Chapter 4

“But things have changed now. Dubai fell through,” I continued. “Political and economic problems, I suppose. The article explains it all. I’ve done some digging, and I don’t think Steele has any other major projects on his plate. He won’t stay idle for long, though. Marcus Steele can save the Cortez resort. Please, Nick, believe me when I say that I wouldn’t propose this if I weren’t completely convinced.”

Nick remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the magazine cover. Then he looked up and nodded. “I trust your judgment,” he said. “If you think Steele is the right choice, then let’s make it happen. But keep in mind, if we don’t sign Marcus Steele soon, we’ll lose our investors. The only other option is for me to finance the project myself, using funds from my companies or my personal resources.” He took a deep breath. “Gabriela, that’s not how I do business.”

“I know,” I replied. “And I appreciate that. That’s why I propose that we reach out to Marcus… to Steele,” I corrected myself, wincing at the slip of using his first name so casually. “This project is right up his alley, and I believe he’s the missing piece we need.”

Nick and Nikki exchanged another glance, and I sensed a deeper conversation passing between them.

“Excuse me,” I said, “but is there something I’m missing?”

“Marcus Steele isn’t interested in working for Dermont International,” Nikki clarified after a brief hesitation.

“We met him in the Bahamas,” Nick said. “I offered him a position on the project even before Dermont International acquired the land. I gave him full access to all the project details. But he made it clear that he doesn’t want to work for me or any of my companies. He believes I would overshadow him.”

“In other words, we won’t be able to get Steele on the project,” Nick concluded, his tone tinged with disappointment. He checked his watch and then looked at Nikki. “I have to go,” he announced. He turned to me. “Call the investors personally. This isn’t the kind of news I can keep quiet. I’m truly sorry, Gabriela,” he added, using my first name to emphasize the sincerity of his apology.

The project was falling apart. “My” project, the one I had poured my heart and soul into, was slipping through my fingers. I told myself I should feel relieved, that I shouldn’t risk reopening old wounds and facing the demons of my past. I should just let go and accept defeat.

But that wasn’t who I was. I couldn’t give up without a fight. This project meant too much to me. It was my future, my chance to prove myself. I couldn’t let it go. Not like this.

“Please,” I pleaded with Nick. I clenched my fists, my voice filled with determination. “Let me talk to him. At least let me try.”

“There will be more projects, Miss Brooks.” His voice was sweet but firm. “This is not your last chance.”

“I believe you,” I said. “But I’ve never seen you give up a failing business if there was any chance of saving it.”

“Based on what I know of Mr. Steele, there’s no chance.”

“I think there is. Please let me try. I’m only asking for a weekend,” I hastened to add. “Just long enough to meet with Mr. Steele and convince him to join the project.”

Nick fell silent for a moment, contemplating my request. Then, he nodded. “I can’t keep this from the investors,” he finally reasoned. “But… since it’s Friday, we can take advantage of the timing. Call them, tell them we need to provide an update on the project, and schedule a video conference for Monday morning.”

I nodded, maintaining a professional composure on the outside while inwardly feeling a surge of hope.

“That gives us the weekend,” Nick continued. “On Monday morning, we’ll either announce that we’ve signed Marcus Steele or that the project is in jeopardy.”

“We’ll have him on board,” I said confidently, though it was more a reflection of my determination than the actual certainty of success.

Nick tilted his head slightly, contemplating my words. “What makes you think that?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

I ran my tongue over my dry lips, gathering my thoughts. “I… I know him,” I began, my voice filled with conviction. “We met five years ago in Atlanta, right before I started working for you. I can’t say for sure if he’ll agree, but I believe he’ll at least listen to me.”

At least, that’s what I thought before learning that he had already turned down a Dermont project.

Now the rules had changed. Before, I had thought I was offering him an opportunity, a favor. I had been in control. Now, the tables were turned. I needed something from him, and I desperately hoped that asking for it would be enough.

***

“Can you arrange a meeting for today?” I said into my phone, holding it to my ear as the helicopter’s engines drowned out the noise. I was on the rooftop of the Dermont Tower, feeling both on top of the world and at the mercy of fate.

“I’m sorry, Miss Brooks,” the secretary from Marcus Steele’s New York office responded. “Mr. Steele’s documentary is premiering in Los Angeles this afternoon, so he’s quite busy.”

I stood still, the wind whipping around me, feeling a sense of urgency. If the secretary hung up, I might lose the chance to speak with her again. “Please, is there any other time that works for him?” I pressed.

“Let me clarify with Mr. Steele,” she said and put me on hold.

After listening to music for a while, the secretary replied, “I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do for you, Miss Brooks.”

“Ma’am, I have no problem seeing him at any time. And, if you prefer, I will go to your hotel, or he can come to my office. What suits you best?”

After a brief pause, she signed. “No, Miss Brooks, you don’t understand. Mr. Steele specifically asked me to decline any requests for a meeting. And, of course, to convey his apologies.”

“What is he sorry about?” I asked, my voice tinged with disappointment.

“He said you would understand,” the secretary replied. “That it had already been discussed in Atlanta.”

I stood there, stunned, as the realization sank in. Marcus had already made up his mind. He had said no.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, running my fingers through my hair. I looked over at Clark, who was securing the helicopter, and forced a smile.

“Any issues?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“No, not if I can help it,” I replied, my mind already racing for a plan B. Another super architect. Or a magic potion… or a bloody miracle, anything to salvage the project.

Before stepping into the elevator with Clark, I remembered one last call I needed to make. I dialed Wyatt’s number, hoping against hope that he could work a miracle.