Lexi had gone to bed at 11:47 p.m., but her mind never stopped spinning.
Ideas swirled, clashed, rearranged themselves in the darkness like puzzle pieces that refused to fit. She'd closed her eyes, but all she could see were color palettes, guest lists, and Ethan Blackwood's face — cool, unreadable, and completely unforgettable.
Sleep had come in fits. And when her alarm screamed at 6:00 a.m., it felt like her bones had been poured from concrete.
She dragged herself out of bed, face pale, eyes swollen with fatigue. After a quick shower and a gulp of too-hot instant coffee, she dressed in her most polished blazer — navy, clean lines, makes-me-look-capable — and pulled her hair back into a sleek twist that screamed, I have my life together.
She didn't. Not even close.
Just as she was stuffing her tablet into her tote bag, her phone pinged.
From: Camille Bishop
Subject: Immediate Meeting — Blackwood Gala
Time: 9:00 a.m. sharp
Location: 38th Floor Boardroom
Lexi's stomach dropped.
Wait. Boardroom?
Her eyes scanned the message again. This wasn't a small team debrief. This wasn't Ava's office. This was executive-level. And why was Camille the one sending it?
A slow wave of panic crept up her spine. Her throat tightened. Her legs felt like pudding. She hadn't even practiced her pitch aloud — just rough concepts and a half-formed theme still living in the back of her mind.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled on her heels and grabbed a protein bar on her way out.
The elevator doors opened to reveal the 38th floor — all steel elegance and hushed tension. She stepped out onto thick charcoal carpeting and tried to ignore the subtle hush of heads turning as she entered the long corridor toward the boardroom.
Every step echoed with self-doubt.
You're not ready. You're the new girl. You're going to choke.
She hesitated at the frosted-glass doors. Beyond them, she could see the silhouettes of people — a lot of people. A man in a sharp navy suit. A woman flipping through documents. Camille seated already, perfectly composed, as if she'd been born on that floor.
And then her eyes landed on him.
Ethan Blackwood.
At the head of the table.
Dominating without a word.
Lexi's breath caught. Heat flashed up her neck. His posture was relaxed, yet commanding. His gaze, when it flicked up and found hers through the glass, was nothing short of lethal.
What am I doing here?
She was going to be sick.
Then — a flutter of movement.
Maya. Seated along the side, near the edge of the meeting circle. She waved quickly, trying to look encouraging, mouthing something that looked like breathe.
Lexi inhaled. Shaky. Shallow. Then stepped inside.
The room fell quieter. Heads turned.
Ava gave her a small nod, motioning her to the open seat beside Maya. Lexi sat, trying to keep her tablet steady in her lap.
"You okay?" Maya whispered, barely audible.
Lexi nodded stiffly, but her vision was already narrowing. She could feel her heart in her throat — pounding, screaming. Her mouth was dry. Her palms clammy. Camille's voice buzzed at the front of the room, already diving into the agenda.
Lexi blinked hard. Focus. Focus. You've done worse. You survived a bridezilla who threw cake samples at you. You managed an outdoor wedding during a hurricane warning. You can survive this.
But this wasn't chaos. This was calculated, curated pressure. And that was somehow worse.
"Miss Thompson," Camille said suddenly. "Please, walk us through your preliminary direction."
Lexi froze.
She rose slowly to her feet. Her knees wobbled — traitors — but she locked them straight and kept her chin high.
"I've been reviewing the Foundation's past gala themes and guest demographics," she began, voice tight. "They've consistently leaned toward elegance and tradition. However, this year marks a significant milestone — ten years of impact. I propose a shift: a theme titled 'A Decade of Impact'. One that celebrates legacy through immersive storytelling and emotional resonance."
A few brows raised. Someone in the back jotted something down.
Lexi pressed on. "Interactive installations to highlight achievements. Curated visuals from past events. Stories of lives changed by the Foundation's work — not printed in brochures, but woven into the experience."
Camille tilted her head, polite and cutting. "Ambitious. And what makes you think guests want to walk through installations when they're used to champagne and string quartets?"
Lexi blinked. "Because people remember what they feel. They might not recall the color of the linens, but they'll remember the story that moved them."
There was a pause.
Then a board member — older, with silver glasses and the air of someone who disliked being impressed — leaned forward. "And how do you prevent it from feeling… gimmicky?"
Lexi faltered.
Her mind went blank.
Then Maya, soft but clear, spoke up from the side. "We could use live storytelling — real-time moments projected into the space. Think of it like curated authenticity. Guests experience the legacy as it's being told, not just in hindsight."
Camille glanced at her, clearly annoyed she'd spoken, but the board member seemed intrigued.
"That could work," he said slowly.
Lexi exhaled, shoulders lowering just slightly.
Then came his voice. Cool. Low. Measured.
"Miss Thompson."
Her heart stilled.
Ethan Blackwood regarded her with an unreadable expression. "What's your projected timeline?"
Lexi swallowed. "Three weeks for concept finalization. Six for vendor coordination and design implementation. Two for staging and adjustments. Full execution the week of the gala."
Another pause.
Then — the faintest nod.
No praise. No smile. But no rejection, either.
Camille cleared her throat. "We'll reconvene to review budget alignments. Miss Sinclair, see that her request for archive access is expedited."
Ava nodded sharply.
The meeting rolled on, but Lexi had already sunk back into her seat, legs trembling beneath the table.
Afterward, she and Maya slipped out before the others.
"Did I bomb that?" Lexi asked as soon as they were alone.
"No," Maya said. "You almost did. But then you pulled it together. And your theme? Genius. Even Mr. Blackwood didn't argue."
Lexi groaned, leaning against the wall near the elevator. "I think my soul left my body when he said my name."
"Well, he remembered it," Maya whispered with a grin. "That's gotta mean something."
Lexi wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a dangerous one.
But one thing was certain — this project wasn't just pressure.
It was war.
And she'd just stepped onto the battlefield.