Page 22 of Protecting Lainey (Broterhood Alliance #7)

Lainey said goodbye to her friends and drove back to the site. Finn offered to drive her, but she needed a few—okay, a lot of minutes to herself. To catch her breath. Maybe even allow herself to fall apart.

What would she do if the city pulled her contract?

A wave of nausea rolled through her.

And then there was the Brotherhood Alliance, who stepped up with security, cameras, and manpower. No charge to her.

And Finn. She thought there was still a spark there. That look in his eyes when she spoke. The way he kept telling her she wasn’t alone. But how would he feel when he found out about Luke?

He’d hate her. She was sure of it.

Her heart started thundering in her chest. For a second, she couldn’t catch her breath, and she panicked.

Thankfully, she was parked in front of her office, but she couldn’t move.

She sat there with her hands glued to the steering wheel, praying she wouldn’t pass out. What the hell was she going to do?

She blinked and glanced around the site. The glazier’s van was parked in front of Stella’s. Ladders were up, and two men carefully maneuvered the new arched pane from a padded frame. The stained glass caught the light like jewels.

She approached slowly.

“You the one who ordered the custom cut?” the older man asked.

“That’s me.”

He gave a small smile. “It’s a beauty. Old glass like this doesn’t come cheap.”

“I know.”

She stood back and watched them lift the glass into place. It settled with a soft thunk . Her throat tightened. It fit perfectly. The storefront was whole again.

It shouldn’t have mattered so much, but it did. Proof that something broken could be put back together. That some things could still be made right.

The crew would finish up Stella’s Bakery with fresh paint, new trim and a new sign ready to go up.

Next in line was Bree’s brother’s gastropub, Brick & Barrel. Then the old storefront that would house the new community theater.

She still hoped to convince the council to set aside the former furniture warehouse for transitional housing.

But considering her ass was on the line, Lainey didn’t think they’d be so open about the idea. Maybe there was another building they could use. Lord knew that transitional housing was needed.

Although at the rate she was bleeding cash, she and Luke might be the first ones looking for a spot in that housing. What else could she do? Waitress? Clean houses? Didn’t matter as long as Luke had a roof over his head and food on the table.

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Oh God!

Now she was getting maudlin. Not helping.

She wasn’t going to cry in the parking lot.

Let the crew see she was defeated. She had work to do, a business to run, and by God, she was going to do the best she could.

She blew out a long breath and shook herself.

Okay, Lainey, time to pull up your big-girl panties and get to work.

Lainey climbed out of the car, the Florida humidity enveloping her. She removed her jacket and wished she had stopped home to change, but there was no time.

The office was cooler inside. She kicked off her shoes and sat behind her desk, staring at rolled-up blueprints and marked-up invoices. She turned her computer on, hoping for some positive news. Nothing. No news was good news at this point.

The office was quiet. Too quiet.

Only the hum of the air conditioner filled the space. Lainey leaned back in her chair, the vinyl creaking beneath her. The air smelled faintly of leftover coffee and sawdust. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing her heart to slow down.

Finn had a couple of things to do but said he’d swing by later. Part of her wanted him here now. The other part wanted space to fall apart without an audience.

Her stomach growled, so she walked over to the small fridge in the corner and pulled out the turkey sandwich she brought for lunch. Took a bite. Put it down.

Not happening. Her stomach clenched, thinking about food.

Tossing it in the garbage, she concentrated on calls she had to return, plans to finalize and a budget to rework. Work was something she could control.

A sharp knock on the door made her flinch.

Lainey looked up, expecting Gus or a crew member. She wasn’t expecting the tall man in a crisp button-down shirt, linen slacks and polished loafers standing there. Late forties? Maybe. Thinning hair slicked back. Portfolio tucked under one arm.

“Ms. Harper?” he asked, his voice smooth. “Bryce Keller. I represent Hartwell Redevelopment Group. Mind if I come in?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stood, her pulse thudding in her ears.

“We’ve been following your progress here,” he continued. “Someone on our board saw the council’s public session and asked me to reach out. They’re extremely interested in your work here.”

“Is that so?” she asked.

He entered like he owned the place. She motioned to the guest chair across from her desk, and he sat without hesitation, like he was right at home.

“My client is prepared to make a formal offer to assume ownership of the current development zone,” Keller said, flipping open the portfolio. “Keeping your name attached to the project, of course. But we’d relieve you of the financial burden and the risk.”

“I’m not selling.”

He didn’t flinch. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile. “Not yet,” he replied. “But that may change. When it does, I hope you’ll call me first.”

He slid a business card across her desk, sleek, matte cardstock with raised gold lettering.

Then he stood, smoothed the front of his shirt, and smiled like they were best friends.

Lainey didn’t touch the card.

“Have a good afternoon,” Keller said.

The door clicked shut behind him. She watched him out the window get into his too-pricey car and drive away before she picked up the card, her fingers trembling.

Hartwell Redevelopment Group.

She didn’t know the name. But she understood the message loud and clear.

He came to rattle her. Remind her that she wasn’t untouchable.

She stared at the card. Thought about Finn.

He’d want to know about it—demand to know. Push until she told him everything. Until there was nothing left to hide.

But telling him about Charleston meant dredging up her failures. And beyond that, the one truth she’d buried so deep and learned to live with. Their son.

And once that door opened, there would be no shutting it. No pretending it didn’t change everything.

She tucked the card into the drawer and shut it. She wasn’t ready to deal with that truth yet.