Page 70 of Knotted By my Pack

This place used to be quaint, sleepy. Now it’s raw and open, carved out and gutted—exactly the way I want it.

Beckett stands near a stack of blueprints, sleeves rolled to the elbows, clipboard in hand. He’s grizzled, built like he could wrestle a bear and win, but sharp enough to run a crew without chaos.

He lifts a hand as I approach, but doesn’t bother with pleasantries. That’s why I like him. He doesn’t give a damn who I am, so long as the checks clear.

“You’re late,” he says.

I step around a rusted-out container and stop beside him. “I’m not here to play foreman.”

“You’re also not here to keep disappearing on me,” he grunts. “If you want this place up before the season turns, you need to be making calls now. We can pay off Lockwood to look the other way.”

My jaw tightens, but I don’t take the bait. He doesn’t know who she is. What she is. And it’s none of his business.

“I’ve made all the important decisions,” I say, nodding toward the exposed dock. “You just need to execute.”

Beckett flips through the plans. “We hit bedrock faster than expected. Good news. The pylons will go in early. But the east side?”

He points behind a bulldozer, where the ground slopes toward a half-demolished shack.

“It’s swampier than we thought. That runoff’s been pooling for decades. You want a luxury tower there, we’re going to need to bring in heavy reinforcements. And a hell of a drainage system.”

I crouch beside the plans, scanning the site grid. That tower’s meant to be the crown jewel. Thirty stories. Oceanfront suites. Infinity pool cantilevered over the water.

The kind of place that makes headlines—and makes investors salivate.

“Sink the extra cost,” I say. “Get me the team who did the Gulfport pier. I want that corner secured by next month.”

Beckett whistles low. “That’s a big ask.”

“So was tearing up an entire harbor in under four weeks. And yet, here we are.”

He eyes me. “You really think this place can handle what you’re building?”

I glance at the edge of town, where the rooftops huddle close together like secrets. “They’ll have to.”

The sun breaks through the clouds for a second, sharp and glaring. Sweat slides down my back beneath the collar of my shirt, but I ignore it, folding my sleeves and taking the clipboard from Beckett.

I scan the updated timeline. He’s moving fast. Too fast, maybe. But I want this done. I want to cut the ribbon, hand the press their soundbites, and disappear before anyone gets too close.

Especially her.

“What’s your plan for the locals?” Beckett asks after a moment. “The ones bitching about the noise? That bakery girl, especially. She’s usually loud as hell about zoning changes.”

My eyes snap to him, and he notices. I hand the clipboard back. “She’s not a concern.”

“I really think she is. People have already been talking.”

I turn away before he can keep poking. He’s not stupid. And I don’t need this site turning into a rumor mill.

“She knew what this place was when I got here,” I say over my shoulder. “If she wanted to protect it, she should’ve bought the land herself.”

Beckett chuckles. “Brutal.”

But he gets back to work, barking orders and pointing to the pit where the foundation’s set to be poured.

The buzz of saws picks up again. Concrete mixers grind into motion. And beneath it all, that constant thought hums low and heavy in the back of my mind: her lips. Her skin.

Her scent on my sheets.