Over the Edge (Bridge #3)(2)

I cleared my throat, regaining his attention. “This is my project. I worked on this design.”

His unaffected expression seemed to reinforce my anger with every passing second.

I rolled my eyes with a sigh. “Maybe you’re not the one to talk to. Who’s in charge here?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and his careful stare shifted to the older gentleman. “Tom, you want to deal with this?” He gestured along the length of me, as if I were the problem that needed to be dealt with. “I’m going to check out the progress upstairs.”

“Sure thing.” Tom rubbed his forehead as he guided me away. “So this is the wall you’re talking about?”

“Yes, this was meant to be glass. All the way across. We want people to walk in and see the facility and everything we offer, not drywall. You need to take these studs out immediately.”

“Okay.” He frowned. “There must have been a change in the plans.”

I lifted my brows. “You have a blueprint. Why would you change the plans?”

“This is a structural wall here, so I’m guessing instead of putting in reinforcements, Will modified the plans.”

“Why would he do that?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Well, it’s a lot cheaper, for one.”

I frowned. “I don’t care how much it costs.” My voice went up an octave. “This isn’t what we agreed on.”

He sighed. “I guess I’ll have to run it by Will.”

“Who’s Will? I thought you were the boss.”

He laughed and rubbed his forehead again. “No, I’m just the GC. Will Donovan’s the boss. You just met him. He owns the building, so whatever he says goes.”

“Oh.”

Shit. The man I’d mistaken for an exceptionally good-looking laborer was Will Donovan, the investor and real estate developer whom my brothers spoke of frequently. I’d never met him, but I knew enough about him to know I’d probably pissed him off. Too bad for him. I wasn’t going to stop until I got my way.

I put my hand on my hip and took a quick scan around the empty shell of a room. I should let this go, but I couldn’t. Cameron and Darren—all of us—had worked too hard to start cutting corners now. “I guess you’d better reintroduce me to Will.”

“This way,” he said with a grimace before leading me through a long unfinished hallway and upstairs to the second floor.

Will was leaning over a kitchen island, looking at blueprints that nearly covered the whole surface. He straightened when we entered. A quick glance passed between him and Tom, and I couldn’t tell if Will was amused or on edge. His height and the confidence in his stride as he approached gave me pause though.

“Miss Bridge. You’re back.”

“I am,” I said simply, curbing my tone now that I knew whom I was talking to.

He nodded toward Tom. “You can get back to work. I’ll take care of this.” He glanced back to me. “What can I do for you?”

“Tom explained the structural situation, but I’m concerned because this is not the design that we approved.”

“Cameron has given me creative control.” He crossed his arms, and the motion showcased his firm muscled arms. A mild distraction as I processed those last words.

“He has.” A statement. More like a statement filled with disbelief. Cameron couldn’t have done that. “I don’t understand.”

“Part of my investment is in the build-out. If I need to make adjustments to keep us on budget, I will.”

“You’re compromising our design and our brand. How do you expect us to pay you back when you’re ruining our design?”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic over a wall, Miss Bridge.”

I glanced around the open floor plan and quickly moved past him. I stopped when I stood under a wide arch that provided an opulent threshold between the kitchen and the living room of what I assumed would ultimately be a luxury condominium.

I turned toward him and pointed to the arch. “Was this a structural wall?”

“Yes.”

“And I take it you were able to resolve that?”

The corner of his lips lifted a fraction. “Obviously.”

“To preserve the view?” I lifted my brow in challenge.

“That’s a multimillion-dollar view, Miss Bridge. So is the room next to it. Needless to say, the budget allows for these things.”

“Our fitness centers aren’t sweaty gyms for jocks. They are visually appealing. They welcome members and inspire healthy lifestyles. We want patrons to walk through the front door and experience that.”

“Have dinner with me.”

My lips parted, but no words came. I wasn’t expecting that major shift in the conversation. “Excuse me?”

He cocked his jaw, and his tongue poked against his cheek, as if he were considering something. “We can go over the plans. I appreciate your passion for aesthetic. I’m sure we can find some common ground.”

“We can find common ground right here. I’m telling you—”

“I’m your only investor on this project, and you’re challenging my choices. So you can continue pissing me off, or we can have dinner and discuss this further.”