Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 85: Airtight

After the whole fake scandal ordeal yesterday, aria’s driver dropped me at work.

I stepped into the office exactly three minutes early, clutching a takeaway coffee like it was holy water and I was walking into a church haunted by ghosts.

I was wearing a clean blouse, sensible heels, and my most convincing I’m-fine-thank-you-for-asking face. my desk was already holding a printed agenda for the Johnson Proposal.

I booted up my computer, opened the shared drive, and began checking through folders like my life depended on it. It kind of did.

Everything had to be airtight. The logistics timeline. The vendor contracts. Department submissions. The architectural brief alone was the length of a small novella, and that didn’t even cover the marketing projections.

Adrien hadn’t come in yet. Not that it meant anything. He could glide through those doors at any moment for all I care.

I sipped the coffee, eyeing the small sticky note stuck to the side of my monitor. My own handwriting:

Don’t panic. You’re paid to survive.

At 8:03 a.m., the elevator dinged.

I didn’t need to look. I could feel him.

He walked past my desk without a word, dressed in a charcoal suit and radiating the kind of energy that made interns cry.

By 8:45, I’d finalized the printed files, updated the shared folder with everyone’s assignments, and was halfway through mentally rehearsing the room seating when—

His door opened.

"File," he said simply, nodding at the folder in my hand.

I handed it over without arguing.

His office door opened again.

He paused and handed me a fresh file without breaking stride.

"Schedule Legal for a 2 p.m. call. And tell Marshall I want that Q3 data before lunch."

I nodded. "Already on it."

"Good."

By noon, I was buried in the Johnson files.

At exactly 12:04, his office door opened.

Again. What happened to texting or using the intercom if you want to give out an order?

"Come with me," Adrien said. "We’re going to the site."

I stood. "Understood."

He didn’t wait for a response — just walked off, expecting me to follow.

We bypassed the boardroom, passed a few startled glances in the hallway. My heels clicked in rhythm behind him, tablet in hand, notes synced and ready.

At the elevator, he pressed the button.

"You’ve been managing the logistics," he said. "It’s time you saw the execution in person."

"Of course," I replied.

The elevator arrived. We stepped in. Silence followed — not awkward or loaded. Just quiet.

He didn’t face the wall or check his phone like most people. He just stood perfectly still facing the doors, his gaze distant, as if already mentally walking the site. I stood a respectful distance away, gripping my tablet.

The numbers on the display counted down. I focused on them, willing the journey to be over. Thirty-two... twenty-five... fifteen...

"The Johnson project is a significant investment," he said, his voice low and even, startling me slightly in the quiet cabin. It wasn’t a question.

"Yes, Mr. Walton. It’s critical we stay on schedule and within budget," I replied.

"Precisely. And logistics are paramount to that." His eyes flicked towards me for a second, sharp and assessing. "There’s no room for error."

I kept my expression neutral. "Understood. I’ve triple-checked the timelines and vendor availability. Everyone is prepped."

"Good," was all he said and he turned back to the doors.

When the doors opened on the ground floor lobby, we walked out, heading straight for the service entrance where the company cars were usually parked. The car was waiting.

He opened the door and got in.

I slid into the leather seat after him, pulling the door closed gently.

Adrien was already checking something on his phone, his face impassive. The driver pulled smoothly into traffic.

The twenty-minute drive was just as silent as the elevator ride. I focused on my tablet, scrolling through the projected timelines, trying to commit the next phase details to memory, No room for mistakes.

When we arrived, the noise hit first. The rhythmic clang of metal, the roar of heavy machinery, the distant shouts of workers.

It was a symphony of construction, chaotic and energetic. The site was a sprawling expanse of concrete foundation, skeletal steel beams reaching towards the sky, and piles of building materials.

Dust hung in the air, thick and gritty.

Adrien exited the car, straightening his tie as if he hadn’t just stepped into a warzone for hard hats.

A site foreman, wearing a florescent vest and a permanent frown, practically materialized beside him.

"Mr. Walton," the foreman boomed over the din. "Good to see you. Things are moving."

"They’d better be, George," Adrien replied, his voice cutting through the noise with surprising clarity. He then gestured to me. "This is Miss Miller. She’s overseeing the logistical coordination. She’ll have updates on deliveries, scheduling, and vendor liaison. Keep her informed."

"Miss Miller," George grunted, giving me a quick, assessing glance.

"Alright. Can you handle yourself on site?"

"Yes, sir," I said, projecting confidence I didn’t entirely feel. I adjusted my grip on the tablet. "I’m familiar with the safety protocol and site layout plans." Which was technically true, thanks to the architectural brief being ’the length of a small novella’.

Adrien didn’t add anything, just nodded curtly at George. "Walk us through the current phase."

George nodded, his frown deepening, and turned, gesturing broadly with a steel-toed boot towards the tangle of rebar and concrete mixers.

"Right this way, Mr. Walton. We’ve got the main structural slabs poured here," he bellowed, leading the way across a stretch of uneven ground.

The noise intensified as we moved deeper into the site. Cranes swung massive loads overhead, a constant reminder of the sheer scale. I pulled my tablet closer, bringing up the site plan and cross-referencing it with the projected timeline.

"Pour went according to schedule?" Adrien asked, his voice still remarkably clear, though he had to raise it slightly now.

"Aye, mostly," George replied, kicking idly at a loose piece of concrete.

"Had a slight delay getting the last batch of high-strength mix yesterday afternoon, but we made up time."

My fingers flew across the tablet screen, pulling up the concrete delivery manifest. Vendor: Apex Materials. Scheduled delivery: 1:00 PM. Actual arrival: 2:17 PM. I made a mental note to follow up on the delay’s cause. A minute delay here or there wasn’t critical yet but compounded, they could snowball into a major issue.

Adrien stopped near a section where workers were carefully guiding a large steel beam into place. He stood back a few feet, hands behind his back, observing the precision required.

The noise here was deafening – grinding metal, reversing beepers, shouted instructions.

He seemed completely unfazed.

"And the steel?" Adrien asked, raising his voice again. "Is the fabrication on track with the erection schedule?"

"On track, Mr. Walton," George confirmed. "They’ve been delivering the fabricated pieces like clockwork. We’re following the erection sequence. Should have this section up to the third level by end of week, provided the weather holds."

"Provided logistics holds," Adrien corrected smoothly, turning his sharp gaze towards me briefly.

I met his eyes, a silent acknowledgement passing between us. His point was taken. George glanced between us, then back at the beam as if the conversation was already over.

"Miss Miller," George said, turning to me. "Got a delivery of HVAC units coming Friday morning, right? Need confirmation on the exact time and vehicle specs so we can clear the receiving area."

"Friday morning, yes, Mr. George," I confirmed, tapping my tablet. "The delivery window is between 7:00 AM and 9:00 AM. Two flatbed trucks, standard dimensions. Manifest and required crane size details are already in the shared vendor folder you have access to."

George grunted again, a sound that seemed to be his primary form of positive reinforcement. "Good. Need to make sure the crane isn’t tied up elsewhere."

As we continued walking, George pointing out different sections – utility trenches being dug, masonry work starting on a perimeter wall – I kept my focus sharp. The dust coated my blouse and clung to my exposed skin. The sun felt hot on my face even though George gave me a hard hate to wear.

Adrien didn’t ask me direct questions during the walk-through, but I felt his eyes on me occasionally. He wasn’t just observing the site; he was observing me. Watching how I handled the environment, how I interacted with George, whether the information I had at my fingertips matched the physical reality unfolding around us.

I stayed composed, referencing my tablet, adding a quick note about the drainage work George mentioned needing a specific type of pump I hadn’t explicitly scheduled yet. I pulled up the vendor list. Yes, I had the contact. I could arrange that as soon as we were back in the office, or maybe even from the car on the way back.

The walk took almost an hour. George showed us the planned locations for the main service entrances, pointed out where the temporary power supply was hooked up, and explained the next few weeks’ critical path activities.

Adrien listened intently, asking focused questions that showed he had a thorough understanding of the project’s technical details, not just the financial ones. He didn’t miss a beat.

Finally, we circled back towards the temporary site office trailers near the entrance. The noise level dropped slightly here, offering a small respite.

"Alright, George," Adrien said, stopping near a stack of pallets. "Keep me updated daily. Key milestones and any potential delays."

"Will do, Mr. Walton," George said, wiping sweat from his brow with a gloved hand.

"Anything else you need, Mr. Walton? Miss Miller?" George asked.

"No, thank you, George," Adrien said, already turning to walk towards the car. "Keep up the pace."

I gave George a professional nod. "I’ll follow up on that drainage pump requirement and the concrete delay later this afternoon, Mr. George. If you have any other logistical questions, ping me."

"Okay, Miss Miller," he grunted back.

I turned and quickly followed Adrien, brushing at the dust on my blouse as I walked.

We reached the waiting car. Adrien opened the door and got in. As I slid in after him, the sudden silence and cool air inside the car were a stark contrast to the roaring, dusty world we’d just left.

The driver pulled away from the curb. I opened my tablet again, pulling up the vendor contact for the drainage pump.

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