The Henderson Siege

Chapter 4: The Henderson Siege

The Henderson Estate project infected the entire office within forty-eight hours.

It started with coffee bets.

Then came whispered alliances.

By Friday morning, someone had created an anonymous office poll titled:

WHO WILL WIN THE HENDERSON ESTATE?

Evana was leading by six percent.

Eric looked personally offended by that statistic.

“You’re glaring at the printer again,” Evana said without looking up from her monitor.

Eric leaned against the doorway of her office, coffee in hand, looking infuriatingly calm for a man currently losing an underground popularity contest.

“The printer is biased.”

“The printer doesn’t know you exist.”

“It printed your elevations crooked yesterday. Clearly favoritism.”

Evana snorted before she could stop herself.

Eric noticed immediately.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“There,” he said quietly.

“There what?”

“That thing you just did.”

“I literally breathed.”

“You laughed.”

She straightened in her chair instantly. “Don’t make it sound rare.”

“It is rare,” he replied. “Usually you look like you’re planning tax fraud.”

Evana threw a stress ball at him.

He caught it effortlessly.

“You keep objects in your office specifically to throw at people?” he asked.

“No. Specifically for you.”

“That’s almost thoughtful.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he said lightly, tossing the ball back onto her desk, “you haven’t kicked me out.”

Evana hated that he was right.

She hated it even more because he knew it.

—

The Henderson project reviews became brutal.

Not openly.

That would have been easier.

Instead, they fought through details.

Tiny comments.

Small corrections.

Passive-aggressive markup notes hidden inside blueprint reviews.

Evana opened her shared project file one afternoon and immediately saw Eric’s comment attached to her central staircase rendering:

> Beautiful concept. Unfortunately humans need functioning support beams to survive.

Her eye twitched.

She typed back instantly:

> Thank you for your concern. I forgot your dream clients prefer living inside parking garages.

Two minutes later:

> At least my buildings survive earthquakes.

Evana smiled despite herself.

Idiot.

Absolute idiot.

Her phone buzzed.

She frowned at the screen.

ERIC:

Check section D-14 before submitting.

She froze.

Immediately opened the file.

And there it was.

A measurement inconsistency hidden deep in the structural alignment.

Tiny.

Dangerous.

The kind of mistake that could destroy an entire presentation.

Evana stared at the screen for a long second.

Then slowly texted back:

EVANA:

You fixed it?

The reply came instantly.

ERIC:

No.

I’m just preventing myself from dying of secondhand embarrassment during board review.

She rolled her eyes.

But something warm settled unexpectedly in her chest.

Because he could have stayed silent.

And he didn’t.

—

By the second week, things got worse.

Or stranger.

No one could tell anymore.

They argued constantly.

In hallways.

In elevators.

Over coffee.

During presentations.

But somehow…

They also started orbiting each other naturally.

Like magnets aggressively pretending they weren’t attached.

Evana noticed it first during a late-night work session.

The office was nearly empty except for the soft hum of computers and rain tapping against the windows.

She was sketching revisions across three separate layouts when someone placed a coffee beside her elbow.

Black coffee.

One sugar.

Exactly how she liked it.

Evana looked up slowly.

Eric was already walking away.

“You forgot your thank you,” he said without turning around.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” he replied calmly. “You just haven’t eaten in seven hours.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the coffee cup.

“How do you know that?”

Eric finally glanced back at her.

Because he notices everything, she realized suddenly.

Especially about her.

“You skipped lunch,” he said simply. “Again.”

Then he disappeared into his office before she could answer.

Evana stared after him for several seconds.

Annoyed.

Confused.

Slightly unsettled.

Because that almost felt…

dangerously domestic.

—

The real disaster happened three days later.

The firm hosted a networking mixer for investors and collaborating firms on the Henderson project.

Meaning: champagne, fake smiles, expensive dresses, and architects pretending they had social skills.

Evana arrived in a sleek black dress with silver earrings and immediately regretted attending.

Too many people.

Too much noise.

Too many men who thought confidence counted as a personality.

“Evana Laurent?”

She turned.

A man in a navy suit smiled warmly at her.

Handsome.

Polished.

Forgettable.

“I’m Adrian Cole,” he said. “Urban designer from Halston Group. I heard your presentation earlier. Honestly? Best concept in the room.”

Evana smiled politely. “Thank you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” His grin widened. “Makes my next question easier.”

“And what question is that?”

“Would you let me buy you dinner sometime?”

Smooth.

Direct.

The kind of flirting most women probably enjoyed.

Evana opened her mouth—

“Bad idea.”

Adrian blinked.

Evana closed her eyes briefly.

Of course.

Eric stood beside them holding a whiskey glass, expression unreadable.

Adrian looked between them. “Sorry?”

Eric sipped his drink casually. “Dinner with her. Bad idea.”

Evana stared at him. “Did anybody ask you?”

“No,” Eric agreed calmly. “But I enjoy preventing disasters.”

Adrian laughed awkwardly. “Right…”

“She works too much,” Eric continued lazily. “Judges people recreationally. Probably terrifying on dates.”

“Eric,” Evana said through clenched teeth.

“She also steals pens.”

“I do not steal pens.”

“You stole mine yesterday.”

“It was on my desk.”

“Because you took it.”

Adrian looked deeply confused now.

Eric extended a hand casually. “Eric Vale.”

Recognition flashed instantly across Adrian’s face.

Ah.

Competition.

“I’ve heard of you,” Adrian said carefully.

“Mostly negative things, I hope.”

Evana wanted to murder both of them.

“Actually,” Adrian said, glancing at Evana again, “I was asking if she’d like dinner.”

Eric’s expression didn’t change.

But his grip tightened slightly around the whiskey glass.

Tiny detail.

Easy to miss.

Evana noticed anyway.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

She looked at Adrian thoughtfully.

Then smiled.

“Well,” she said lightly, “I haven’t decided yet.”

Eric’s eyes shifted toward her immediately.

Just for a second.

But there it was again.

That tiny flicker.

Not anger.

Not irritation.

Something sharper.

Something he clearly didn’t want her noticing.

Which naturally made her want to notice it more.

Dangerous idea.

Wonderful idea.

“Excuse me,” Evana said sweetly. “I need another drink.”

She walked away before either man could answer.

But halfway across the ballroom, she felt it.

That familiar sensation.

Like someone’s attention was physically touching her.

She glanced back.

Eric was watching her.

Completely focused.

Like the rest of the room had disappeared.

And for some ridiculous reason—

her heartbeat stumbled.

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