Harem Investment System: Getting Money And Women-Chapter 178: Riley’s Dilemma

Riley stood amidst the controlled chaos of the construction site, clipboard in hand, but her mind was nowhere near the measurements or the schedules she was supposed to be overseeing.

The underground section was progressing at a steady pace, the workers moving with a sense of urgency to ensure everything was in place before they moved on to the next phase.

Drills roared, concrete was being mixed, and the occasional shout from the foreman echoed through the site. It was a busy morning, and yet, all she could think about was last night.

She felt ridiculous.

'Why am I even thinking about this so much?'

But she knew why.

Sitting across from Ethan at that tiny café had felt… easy.

It had felt comfortable.

It had felt like she belonged there.

Even with the dust on her cheeks and her hair in a mess, he hadn't looked at her like she was out of place.

They had talked, laughed, and — maybe for the first time in a long time — she had felt like a woman instead of just another worker covered in grime.

Still, she couldn't shake the nagging thoughts.

'Maybe I should go on one later,' she mused, absently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. 'A real date… not one where I look like I just crawled out of a ditch.'

Her fingers tightened slightly around the clipboard.

'Would it be weird if I asked him for dinner again?'

She bit her lip.

'I'm just soooo — '

A heavy pat on her back nearly sent her stumbling forward.

"Get your head in the work, Riley," the foreman's voice cut through her thoughts.

She jumped, startled, quickly snapping her attention back to reality. She turned to the older man, whose expression was amused yet firm.

"I don't know where your head's at, but we've got a lot to do," he said, nodding toward the workers. "And I need my best engineer actually working."

Riley cleared her throat, adjusting her grip on the clipboard. "Right. Sorry."

The foreman chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't apologize. Just don't let me catch you spacing out again, or I'll start thinking you're falling for someone."

Riley nearly choked.

Before she could formulate a response, the sound of an engine caught her attention.

Ethan had arrived.

His sleek Porsche rolled onto the dirt lot, kicking up a small cloud of dust before coming to a smooth stop.

The door swung open, and out stepped the man who had somehow occupied her thoughts all morning.

His hoodie was pulled over his head, shielding him from the morning sun, and he held a can of soda in one hand, taking a slow sip as he surveyed the progress.

Riley quickly turned away, pressing the clipboard to her chest as if it could somehow shield her from the very obvious heat rising to her face.

'Pull it together, Riley.'

The foreman, on the other hand, had no such reservations.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he called out, walking toward Ethan with a grin.

Ethan smirked, tossing the empty soda can into a nearby bin. "Traffic."

The foreman snorted. "Yeah, sure. And I'm the king of the city."

Riley took a deep breath, steadying herself, before finally turning back around to face Ethan.

He met her gaze, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his expression — like he was trying to figure out if she was okay.

Then he grinned. "Morning."

Riley huffed, trying to appear unaffected. "You're late."

Ethan shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Not by much."

"By enough," she countered.

He chuckled, clearly amused. "You sound like my alarm clock."

"You need an alarm clock," she shot back, but there was no real bite to her words.

Ethan tilted his head slightly. "You alright?"

Riley blinked, caught off guard.

"What?"

"You seem… distracted."

For a second, she hesitated.

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Should she say something? Laugh it off? Pretend like she hadn't just been daydreaming about their impromptu dinner the night before?

Then, before she could decide, the foreman clapped his hands together.

"Alright, enough chit-chat," he said. "We've got work to do."

Saved by the boss.

Riley quickly turned back to her responsibilities, forcing herself to focus as Ethan fell into step beside her, ready to pitch in like he had the past few days.

Ethan rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, already feeling the heat of the sun as the morning hours passed.

The site was a flurry of movement — workers drilling into the foundation, others pouring cement into the underground supports, and the occasional shout of instruction from the foreman cutting through the air.

It was a routine he had grown accustomed to over the past few days, but today, something felt… off.

It wasn't the work.

It wasn't the workers.

It was her.

Riley was distracted.

He noticed it almost immediately.

Usually, she was laser-focused, directing workers with sharp efficiency, double-checking measurements, and explaining processes whenever he had questions.

But today? She was moving on autopilot — nodding absently when people spoke to her, scribbling down notes that she barely looked at, and occasionally zoning out in the middle of an explanation.

It wasn't like her.

Ethan didn't know what was going through her head, but whatever it was — it had to be serious.

Maybe something happened at home?

That was his first thought. A fight with a relative, an emergency, or some unexpected news? He had no idea what her home life was like outside of work, so he couldn't rule it out.

Or maybe it was work-related.

Had someone pissed her off?

Had the foreman said something?

His eyes flickered toward the older man, but he was too busy overseeing the cement mixing to be the cause of Riley's strange mood.

Ethan exhaled, pressing his tongue against his cheek as he lifted a bucket of cement with the other workers.

The weight wasn't an issue. It gave him something to focus on. Something to do.

But all the while, his attention kept shifting back to her.

She was standing near the support beams, arms crossed, clipboard held tightly to her chest. Her gaze wasn't locked on the site or any of the workers.

It was somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

'Should I ask?'