BEFORE SHE KNEW HIS NAME

CHAPTER 3– THE CLIENT

I heard his name before I saw him.

That was apparently how things worked with men like Steven Hargrove. The office shifted around them before they even arrived. I was at my desk Thursday morning, halfway through my second coffee, when Becca from Richard’s office started moving through the floor faster than usual.

“Conference room B,” she said as she passed my desk. “Richard wants the senior team in ten.”

“Which client?”

“Hargrove.”

She kept walking before I could ask anything else.

I stared at my screen for another second, then finished the rest of my cold coffee and tried to act normal about it.

Conference room B had glass walls, which meant every meeting inside felt mildly performative. Richard was already there when I walked in, standing at the head of the table pretending not to look tense. Marcus from structural sat near the window flipping through project notes. Priya glanced at me once with obvious curiosity.

I took the chair closest to the door automatically.

Richard had just started talking when the door opened behind me.

I knew before I turned around.

Not because of magic or instinct — the room just changed slightly. Quieter somehow. Like everyone became aware of someone important at the exact same time.

I kept my attention on the table for a second longer than necessary, trying to pull myself together before looking up.

Professional setting. Professional behavior.

That was the goal.

Then I turned.

He was already looking at me.

Of course he was.

Without the distraction of dim lighting and champagne glasses, Steven Hargrove looked even more intimidating in daylight. Tall. Dark grey suit. No tie again. The top button of his shirt undone like rules only applied when he allowed them to.

His eyes were darker than I remembered too. Not soft brown — something deeper, harder to read.

He acknowledged the room quickly before taking the seat beside Richard.

“Thank you for making time,” he said calmly. “I’ll keep this brief.”

Then he didn’t look at me again for the next twenty minutes.

Which honestly felt worse.

He spoke clearly, directly, like someone used to people listening the first time. The project was a residential tower on the east side. Forty stories. Three firms had already failed to give him what he wanted.

“I want something that feels inevitable,” he said at one point.

I wrote the word down before I realized I was doing it.

Richard handled most of the conversation. Marcus talked about structures. Priya walked him through previous projects.

I stayed quiet and took notes, but I could still feel him sitting across the room the entire time. It was distracting in a way I found deeply irritating.

When the meeting finally ended, I packed my things quickly.

Leave calmly. Exit efficiently. Don’t linger.

I almost made it to the door.

“Ms. Voss.”

I stopped.

Most people had already filtered out by then. Richard lingered awkwardly near the doorway like he wasn’t sure whether he should stay or disappear.

Steven stood near the table with his hands in his pockets, watching me with the same steady focus he’d had at the gala.

“Richard tells me you’re the best structural eye on his team.”

“Richard exaggerates,” I replied

.

Something close to amusement flickered across his face.

“I’d like you assigned to this project specifically.”

The room suddenly felt too warm.

“I’m sure we can figure out staffing,” Richard cut in quickly.

Steven ignored him completely.

“I wasn’t asking,” he said

His tone never changed. That was the unsettling part. No aggression. No raised voice. Just certainty.

Like the decision had already been made.

I held his gaze for another second before answering.

“I look forward to working with you, Mr. Hargrove.”

He gave a small nod.

Nothing more.

I left the conference room, walked straight to the bathroom at the end of the hall, and ran cold water over my wrists while staring at myself in the mirror.

This is work, I told myself firmly.

You are being ridiculous.

My reflection didn’t seem convincing.

About twenty minutes later, I passed Richard’s office on my way back from printing revised plans. The door was open. Steven was still inside, looking over documents spread across Richard’s desk.

I kept walking.

But right as I passed the doorway, he turned his head slightly, like he’d sensed me there before actually seeing me.

Then he smiled.

Small. Knowing.

Like he’d expected me to look.