The moment Camille from HR showed up at her desk and said, "Ava Sinclair wants to see you," Lexi felt her stomach plummet to her heels.
Her first thought? I'm getting fired.
She'd been at Blackwood Signature Events for barely three weeks, and while she'd managed not to blow anything up (yet), she was still the new girl. The one with the chaotic file folders, slightly-too-colorful sticky notes, and a habit of tripping over her own feet.
What if someone had complained about her? What if she'd misfiled something important? What if Ava had finally caught wind of the great coffee spill of her first day?
Trying to keep her cool, Lexi smoothed the front of her blouse and made her way down the glass-paneled corridor to Ava Sinclair's office.
Inside, the senior project manager sat like a queen behind her sleek white desk, lipstick sharp, blazer sharper. She gestured to the chair in front of her without looking up from her screen.
Lexi perched on the edge of the seat, every nerve in her body on edge.
"Lexi Thompson," Ava said finally, closing her laptop. "You've been making quite the impression."
Lexi blinked. "I—I have?"
Ava's eyes narrowed, assessing her like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit but was too intriguing to toss aside. "You're quick. Adaptable. And somehow, despite the chaos you bring, you manage to get results."
That... sounded like a compliment? Maybe?
"Thank you," Lexi said cautiously.
Ava steepled her fingers. "There's an assignment coming up. A high-profile one. The kind that could either make you or break you."
Lexi's heart thudded. She sat up straighter. "I'm listening."
Ava slid a sleek folder across the desk. "The Blackwood Foundation Gala."
Lexi froze.
"I thought only senior planners handled that," she said slowly.
"They do," Ava replied. "But the original coordinator had a... personal emergency. We need someone to step in and assist temporarily. If you can prove yourself, you stay on the project. If not, well... we move you off quietly."
Lexi swallowed hard and opened the folder. Photos, past floorplans, a contact sheet, and a budget overview stared back at her. Glossy, terrifying, and real.
She forced her voice to stay steady. "Why me?"
Ava smiled, just barely. "Because you don't scare easily. And because no one else wants to risk tanking their reputation if it goes wrong."
Ah. There it was.
"Understood," Lexi said, lifting her chin. "I'll do it."
Ava's smirk deepened. "Let's see if you still say that after your meeting this afternoon."
Lexi blinked. "Meeting?"
"With Mr. Blackwood."
Lexi's stomach flipped. "The Mr. Blackwood?"
"The one and only," Ava said. "He's personally overseeing the gala this year. And he's... particular."
Lexi couldn't breathe. Mr. Ethan Blackwood. The name echoed like thunder in her head. Billionaire. CEO. Enigma.
And—
No. No way. It couldn't be.
Coffee. Crisp suit. Piercing glare.
The man from the café.
She almost choked.
"Is something wrong?" Ava asked, brows lifting.
"No! I mean—no, ma'am. All good," Lexi said, snapping the folder shut.
"Good. You're to meet him in Conference Room B at one."
Lexi rose on shaky legs and nodded. "I'll be there."
As she exited the office, the full weight of the moment hit her. The gala. Mr. Blackwood. And her role in the middle of it all.
"Breathe, Lexi," she muttered to herself. "You've survived worse. Probably."
She returned to her desk in a daze. Maya looked up from her computer, eyes wide. "Girl, what happened?"
Lexi dropped into her chair, whispering, "I've just been assigned to the Blackwood Gala."
Maya's jaw fell open. "You're joking."
"I wish."
Maya leaned in. "That's huge. Like, career-changing huge."
Lexi nodded, numb. "And I have a meeting with him at one."
Maya gasped. "With Mr. Blackwood?"
Lexi didn't answer. Her brain was stuck on replay. That coffee spill. The way he'd looked at her. The raw power in his voice. How had she not known who he was?
Oh God. What if he recognized her?
She barely touched her lunch. At twelve fifty-eight, she stood outside Conference Room B, hands damp, pulse hammering.
She knocked once, then entered.
The room was sleek and glass-walled, just like the rest of the building. And there he was—seated at the head of the table, navy suit immaculate, gaze cool and unreadable.
Mr. Blackwood.
He looked up slowly, and for a second—just a second—his eyes narrowed.
Recognition.
Lexi's breath caught.
"You're early," he said.
"I—I didn't want to be late," she replied.
His gaze flicked to the folder in her hands. "You're the new assistant planner?"
"Yes, Mr. Blackwood. Lexi Thompson."
Silence stretched. He tapped a finger on the table once, then gestured to the seat beside him. "Sit."
She did, trying to stay composed as he opened his tablet.
"I don't tolerate incompetence," he said without looking at her. "This gala is the Foundation's largest fundraiser. The press will be there. Investors. Partners. It must be flawless."
Lexi nodded. "Understood."
He turned his head slowly, eyes meeting hers. "Do you?"
She held his gaze, even as her heart raced. "I do."
Something flickered across his face. Approval? Amusement? She couldn't tell.
He leaned back. "Then let's begin."
The next thirty minutes were a blur of logistics, expectations, and schedules. He was sharp, direct, and didn't waste words. But he listened. And every time Lexi offered an idea or detail, he didn't shut her down.
When the meeting ended, he stood and closed his tablet. "We'll see how you handle pressure, Ms. Thompson."
She rose too. "Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Blackwood."
He stared at her for a moment. Then, with the barest hint of a smirk, he said, "Try not to spill anything this time, Ms. Thompson."
Lexi flushed. So he did remember.
As he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him, Lexi pressed a hand to her chest.
This wasn't just a job anymore.
It was a collision course.
And
it had only just begun.