Chapter Text
Well. Fuck.
You stare out the windshield at Miller & Sons construction, fingers drumming against the steering wheel while you try to convince yourself to get out of the damn car. You've checked your reflection in the mirror twice already, checked your phone just as many times. Excuses. All of them. Little delays to put off the inevitable. You already made up your mind on the drive over.
You're doing this.
You are doing this.
The mantra repeats in your head as you loosen your shoulders, trying to steel yourself for what's about to happen the second you walk through those doors. You glance around the lot again, dust covered trucks and work vans lined up in uneven rows. A few of them are familiar, some of them too much. You whip your gaze back forward, drag in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
Then you're moving.
Before you can talk yourself into staying in this car for another minute you fling the door open, sling your purse over your shoulder, and slam it shut behind you with a final, decisive click. The early morning sun bears down on you almost immediately, your hand lifting to shield your eyes as you take in the building in front of you.
New paint. New-ish sign. But the same small town-shop feel it always had. The Miller brothers were never much for flashy advertising.
You make your way across the asphalt lot, heat radiating up through the soles of your shoes, forcing you to pick up your pace even as your mind tells you to turn back around. A bell above the door jingles when you open it, announcing your presence whether you like it or not. Lukewarm air conditioning washes over you as you step inside. A familiar face glances up from behind the desk, then just as quickly looks back down.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" she says coolly, flipping a page in whatever she's reading.
You can't help the smile that tugs at your mouth. "Ma'am?" you repeat, lifting your brows. "Pat, you've known me since I was seventeen."
She doesn't respond, just continues staring down at the desk, pretending you aren't there.
"I can't believe you still work here," you add, glancing around the office. It looks exactly the same as the last time you were here.
She hums, finally peering up at you over the rim of her glasses, pinning you with that look you know all too well.
"Some of us know the meanin' of loyalty around here."
You lean against the desk, tilting your head at her. "Patricia," you say, mock seriousness in your tone. "Are you still pretendin' you can stay mad at me?"
"I don't gotta pretend," she replies flatly. "If you were my daughter, I'd've slapped you upside the head years ago. Knocked some sense into you."
"I missed you too," you say, leaning in a little closer. You glance over your shoulder toward the back offices. "Tommy around? I need to talk to him."
"Did you make an appointment?" Pat asks.
"No."
"Then you'll have to come back when you do," she says, opening the planner beside her and dragging a finger down the page. "Looks like the soonest I can get you in is….next week."
You scoff. "I'm not schedulin' an appointment to talk to Tommy, Pat. Just tell him I'm here."
She doesn't even look up. "Then it seems I can't help you."
You straighten, hands planting on your hips as emphasis, ready to fire back with another snarky reply when a voice stops you.
"Please tell me this means what I think it means."
Tommy stands in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame, a boot hooked over the other, the same cocky grin on his face he always has.
You lean your hip against the desk, crossing your arms loosely over your chest.
"Well if it isn't my favorite Miller brother," you say, looking him over. It's been awhile since you've seen him. "I was actually just lookin' for you."
You glance down at Pat with a sly smile. She rolls her eyes in response.
"I always knew you liked me best," Tommy says, winking. He pushes off the frame and takes a few steps closer. "Heard you might be lookin' for a new job?"
You shrug one shoulder, looking around. "I'm in the market," you say breezily, then turn your attention back to him. "Just wonderin' if that position here is still open."
Tommy's grin widens. "Took ya long enough," he says, coming to stand beside the desk.
Pat remains seated behind it, suddenly very interested in whatever papers are in front of her, even though you know she's listening to every word. Nosy woman.
"So they really let you go, huh?" Tommy says, his face going soft.
You wince. Of course he already knows. Everybody who works construction anywhere in Austin has probably heard by now, front-row seats to your great professional failure.
"I believe their exact words were 'your values no longer align with the company'," you say, giving a small shrug. "But yeah. They did."
Pat scoffs, muttering something under her breath, and your head snaps toward her.
"Somethin' to say, Patricia?"
"Nothin' at all," she replies casually, still not looking up.
You narrow your eyes at her, ready to press it, but Tommy cuts in before you can.
"Well, you know I ain't one for gossip," he says.
You raise a brow.
He cracks a grin. "Fine. At least not when it's about people I know." His smile turns more sincere. "Whatever happened, they made a mistake lettin' you slip through their fingers. You put that place on the map."
A flare of irritation sparks through you all over again. He's right. You did put that place on the fucking map—and they'd fired you without so much as blinking.
"Thanks, Tom." You smile softly. "But somebody's gotta benefit from it."
Tommy's smile turns knowing. "You're layin' it on a little thick there."
"I know," you say simply.
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head.
You need this job. Practically speaking, you can stretch your savings another few months if you have to, but practically speaking isn't the only reason you're standing here.
Tommy scratches at the back of his neck, glancing down at Pat. She shoots him a pointed look that has his eyes snapping away just as quickly.
"Well, we'd love to have you," he says, and you can tell immediately that he's about to say something you won't like. "But it ain't just my decision. You know I'd hire you on the spot if I could."
You'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. Some stupid, naive part of you thought Tommy wouldn't even hesitate. Which means you already have your answer.
"If we can convince Joel," he adds, careful now, "the position's yours."
Your shoulders sag and you look away, staring out the front window at the traffic crawling past. "He's never gonna agree to it," you say quietly. "You know that, right?"
Tommy nods, like he's already made peace with that reality. "Yeah. He ain't exactly gotten over the Redline deal fallin' through."
Your gaze drifts back to him, expression faltering. "Tommy, I didn't—"
He raises a hand, stopping you gently before the words can tumble out. "I know," he says. "That's just how the business works. It's all water under the bridge for me." He pauses, then adds, softer, "But you know Joel…"
Yeah, you do. He isn't the kind of man to let things go that easily, or accept apologies just because they're offered. And the last time you saw him, he sure as hell hadn't been singing your praises.
"Well," you say, straightening and slapping a hand against the desk, "might as well give it our best shot."
Tommy's smile creeps back into place. "You sure you're ready for that?"
You huff, cocking a hip. "Your brother doesn't scare me. He's all bark and no bite."
"Like hell he is," Tommy shoots back. "Only reason you can handle him is 'cause your attitude's worse than his."
"Exactly," you say confidently, shooting Pat another glare when she scoffs beside you.
"Alright then," Tommy says, adjusting his hat. "Let's get this over with."
You still. "Wait—now? He's here?"
Tommy doesn't notice your hesitation, already stepping past you and heading for the hallway. "Yeah, he's back here broodin' over some paperwork. Figured maybe he'll agree just to get outta doin' it."
Your heart rate kicks stubbornly as you swallow, trying to brace yourself for whatever waits at the end of that hallway. Pat finally looks up from the desk, a smug little smile on her face that clearly says good luck, and you roll your eyes before following Tommy.
The hall is darker than the front of the office, the overhead light caked with dust and dead insects. Your nose wrinkles instinctively, and you make a mental note to tell Pat she could stand to leave her desk once in awhile and clean it.
The thought brings a small smile to your face, one that vanishes the second Tommy stops at a doorway. He leans in, murmurs something you can't hear, then glances back at you.
You nod, and take in a deep breath.
When you step inside, there he is. Joel Miller, bent over a desk cluttered with paperwork, shoulders tight in that way you'd know anywhere. He looks exactly the same. Older, a little more worn around the edges, but the same. The years collapse embarrassingly fast at the sight of him.
"Hey, Joel. Got a minute?" Tommy says, tapping the doorframe.
Joel grunts in response, not bothering to turn around. Nothing new there.
"Wanted to, uh…talk to you 'bout somethin'." Tommy adds. He shoots you a look and nods in Joel's direction. You lift your hands in a silent I have no idea where to start.
"'Bout what?" Joel asks, rolling his head from side to side as he stretches his neck.
Tommy glares at you.
You sigh softly and clear your throat, stepping forward.
Joel freezes at the sound. His hands still on the paper he's holding. Slowly, he turns his head, glancing over his shoulder until his eyes land on you, and you watch his face harden.
"No."
Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head.
"Joel—" Tommy starts.
You wave him off, moving farther into the room and carefully step around the desk.
"Joel," you say sweetly. "You're really not even gonna think about it?"
"Not happenin'."
He doesn't look up, eyes fixed on the papers in front of him like you aren't standing right there. You smirk and lean in, angling to see whatever he's pretending to read.
The folder snaps shut, and Joel shoots you a look that could strip paint.
He straightens to his full height then, finally facing you. You'd forgotten how damn tall he is, but you don't back down. You meet his stare head on.
"How'd I know you'd come crawlin' back here the second I heard the news," he says, shaking his head. "Couldn't help yourself, could you?"
"I was thinkin' of leaving anyways," you say casually, one hell of a lie if there ever was one. You shift your weight onto one hip, eyes drifting over him. "Figured I'd offer to help you guys out first."
Joel scoffs. "Doin' us a favor, huh?"
"I mean," you glance around, lips pursing as you take it in, "kind of?"
His eyes narrow, and you know you've just struck a nerve—which, to be fair, isn't exactly difficult where he's concerned.
He leans forward slightly, his shadow stretching over you. "I'd let this place close down before I ever hired you."
You groan, scrubbing a hand down your face. "Stop bein' dramatic, Joel. I don't know how many times you want me to apologize for the same damn thing before you get over it."
"I don't want your apologies," he shoots back. "And I sure as hell don't want someone like you workin' at my business. We're doin' just fine without you."
You raise a brow, frustration rising in your chest. "Oh, really? You're doin' 'just fine.'"
"Yeah," he says, squaring his shoulders. "We are. Don't need all those flashy dinners and back-stabbin' bullshit your kind loves to dish out."
You laugh once at the jab, short and humorless. "You're so full of shit." You turn toward his brother. "Tommy? How's business?"
Tommy shifts awkwardly in the doorway, eyes flicking between Joel and you, clearly torn on whose side he's supposed to take.
"Don't drag him into this," Joel cuts in quickly. "You're only doin' it 'cause the idiot's always had a soft spot for you—and you know he'll cave the second you open that damn mouth of yours."
You huff, mouth parting at the accusation—annoyingly close to the truth.
"Look, Joel," Tommy says, stepping forward. "I know you're still upset, but c'mon brother. We could really use someone like her. You know she's fuckin' good at what she does—"
"I said no," Joel snaps over him. "I don't trust her. And besides—" his gaze cuts back to you, "—I don't want someone with her reputation workin' here."
Your mouth snaps shut, and you bite your lip so hard you think you might draw blood. The words hit somewhere you aren't prepared for. You look at him, something burning in the back of your throat that has nothing to do with anger.
"Fine." You brush past him, shoulder catching his arm hard enough that neither of you can pretend it was an accident.
"Sorry, Tommy," you say, quieter, already halfway down the hall.
You can hear them arguing behind you by the time you reach the front office. Pat glances up, but you don't even look at her.
"Go clean something, Patricia," you toss over your shoulder as you shove through the doors and back out into the heat.
Your fingers are almost numb from how hard you're gripping your purse strap, the nails of your other hand digging into your palm.
You want to turn around and storm back into that office, demand that he listen to you, throw a few more insults his way and see just how far you can push him.
But you know that won't work. And you know Joel. It will take a hell of a lot more than that to get him to change his mind. The man is stubborn to the bone. Which is probably why the two of you can't last five minutes alone in a room together without ending up at each other's throats.
You slide into the driver's seat, tossing your purse into the passenger side with more force than necessary, the irritation still simmering beneath your skin.
I don't want someone with her reputation workin' here.
You hate hearing it—only because it's true. Your reputation is shot as far as the corporate side of the construction world is concerned. Untrustworthy. Blacklisted. No one in their right mind would touch you right now, no matter how good you are at your job.
But you refuse to accept that.
You worked your way up from nothing once. You can do it again.
You shift the car into drive and pull out of the lot, a plan already beginning to take shape. Before Joel snapped that folder shut, you managed to read one line.
Cedar Ridge.
A residential expansion project located just outside of Austin. Twenty-eight acres of locally owned land, slated to become the future site of a brand new subdivision. You've been keeping your eye on it for months now, long after others passed it by without a second glance.
It's big. Bigger than it looks on paper. A challenge, sure—but exactly the kind of thing that could make or break a company.
And a tarnished reputation.
The only thing you can't figure out is how Joel even knows about it. It isn't exactly the kind of project a smaller company would usually chase. Either he's a hell of a lot smarter than you've ever given him credit for, or he's finally lost his damn mind.
Either way, it's your way back in.
Now all you have to do is convince him.
By the time you pull into the gravel driveway and climb out of the car, you've gone over every angle of how to approach this.
Your humble abode sits right where you left it. White paint chipped from the siding, a roof that should've been replaced two summers ago, sitting on five acres of land you love but don't own. You've been renting it for the last few years, quietly hoping the owner will finally cave and sell it to you, but no such luck yet.
You twirl your keys around your fingers as you climb the porch steps, skipping one out of habit. The boards creak under your weight, one of them threatening to give out any day now.
You step inside, kick off your shoes and toss your keys onto the counter before heading straight for your desktop. The modem hums to life at a glacial pace as you stare at the screen, waiting for it to flicker on.
It's a long shot. They'd made you leave every physical file behind when they fired you, but you'd kept backups in your company account. And you know Stacy in HR is always at least a week behind on everything—including, hopefully, remembering to deactivate your login.
As soon as the monitor lights up, you're already clicking, your finger tapping against the desk in restless anticipation. The company logo loads slowly, line by line, until it finally fills the screen.
Westlake Developmental Group.
Clean-cut. Respectable. A neat little founded in the 1800s stamped beneath it—which is complete bullshit. Richard started the company up in the eighties, but the lie serves its purpose. Like slapping a two-hundred-year legacy on the front somehow makes it more trustworthy.
You hold your breath as you type in your information, clicking the button and silently praying to whoever might be listening that this will work.
Then, to your surprise, the screen loads.
"Yes," you breathe, slamming your hand against the desk before tipping your head back. "Thank you for bein' bad at your job, Stacy."
All of your files are still there. Everything you built. Including the Cedar Ridge information. You don't hesitate, fingers already moving as you start transferring it all over.
You probably should pause—should think twice. This is exactly the kind of thing that landed you here in the first place, knowing the system too well and using it anyway.
But this is your work. Your research. And you'll be damned before you let them take anything else from you.
You spend the rest of the night printing everything that might help you pull this off, anything that could prove to Joel you're serious. He isn't an easy man to impress, but you've never been one to give up without a fight.
It isn't until you finally crawl into bed that the thought catches up with you. What it would mean if he actually said yes.
Working with him. Seeing him every day. Being pulled back into an orbit you spent years trying to escape.
It's been a long time since the two of you had anything resembling a normal conversation. Long enough that you can barely remember the version of Joel you used to know, the one who smiled without thinking about it, who wanted you around.
You shake the thought away, stubborn as ever. You're a professional. So is he. This is just a simple business deal, one that's mutually beneficial whether Joel wants to see it that way or not.
You've almost convinced yourself of that by the time you fall asleep.
The next morning, you pull into the lot and don't hesitate. You climb out of the car with a determination you didn't have yesterday, a manila folder tucked securely under your arm.
When you open the door, Patricia is actually upright for once, dusting off the filing cabinets lining the back wall. A man you've never seen before leans against the desk, eyes widening the second you storm in.
Pat turns to look at you, and a smile creeps across your face.
"Oh, look," you say lightly as you stroll past her. "I'm back one day and already boostin' morale."
"Where do you think you're goin'?" she scolds, throwing her hands up.
"Is that who I think—" the man starts.
But you're already halfway down the hall.
As soon as you round the corner, you see Joel at the desk, almost the exact same picture as yesterday. If the man is anything, it's predictable.
His head snaps up when you waltz in, and he lets out a slow sigh, dragging a hand down his face, clearly already exhausted by your existence.
You don't give him time to say a word. The folder hits the desk in front of him with a solid thud, and you step back.
Joel's gaze flicks from the folder to you, his brows knitting together.
"What the hell is this?"
"Everything I have on the Cedar Ridge deal," you say, crossing your arms across your chest.
"What—" he starts, then stops short, his eyes narrowing. "How the hell did you know about that?"
"I read what was on your desk yesterday," you say plainly.
"Goddammit," he mutters, shoving the folder away. "What are you even doin' here? I told you I ain't givin' you the job."
"Joel, will you just listen to me for one second—"
"No," he cuts in, straightening in his chair. "I've already heard all your excuses. I'm not interested in hearin' anymore."
You bite down everything you want to say and give him the only thing that might actually work.
"I can get you the deal."
Something shifts in his face. Small enough that most people would've missed it. You aren't most people.
You step closer to the desk.
"You know I can, Joel," you say. "I already have everything we'd need to get started."
"There is no we," he scoffs, leaning back slightly as you approach. His eyes drop to the folder again. "Where did you get all this?"
"From my account at Westlake."
"So you stole it," he says, shaking his head, a humorless smile tugging at his mouth. "I ain't gettin' wrapped up in whatever game you're playin' here. This the same kind of shit that got you fired in the first place?"
"It ain't stealin' when it wasn't theirs to begin with," you shoot back, ignoring the rest of his comment. "And they don't even know about this. They barely glanced at it. We both know it's more than that. Imagine what a deal like this would mean for your business."
Joel taps a finger against the desk, eyes still fixed on the folder, but you can see the gears turning behind that thick skull of his. He's listening—at least a little.
You plant your hands on the desk and lean in, forcing him to meet your eyes.
"Come on, Joel," you say. "We can take this thing right out from under them. They won't even know what hit 'em."
His gaze snaps up at that, locking with yours.
"So that's what this is about."
Your face twists. "What?"
"You're just lookin' to get even for them droppin' you on your ass," he says flatly. "You don't give a damn what's good for this business. You're doin' this for yourself."
You wince. He isn't entirely wrong, and you both know it.
"Why can't it be both?" you ask, softer now. "They took just as much from you as they did from me."
Joel's jaw tightens. His voice drops when he answers.
"It wasn't Westlake that took it from us."
Your hands curl into fists against the desk, your eyes never leaving his. For a long second, neither of you speak.
"Fine," you say at last. "Then consider this me makin' up for the Redline deal."
He lets out another slow sigh, his shoulders dropping with it.
"Never thought I'd see the day you show up here beggin' me for somethin'," he mutters, shifting his attention back to the papers scattered across the desk. After a beat, his eyes flick toward you again.
"Answer's still no."
You look at him. Then away. Then back.
God, you hate this.
"Joel, please," you say, throat tightening around it. "I know I can do this. Just…give me this one shot. If I don't get you the deal, I'm gone. Fire me. Never speak to me again. Whatever you want."
That gets his attention, the corner of his mouth ticking up.
"What was that? I don't think I heard you right," he says, the smugness on his face on full display now.
"This is not me beggin'," you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him. "I'm only sayin' it because you're too stubborn to see straight."
"Yeah, that's what this is," he mutters, scratching at his jaw before stretching his arms behind his head, muscles flexing beneath his shirt. He looks away for a second, then back down, finally reaching for the folder. "I don't even know if we can take somethin' this big on."
"You can," you say quickly, hope sparking through you before you reel it in and clear your throat. "I mean—it's a lot. But you guys could do this."
He flips open the folder, skimming through the first few pages while you track every movement, waiting for him to either change his answer or tell you to get the hell out.
"You got any idea what that kind of build costs?" he says. It isn't really a question, more of a challenge. He's testing you.
You roll your eyes and reach down, swatting his hand away. That earns you a look you ignore as you turn the page, revealing the budget breakdown you'd printed.
"It's not as much as you'd think," you say, tapping the numbers. "The landowner's willing to fund most of the project up front—for the right deal. Something everyone else conveniently overlooked." You glance up at him. "As long as the company meets a few…requirements."
"So there's a catch," Joel replies, though he doesn't lift his eyes from the paperwork. "What is it?"
"I don't know yet," you admit slowly. "But as long as we've got everything else covered, we can figure it out. And—" you shrug one shoulder, "—I'm pretty damn good at what I do."
Joel huffs, unimpressed, then closes the folder. His jaw works like he's running the numbers in his head, weighing the risk.
"If we do this…" he starts, then sighs, clearly wrestling with it before he finally looks at you. "If we do this, it's temporary. You hear me? If this deal falls through, I want you gone."
You open your mouth, but he cuts you off with a raised hand.
"No beggin' me to change my mind. No actin' like you're in charge of anythin' except convincin' this guy to take us on."
"Yes, Joel," you say evenly. "I understand."
"This ain't Westlake. We do things by the book, or we don't do 'em at all. You hear?" He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, eyes hard when they meet yours again. "And if you screw us over…" His voice drops. "I don't ever wanna see your face in here again."
You hesitate a moment. There's no teasing tone in his voice now. He's serious. If you screw this up, it's over. Your career. Your future. Any chance of Joel ever forgiving you for all the things he thinks you've done. This is it.
You straighten your spine and extend your hand toward him, swallowing down every possible way this could go wrong.
"Deal?" you ask, giving a small nod.
Joel's eyes flick between yours, the intensity in them making it clear he isn't doing this because he trusts you. Slowly, cautiously, he lifts his hand and wraps it around yours.
You ignore the way your stomach flips at the feel of his skin against yours for the first time in years.
His grip firms for a brief second before he gives your hand a single, reluctant shake.
"Deal."