CAPTURED BY MY HOT ENGINEER

Chapter 4

The walk from the steel beam to the site office felt like a parade, but not one of celebration. It was a procession of tension.

Gerald walked slightly ahead of me, his posture hunched and nervous, like a man walking through a minefield. Behind us, I could feel the eyes of the workers burning into my back, but my focus was entirely fixed on the broad figure walking ten paces ahead of us.

Simon Williams.

He didn't look back. He didn't slow down. He just marched forward, his heavy boots hitting the ground with a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that seemed to shake the very earth. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew exactly how strong the ground beneath him was.

We entered the site office. It was surprisingly neat inside, lined with shelves of heavy manuals, rolls of blueprints, and whiteboards covered in complex calculations. The air was cooler here, smelling of paper, coffee, and stale cigarette smoke.

"Mr. Williams," Gerald said, his voice cracking slightly as he closed the door behind us, shutting out the noise of the site. "Allow me to introduce—"

"I know who she is," Simon interrupted.

His voice was deep, rough, and devoid of any warmth. He turned around slowly, leaning his hips against the edge of a large wooden desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He still hadn't taken off his hard hat, which cast a shadow over his eyes, making him look even more intimidating.

"Eloise Moore," he said, testing the name as if it were something heavy he was holding in his mouth. "The Boss's daughter. The Golden Girl."

I stood my ground in the middle of the room, my chin held high. The contrast between us was jarring. I was silk and light; he was concrete and shadow.

"I prefer Ms. Moore," I corrected him coolly. "And yes, I am here on behalf of Moore Corp to inspect the progress and review the structural integrity."

Gerald quickly jumped in, trying to smooth things over. "Ms. Moore is here to help oversee the project, Simon. She has full authority to—"

"Authority doesn't mean comprehension," Simon cut him off again, his eyes never leaving mine. "You look around this site, Ms. Moore, what do you see? Money? Status? Or do you actually see what is being built?"

His directness hit me like a slap. I was used to men tripping over themselves to be agreeable, to flatter me, to agree with whatever I said. No one spoke to me like this. No one dared.

"I see a foundation being laid for a landmark, Mr. Williams," I replied, my voice icy. "I see potential. And I see a lot of risk. My father entrusted me to ensure that risk is managed."

"Risk is managed with math and physics, not with pretty dresses and last names," he said bluntly. He pushed off the desk and walked towards me. He was massive up close, filling the room with his presence. "So let's stop pretending you're here to inspect engineering. Tell me what you really know about load distribution and wind shear coefficients."

My temper flared, hot and sharp. How dare he? How dare he stand there, covered in dirt, and question me?

"I know that this building is designed to be eighty stories tall," I said, stepping forward to meet him, refusing to back away even though he towered over me. "I know that the center of gravity needs to be perfectly calculated or the whole thing becomes unstable. And I know that if you get it wrong, people die. I may wear a dress, Mr. Williams, but I am not stupid."

A flicker of something crossed his face. Was that... amusement? Or irritation?

"She speaks," he muttered. "Good. Because I'm sick of dealing with suits who only care about deadlines and budgets."

He turned abruptly and grabbed a large roll of blueprints from the table, unfurling them with a sharp snap that made Gerald jump. The plans for The Apex spread out, covering the entire surface.

"Look here," he pointed a finger, dirty and calloused, stabbing at the paper. "The original architectural design. Beautiful, isn't it? Glass facade, open concept, light and airy. Perfect for magazine covers."

"It looks... elegant," I said, leaning in slightly.

"It looks suicidal," Simon snapped. "Look at the support columns on the lower levels. They're too thin. The architect wanted them slim to create an 'open feeling' at the lobby. But physics doesn't care about feelings, Ms. Moore. Eighty floors of weight pressing down on narrow columns equals high compressive stress. Add an earthquake, or even just strong winds, and this point right here..." He tapped the paper hard. "...shears apart."

I frowned, looking closely at the diagram. He was right. My eyes, trained to see patterns and details, picked up what he was pointing at immediately. The numbers were there, but they were borderline. Dangerous.

"I see the issue," I said slowly. "But the calculations show it is within safety margins."

"Paper safety margins," Simon emphasized, looking me dead in the eye. "Theoretical numbers. In the real world, concrete cures imperfectly. Steel has impurities. Wind hits harder than models predict. When you build this high, you need a safety factor that is fat, not thin. You need redundancy. This design has none."

"So what have you done?" I asked, my voice losing some of its edge, replaced by genuine curiosity. "Did you request a redesign?"

"I did redesign," he said, his voice dropping lower, becoming more intense. "I thickened the columns. I added additional steel reinforcement in the core shaft. I changed the layout of the basement bracing."

My eyes widened. "You changed the plans? Without authorization? Without telling us?"

"Because if I waited for your office to approve it, we'd be three months behind schedule and you'd be screaming at me to cut costs," he shot back, his temper matching mine now. "I did what was necessary to make this building stand up straight. I did what an engineer is supposed to do. I built it safe."

"But this changes the entire aesthetic!" I argued, though a part of me knew he was right. "The lobby won't look the same! The flow will be blocked!"

"Would you rather it look pretty, Ms. Moore? Or would you rather it still be standing in fifty years?" He leaned over the table, his face inches from mine. The scent of him washed over me—sawdust, sweat, and something undeniably masculine. "You asked me if it's safe. No. The original design wasn't safe. What I am building now? Yes. It is safe."

"You are over-engineering it!" I insisted, clinging to the role I was supposed to play. "You're wasting materials! You're driving up the budget!"

"I am building a backbone for a giant," he said fiercely. "You don't save money on the skeleton, Eloise. You save money on the decoration. And right now, you are standing in my site, arguing with me about decoration, when you should be thanking me for not letting your father's legacy crumble into dust."

The use of my first name, spoken in that rough, gravelly voice, sent a strange jolt through me. The room went silent. Gerald was practically invisible in the corner, holding his breath.

I stared up at him, my chest heaving slightly. I should have been furious. I should have fired him on the spot for insubordination. I should have reported him to my father for changing plans without permission.

But I couldn't.

Because deep down, in the core of my being, I knew he was right.

He wasn't being reckless. He was being careful. He was protecting this structure with a ferocity that bordered on obsession. He cared about the truth of the building, not just the image of it.

And for the first time in my life, I was talking to a man who didn't care who I was. He didn't care about my father. He didn't care about my money. He only cared about the facts.

It was infuriating. It was humiliating.

And God help me, it was also the most exciting thing that had happened to me in years.

"You are..." I started, my voice breathless. "You are impossible, Mr. Williams."

"I am effective, Ms. Moore," he corrected me, straightening up and folding his arms again, looking satisfied that he had won the argument. "If you want to write a report saying I'm difficult, go ahead. But when you write it, write the truth. Write that I refused to build a death trap."

I looked at the plans again, then back at his face. The anger in my chest was slowly being replaced by a strange, buzzing respect.

"Fine," I whispered, smoothing down my dress, trying to regain my composure. "Keep your thick columns. Keep your safety factors."

His eyebrow rose slightly, as if he was surprised I conceded so easily.

"But," I added, lifting my chin, a challenge in my eyes. "I will be coming back. Often. I want to see your calculations. I want to check your material logs. And if I find out you are cutting corners anywhere else..."

"You'll what?" he smirked, a dark, handsome expression that made my stomach flip.

"I'll make you regret ever meeting me," I promised softly.

Simon Williams stared at me for a long moment, the tension between us crackling like static electricity. Then, a slow, genuine smile finally broke through his harsh exterior. It transformed his face, making him look less like a beast and more like a man.

"I look forward to it, Ms. Moore," he said quietly. "At least now I know you have teeth."