Chapter 244
JACOB
When she threw herself into my arms, I knew without a doubt that the entire insane, overpriced, bureaucratic nightmare of
this venture had been worth it.
Not for the headlines. Not for the tax advantages or the PR optics of even the potential leverage in Council politics.
No.
It was her.
The way she looked at me–up at me–with tears in her eyes, completely unguarded, raw and grateful and glowing. That moment cracked something open inside me.
I had gotten into this with her to toy with Derek. But now? I think was in it for more.
I wasn’t a stranger to female attention. Far from it. I’d been called handsome, magnetic, infuriatingly charming more times than I could count, usually while someone was trying to drag me into bed–or kick me out of one.
But this? This wasn’t about charm. This was connection. Purpose. Power.
And I knew, if I pushed just a little–if I leaned down and kissed her then, maybe even suggested we christen her new office right there on the dusty floor–I probably could’ve had her. Right then. Right there. Legs around my waist, her hair spilled out against the brick. And it would’ve been good. Glorious, even.
But I didn’t.
Because Elena Hart wasn’t a prize to be collected. She was the long game. The most fascinating piece on the board.
And I wasn’t finished playing.
“Come on,” I said, stepping back just enough to break the spell. “Let me show you the rest.”
She wiped her eyes quickly, laughing at herself, already a little embarrassed. “I swear, I’m not usually such a crier.”
“Good thing I’m a sucker for dramatic emotional breakdowns,” I said with a wink, and motioned for her to follow.
We wandered through the other upper floors–each one echoing with emptiness, each filled with possibilities. She moved from room to room like she was already designing them, talking about potential uses: overnight housing, legal aid, even a resource library.
Her enthusiasm was… disarming.
Most people in my world cared about optics. What would this building look like from the road? Could it double as a backdrop for a photo op? How fast could it be monetized?
But Elena asked, “How many people could this room sleep?” and “What’s the light like in the afternoons?” and “Would we be allowed to plant a rooftop garden up here for the residents?”
She wanted a garden.
I mentally added that to the list of things I would make happen.
“You’re really serious about this,” I said at one point, not able to hide my curiosity.
She gave me a look–gentle but resolute. “Of course I am. If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right.”
We reached the sixth floor. It was one of the more intact levels, wide and open with better insulation and newer wiring. She turned in a slow circle.
“This one could be job training,” she mused aloud. “We could partner with businesses and have a rotation. Even bring in
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speakers. Resume building, interview practice…”
I watched her, hands on her hips, her hair catching the sunlight. She wasn’t just talking anymore. She was dreaming. Planning. Owning it.
“Are you really willing to donate this entire building?” she asked, lting her head toward me.
I shrugged. “It’ll be a good tax write–off.”
She barked a laugh. “Of course it will.”
“What? You think altruism pays the bills?”
“No,” she said, smiling. “But it helps you sleep at night, doesn’t it”
I paused, pretending to think. “I sleep fine either way.”
She rolled her eyes and walked ahead of me toward the stairwell, but I didn’t miss the smile she tried to hide. Or the way her shoulder had brushed mine as we passed through the last doorway
When we reached the fifth floor, she turned to me suddenly, as if a new idea had just landed.
“I think we should celebrate.”
I raised a brow. “Oh?”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling. “This is big, Jacob. This whole project. I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks, but this… this made it real.”
She looked around again like she couldn’t quite believe it was all hers.
And mine, I thought.
Ours.
“What exactly did you have in mind?” I asked slowly, letting the question hang.
Because the way she’d said celebrate?
My mind had immediately gone to candlelight and slow kisses, to pressed backs against brick and undone buttons. I imagined champagne in plastic cups, her laughter against my throat, the curve of her hips under my hands.
But Elena tilted her head like she was ignoring the heat between us entirely.
“Something simple,” she said. “Dinner. Wine. I don’t know. Something that doesn’t involve grant proposals or space planning.”
I chuckled. “You wound me. I was going to suggest a three–hour review of city permit applications.”
“You’re very lucky you’re good–looking,” she said.
“I’m told that often.”
She groaned but laughed, walking to the window again. I followed her, leaning one shoulder against the brick beside her.
The sun was starting to drop lower in the sky, casting a gold glow across the river. In the distance, we could see the edge of the roguelands darken, shadows moving between the trees like secrets.
I let the silence stretch.
Let her soak in the view. Let her imagine the future she was building–and the future I’d quietly embedded myself into.
It wasn’t lost on me that I was bleeding money for this.
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No investor in their right mind would touch a block that neighbore the roguelands. Half the neighborhood still pretended the bridge didn’t exist, like ignoring the wilderness beyond it could erase the wolves who lived there.
The second this project went public- as rogue–inclusive, as rehab based–I could kiss my luxury tenants and rooftop cocktail bar dreams goodbye.
And the permits?
A nightmare waiting to happen. I’d have to grease every palm from here to the zoning commission. I’d have to charm, threaten, and outmaneuver half the Council to keep this from being shut down before it ever opened its doors.
I was risking a lot.
But it would be worth it.
Because when Derek King finally saw this–saw what Elena and I had built together, brick by brick–he would feel it. In his chest. In his gut. In every possessive instinct he’d ever had toward ber.
He’d see her standing beside me, proud and capable, and he’d know he wasn’t the only one who could give her purpose. That she didn’t need his protection or his legacy. That she had choices.
And she had me.
Even if she didn’t realize it yet.
“I’ve never worked on anything like this before,” Elena said softly still staring at the trees. “Something that actually feels like it could change something.”
“You’ve done a lot more than you give yourself credit for,” I said.
She turned to me then, and her expression shifted. Softened.
“Maybe,” she said. “But this feels different. Bigger.”
“It is.”
She studied my face for a moment, then pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Okay,” she said, with a decisive little nod. “Let’s celebrate.”
“What,” I grinned, “did you have in mind?”
