ask if he'd also describe a punctured lung as cosmetic, and instead slide the photos two inches closer to him.

"They're structural," I say. "I'd be happy to walk you through the difference, if it would help."

He does not take me up on the offer.

I watch them pass the photos around, watch the calculation happening behind their eyes. Delays versus liability. Political expediency versus engineering reality.

"How long would a full shutdown take?" the chair finally asks, resignation in his voice.

"Minimum two weeks."

"On top of the three we've already lost."

"Yes. Two weeks now, or potentially months later when something fails and we have to tear everything down and start over. Your choice."

"We'll need to discuss this," he says, which is bureaucrat-speak for we're going to see if there's any way to ignore you without exposing ourselves to liability.

I walk out with my spine straight, and the second the door closes behind me, exhaustion washes over me in a wave. This is what I hate. The constant fighting, the constant justification, the moment where being right feels a lot like being the villain.

My phone buzzes. Caleb.