Unfinished

Chapter Eleven

Nelson

Samuel had developed a habit of looking disappointed whenever I canceled lunch.

He stood in my office doorway holding a tablet, watching me sign the last of the documents Evelyn had sent over.

“You have a reservation at one,” he said.

“Cancel it.”

“Already did.”

I looked up. “Then why mention it?”

“Because that’s the third lunch you’ve canceled this week.”

“I ate breakfast.”

“Coffee isn’t breakfast.”

“Since when did you become my nutritionist?”

“Since your housekeeper called to ask whether you were still alive.”

I put down my pen.

“She called you?”

“She said the food she prepares keeps coming back untouched.”

“Tell her I’m eating.”

“I believe she’d prefer evidence.”

I gave him a look.

Samuel smiled and checked his tablet.

“Your father also called.”

“That’s becoming a daily occurrence.”

“He wants you at the house on Sunday.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Then neither will I.”

Samuel made a note.

“Anything else?”

“The interior design team is scheduled for a site inspection tomorrow. Evelyn wants confirmation that the updated service access has been cleared.”

“Has it?”

“Engineering signed off this morning.”

“Good. Send the confirmation to Stacy.”

Samuel nodded.

“And Nelson?”

I looked up.

“Your father sounded particularly irritated.”

“That’s his natural condition.”

“I thought you should know.”

I returned to the documents.

“Thank you, Samuel.”

He left.

I signed another page, but my attention had already shifted.

My father hadn’t called me directly since our argument about STACE Studio.

Instead, he’d been calling Samuel, asking questions about meetings, contracts, and decisions he no longer had any authority to make.

He’d handed me control of the company, then spent the following years behaving as though he’d merely stepped out for lunch.

I understood why.

Voss Development was his life’s work.

But it was mine to run now.

And I had no intention of asking permission every time I made a decision.

⸻

Evelyn found me in the conference room reviewing the updated construction schedule.

“Tell me you’re not planning to change the reception design again,” she said.

I looked up.

She placed a folder on the table.

“Stacy’s team has already adjusted the feature wall. If you change your mind now, I may have to resign.”

“That would be inconvenient.”

“Very.”

I opened the folder.

The revised renderings were excellent.

The vertical panels Stacy had suggested worked better than the original installation. The lighting gave the reception area a warmer appearance without making it feel overly decorative.

I studied the drawings.

“She’s good.”

Evelyn sat opposite me.

“Yes, she is.”

“I didn’t ask for agreement.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I glanced at her.

She smiled.

“I’ve worked with enough designers to recognize someone who understands the difference between making a room beautiful and making it functional.”

I turned another page.

“She’s stubborn.”

“So are you.”

“She’s argumentative.”

“So are you.”

I looked up.

“Evelyn.”

“Nelson.”

She smiled pleasantly.

I shook my head.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

She leaned forward and pointed at the rendering.

“She also listens when the technical team raises a legitimate concern. That’s important. Some designers would rather defend a bad idea than admit it needs adjusting.”

I nodded.

I’d noticed that.

Stacy challenged decisions, but she wasn’t interested in winning arguments simply for the sake of it.

If someone presented a better solution, she’d consider it.

She expected the same courtesy in return.

I respected that.

Evelyn closed the folder.

“By the way, she’s coming in tomorrow with the lighting consultant.”

“I know.”

“Samuel mentioned you requested the meeting be moved to the executive conference room.”

“The larger screens will be useful.”

“Of course.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Evelyn.”

She stood.

“I have another meeting.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Learning from the best.”

She walked out before I could respond.

I stared after her.

Apparently, employing competent people meant giving them the confidence to become irritating.

⸻

I left the office earlier than usual.

Not because Samuel had spent the afternoon reminding me that I needed a life outside work.

And certainly not because Evelyn had suggested I was becoming unbearable.

I simply had nothing urgent left to do.

That was the explanation I settled on.

My driver took me to a private members’ club in Midtown, where Matt was waiting in the lounge.

He stood when he saw me.

“Look who remembered I exist.”

I shook his hand.

“Good to see you too.”

“Sit down. I was beginning to think I’d have to schedule an appointment with your assistant.”

“You probably should have.”

Matt laughed.

We’d known each other since school. He was one of the few people who could insult me without immediately regretting it.

He’d recently returned from his honeymoon and apparently considered it his responsibility to remind me how much better married life was than mine.

“How’s your wife?” I asked.

“Wonderful.”

“Good.”

“Marriage is wonderful too.”

“Congratulations.”

“You should try it.”

“I’ll put it on my calendar.”

Matt grinned.

“You’re still impossible.”

“And yet you invited me.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t die alone in that ridiculous penthouse.”

I reached for my drink.

“You’re very concerned about my personal life.”

“Because you don’t have one.”

“I have a perfectly good personal life.”

“Name one thing you’ve done this month that wasn’t work.”

I considered the question.

Matt watched me.

Then he started laughing.

“Exactly.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’ve earned it.”

He leaned back.

“Seriously, though. How are things?”

“Busy.”

“With the new development?”

“Among other things.”

“I heard you finally selected an interior design firm.”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t your father against it?”

I looked at him.

“Who told you that?”

“Your father mentioned it when I saw him last week.”

Of course he had.

“What did he say?”

“That you were taking unnecessary risks.”

I sighed.

Matt shrugged.

“Sounds like him.”

“He doesn’t like decisions he didn’t make.”

“He’s been that way since we were kids.”

I nodded.

Matt had spent enough time around my family to understand the situation without needing an explanation.

“Did you ever think he’d actually retire?” he asked.

“He retired from the position. Not the habit.”

Matt laughed.

“Fair enough.”

He took a sip of his drink.

“What’s the firm’s name?”

“STACE Studio.”

“Never heard of it.”

“They’re relatively small.”

“Then why’d you choose them?”

“Best proposal.”

“Simple as that?”

“Yes.”

Matt studied me.

“You’re unusually defensive.”

“I’m answering your question.”

“All right.”

He held up his hands.

“Relax.”

I shook my head.

We moved on to other things.

His honeymoon. A property he’d been considering buying. A mutual friend who’d apparently gotten engaged for the third time.

For a while, it felt good to talk about something that didn’t involve construction schedules or financial reports.

Then Matt’s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and smiled.

“My wife.”

“Go ahead.”

He answered immediately.

His voice changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

The sarcasm disappeared. His expression softened, and he listened with the kind of attention that made it obvious he wanted to hear whatever she was saying.

I looked away.

I’d seen Matt date plenty of women over the years.

I’d never seen him look like that.

When he ended the call, he caught me watching him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He grinned.

“Jealous?”

“Of what?”

“My happiness.”

“Your arrogance, perhaps.”

He laughed.

“You’ll understand someday.”

I shook my head.

But later, as we left the club, I found myself thinking about it.

Matt had always been restless.

He’d changed apartments, cars, and relationships with remarkable enthusiasm.

Now he seemed content.

I wondered what it felt like to want someone in your life badly enough that everything else began to arrange itself around them.

Then I dismissed the thought.

I had enough complications already.

⸻

The following morning, Stacy arrived at Voss Development carrying a large portfolio and arguing with someone on the phone.

“No, I understand what you’re saying, but the samples were supposed to arrive yesterday.”

She stepped out of the elevator without noticing me standing nearby.

“I can’t approve a substitute material without seeing it. That’s the entire point of requesting samples.”

She listened.

Then she closed her eyes.

“Fine. Send photographs of what you have available, and I’ll review them with my team.”

She ended the call and exhaled.

I waited.

She looked up.

“Oh.”

“Good morning.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know your supplier is having a difficult morning.”

“My supplier is about to have a much more difficult morning.”

I smiled.

“Should I be concerned?”

“Only if you’re hiding stone samples somewhere.”

“Not recently.”

She laughed.

It was an easy sound.

I hadn’t realized how rarely I’d heard it without an argument preceding it.

“Samuel said the conference room was available,” she said.

“It is.”

“Good. The consultant should be here shortly.”

We walked toward the meeting room.

She glanced at me.

“You’re here early.”

“I work here.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Should I apologize?”

“Only if you’re planning to ask for another redesign.”

“You’re very suspicious.”

“Experience.”

I opened the conference-room door.

She stepped inside.

“Thank you.”

I followed her.

She placed the portfolio on the table and began arranging the drawings.

I watched her for a moment.

Her hair was pulled back loosely, with a few strands escaping around her face. She wore dark trousers and a cream blouse, with a thin gold bracelet at her wrist.

There was nothing particularly unusual about any of it.

Yet I found myself noticing details I’d never paid attention to before.

The way she pushed her hair behind her ear when she concentrated.

The slight crease between her eyebrows as she studied a drawing.

The way she spoke to everyone, from Samuel to the construction team, as though their opinions mattered.

She looked up suddenly.

“What?”

I blinked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m looking at the drawings.”

“The drawings are on the table.”

I glanced down.

She smiled.

“Interesting.”

I pulled out a chair.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She returned to arranging her documents.

I sat opposite her.

The consultant arrived a few minutes later, and the meeting began.

⸻

We spent the next hour discussing the revised lighting.

Stacy had prepared two options.

The first was more expensive but gave the feature wall a dramatic appearance.

The second was simpler, with softer lighting and lower maintenance costs.

I preferred the second.

So did Evelyn.

The consultant agreed.

Stacy looked pleased.

“Good. That means we can proceed with the samples.”

I studied the renderings.

“Have you considered how the lighting will look during the day?”

“Yes.”

She opened another page.

“Natural light changes the appearance of the stone, so we’ve adjusted the finish to prevent it from looking washed out.”

I nodded.

“Good.”

She smiled.

“Another compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late. I’m starting a collection.”

Evelyn laughed.

The consultant looked between us, amused.

I ignored them.

When the meeting ended, Stacy remained behind to gather her things.

I was checking a message when she spoke.

“Nelson?”

I looked up.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

I frowned.

“Of what?”

“All this.”

She gestured vaguely toward the windows.

“The company. The meetings. Everyone expecting you to have an answer for everything.”

I considered the question.

“Sometimes.”

She looked surprised.

“Really?”

“Why is that surprising?”

“You always seem so certain.”

“That doesn’t mean I always am.”

She leaned against the table.

“Then what do you do when you’re not?”

“I make the best decision I can with the information available.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I deal with the consequences.”

She studied me.

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It can be.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she smiled faintly.

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

“What is?”

“Knowing you’re human.”

I laughed.

“Was that in question?”

“Occasionally.”

I shook my head.

She picked up her portfolio.

“Thanks for answering.”

“You’re welcome.”

She started toward the door.

“Stacy.”

She turned.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

She looked at me.

“Of what?”

“Trying to prove you belong in every room you walk into.”

Her expression changed.

Not much.

But enough.

She looked down at the portfolio in her hands.

“Sometimes,” she admitted.

I nodded.

She gave me a small smile.

“See you tomorrow, Nelson.”

“See you tomorrow.”

I watched her leave.

For the first time, I realized there was more to Stacy Williams than the confident woman who challenged my decisions.

She carried something beneath that confidence.

Something she didn’t talk about.

I didn’t know what it was.

And I had no intention of asking.

Not yet.

But I was beginning to want to know her beyond the drawings, the meetings, and the arguments.

That realization stayed with me long after she’d left.

⸻

That evening, Samuel entered my office carrying a folder.

“The updated supplier agreements,” he said.

I took them.

“Thank you.”

He hesitated.

“What?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Samuel.”

He smiled.

“You seem to be in a better mood lately.”

I looked up.

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps people have stopped making unnecessary mistakes.”

“Perhaps.”

He turned toward the door.

Then paused.

“By the way, Ms. Williams sent the revised material specifications.”

“Already?”

“Yes.”

I opened the email.

Everything was organized.

Clear notes. Updated drawings. Supplier confirmations.

And at the bottom, a brief message.

I’ve included the daylight renderings, since someone was particularly concerned about them.

I smiled.

Samuel noticed.

I looked up.

“Something amusing?”

“Not at all.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

He straightened.

“Just pleased the project is going well.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Get out.”

“Of course, sir.”

He left before I could say anything else.

I looked at Stacy’s message again.

Then I typed a reply.

Someone appreciates thorough work.

I hesitated before adding another line.

Good job today, Stacy.

I sent it.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Stacy: Careful. At this rate, I might start thinking you like working with me.

I leaned back in my chair.

For once, I didn’t bother pretending otherwise.

Me: Perhaps I do.

Her reply didn’t come immediately.

When it did, it was only three words.

Stacy: That’s mildly terrifying.

I laughed.

And somewhere between the quiet office and the city lights beyond my windows, I found myself looking forward to seeing her again.

Not because of the project.

Because of her.