Chapter 95
Chapter 95:
The office looked like the aftermath of a storm—coffee rings, papers strewn everywhere, and sandwich wrappers abandoned on the desk.
Austin slipped inside without a sound, each step measured and deliberate. A faint trace of cedar clung to him, cutting through the stale bitterness of coffee and old bread, replacing it with a clean, woodsy sharpness.
He stopped beside Brinley, bent to retrieve a marker that had rolled beneath her chair, set it back on the desk, then leaned close enough to brush a dark smudge from her chin with his fingertips.
“Hold still,” he murmured.
The cool touch skimmed her skin like a feather’s edge, and Brinley froze, startled by the shiver that chased down her spine. “You p>
𝖶е𝗲𝗄𝘭𝗒 re𝗹е𝘢𝘴е𝘀 о𝗻
“You’ve been gone three days, only to hole up here? In this dump?” Austin’s voice carried no clear emotion, yet the quiet worry in his eyes gave him away.
His gaze swept over the cluttered desk, lingering on the stack of empty coffee cups. His frown deepened. “Running on nothing but coffee? Brinley, do you mean to drive yourself into the ground p>
Brinley shifted aside, refusing to meet his eyes, her face warming as color crept into her cheeks. Mortification burned hotter than any project setback—being caught rumpled and hollow-eyed at her desk.
Austin pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, sliding a folder through the scattered pens and papers. “Look this over p>
“Is this for me?” Brinley asked, brow knitting as she lifted the cover to reveal a dense stack of pages.
Across the front, the title read: “Global Top Ten Racing-Themed Case Studies p>
A few quick flips sent a spark through her fatigue, her gaze sharpening. It included not only detailed real-world photos and design blueprints, but also specifics on how the tracks connected to commercial zones. The document even outlined materials and precise diameter specifications for drainage systems.
Her fingertips skimmed a page filled with methods to separate the track from the surrounding commercial networks—the very solution she had been agonizing over.
Her voice trembled as she whispered, “This… this is exactly what I’ve been looking for.” She lifted her gaze. “Did you ask someone to dig this up p>
“I did.” Austin’s reply was calm, his expression unreadable. “I knew you’d hit a wall, so I asked Miguel to contact some friends and compile these case studies p>
He leaned in slightly, tapping the margin of a highlighted example. “Here—this project used an anti-seepage isolation method, building a three-meter underground barrier. It stabilizes the track foundation while shielding the commercial system. Study this one. You might find it useful p>
Brinley’s eyes misted with sudden warmth. She looked at Austin’s composed profile, remembering how, only a few days earlier, she had brushed him off mid-call with nothing more than a curt, “I’m busy,” before ending the call.
Only now did she realize—he had been doing all of this quietly for her.
“Tell me… how did you know I needed this?” she asked, her voice roughening with a faint catch in her throat.
“Lucky guess.” Austin bent to pick up one of her crumpled drafts, smoothing it absently between his fingers. His eyes paused on the glaring red question mark scrawled across the page. “The drainage system for a professional track has to be absolutely sealed, but the commercial district’s underground lines are messy by nature. Clashes like this are unavoidable. I’ve seen at least five similar projects run into the same obstacle, and their solutions followed a common thread. You can adjust it according to the specifics here p>
His tone carried a casual ease, yet Brinley understood that gathering those materials had been anything but simple.
International case studies like these were closely guarded trade secrets, impossible to buy outright. He must have pulled strings across borders, leveraging every connection to secure such detailed internal records.
“Austin…” Her lips parted, the words “thank you” rising to the tip of her tongue, but emotion caught in her throat and left her silent.
Austin caught the shimmer in her eyes, and a hint of amusement flickered at the corner of his gaze. With a gentle hand, he ruffled her hair. “Go through the materials carefully. Feel free to ask me if anything is unclear p>
Brinley blinked, genuinely startled. “You actually understand this p>
“I used to dive into racing studies,” he replied, lips quirking faintly. “Picked up more than a little about track infrastructure.” He leaned forward, pen in hand, and circled a section on one of her drafts. “The diameter calculation here isn’t right. It should p>
…be recalculated against Bleron’s average rainfall. Let me jot down the proper formula for you p>
As Austin bent his head to write, slanting sunlight poured across the desk, gilding his lashes and casting delicate shadows beneath his eyes.
Brinley found herself staring at the quiet intensity on his face, his voice a low murmur threading through the technical jargon, and an unexpected warmth unfurling in her chest.
Though she had already worked out the formula earlier, she chose not to brush off Austin’s kindness.
He wasn’t one for flowery talk. He showed up with steady, practical help—clearing snags and standing with her when things turned rough.
“Lost in thought?” When he capped the marker and noticed her watching him, a small smile tugged at his mouth.
“Huh—what?” She ducked behind the stack of materials, cheeks warming as she pretended to study the page.
He spared her the teasing. He lifted the cup and poured the coffee into the bin. “Ease up on this. It’s hard on your stomach. Have Corbin warm some milk. Drink it, then get back to work p>
“All right.” She dipped her chin in a small, obedient nod.
Austin settled into the chair across from her and let the quiet stand, turning her discarded drafts one by one with careful fingers.
Silence pooled around the office, broken only by the papery whisper of pages and the occasional scratch of her pen.
Morning light slipped through the blinds, laying a warm mosaic between them like a cozy painting come to life.
As she traced the crisp, precise notes in the materials and set them against her scattered drafts, she felt the old anxiety loosen—and finally dissolve.