Unfinished

Chapter Seven

Nelson

My father had a remarkable talent for making an invitation sound like a court summons.

‘Dinner. My house. We need to talk.’

That was the message he’d sent.

No question about whether I was available. No explanation of what he wanted to discuss.

Just an instruction.

I put my phone facedown on the desk and returned to the documents Samuel had brought in.

“That’s the last of the revised proposals,” he said.

Three firms. Three presentations. Three very different approaches to the same building.

I opened the first folder.

“Has the committee submitted its recommendations?”

“Yes. They’re divided.”

“About?”

“Two members prefer Ashford Design Group. Three favor STACE Studio.”

I looked up.

“And the sixth?”

“Thinks we should postpone the decision.”

“On what grounds?”

Samuel handed me another document.

“Concerns about STACE Studio’s capacity.”

I scanned the report.

The concerns weren’t entirely unreasonable. Stacy’s firm was smaller than the others. Her staffing plan depended on bringing in two additional specialists, and her procurement strategy involved outside suppliers rather than an established internal department.

But the proposal was thorough.

She’d identified the risks, explained how she intended to manage them, and included backup arrangements for materials that might become unavailable.

More importantly, she’d corrected every issue we’d raised without destroying the original design.

I turned to the financial summary.

Her revised reception-area finishes came in at $1.53 million, down from the initial $1.8 million estimate. She’d reduced the cost without stripping the room of its character.

That was the sort of judgment I wanted.

“What does the committee recommend overall?” I asked.

“A final discussion before awarding the contract.”

“Arrange it.”

Samuel nodded but didn’t leave.

I looked at him.

“What?”

“Your father called.”

“Of course he did.”

“He wants to know whether you’ve made a decision.”

“Tell him the committee is still reviewing.”

“I already did.”

“And?”

“He said he’d rather hear it from you.”

I closed the folder.

“Then he can call me.”

Samuel’s mouth twitched.

“Something funny?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re getting worse at lying.”

“Working for you has been educational.”

I waved him out.

He left smiling.

I looked at the proposals again.

My father wasn’t going to like my decision.

That was becoming increasingly obvious.

⸻

The meeting lasted longer than it should have.

Not because the proposals were complicated, but because everyone seemed determined to avoid saying what they actually thought.

“STACE Studio’s concept is the strongest,” one committee member admitted. “But their size is a concern.”

“Then let’s discuss their size,” I said. “What specifically are we worried about?”

“Resources.”

“Which resources?”

He hesitated.

“Personnel. Procurement. Their ability to manage a project of this scale.”

“All addressed in the delivery plan.”

“On paper.”

I leaned back.

“Everything in these proposals is on paper. That’s why we verify it before signing.”

Across the table, Evelyn Hayes, our development director, nodded.

“I agree with Nelson. Their staffing proposal is realistic, and the specialists they’ve identified have experience on comparable projects.”

Another member spoke.

“Ashford has handled developments twice this size.”

“And their design is ordinary,” I said.

The room went quiet.

I continued.

“We’re not spending hundreds of millions of dollars to build something people have seen a hundred times. Experience matters. So does the actual work.”

Evelyn opened Stacy’s revised presentation.

“The dining rooms are particularly strong. Their alternative lighting plan reduces costs and improves the original concept.”

“Agreed,” I said.

The discussion continued.

We reviewed budgets, supplier arrangements, and the delivery schedules.

By the end, the committee had reached a recommendation.

STACE Studio.

Subject to contract negotiations and final verification of its staffing arrangements.

I signed the approval.

“Samuel,” I said as the meeting ended, “have legal prepare the offer.”

He nodded.

“Should I contact Ms. Williams?”

“Yes. Let her know she’s been selected.”

I gathered my papers.

“And Samuel?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t make it sound like we’re doing her a favor.”

He smiled.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

⸻

My father’s house was exactly as I remembered it.

Too large for one person. Too quiet for a home. Every room arranged with the kind of precision that made sitting down feel like a violation.

A member of staff took my coat.

“Your father is in the dining room, Mr. Voss.”

“Thank you.”

I walked through the hallway, passing a collection of paintings that had cost an absurd amount of money and inspired absolutely no feeling in me.

My father was seated at the head of the table.

He looked up as I entered.

“You’re late.”

“I had a meeting.”

“There’s always a meeting.”

“That’s generally how running a company works.”

He gestured toward the chair opposite him.

“Sit.”

I sat.

Dinner had already been served.

For several minutes, we ate in silence.

Then he placed his glass on the table.

“I heard you selected the smaller design firm.”

I cut into my steak.

“News travels quickly.”

“Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“Against my advice.”

“Your advice wasn’t part of the selection criteria.”

His expression hardened.

“Watch your tone.”

I set down my knife.

“I’m not a child.”

“Then stop behaving like one.”

I looked at him.

He leaned back.

“You’re responsible for a development worth hundreds of millions of dollars, and you’ve decided to hand an important part of it to a studio nobody has heard of.”

“People have heard of them.”

“Not the people who matter.”

“That depends on who you think matters.”

He sighed.

“Nelson, I didn’t spend my life building this company so you could take unnecessary risks.”

“And I didn’t spend mine learning how to run it just to repeat every decision you’d make.”

His jaw tightened.

I continued before he could interrupt.

“STACE Studio submitted the strongest design. Their revised budget is competitive, their staffing plan is credible, and their proposal has been reviewed by the committee.”

“They lack experience.”

“They lack experience with a project this large. That’s not the same as lacking ability.”

“You’re defending them rather passionately.”

“I’m defending the decision.”

He studied me.

“Who is she?”

I frowned.

“Who?”

“The designer.”

“Stacy Williams.”

Something shifted in his expression.

It was brief, but I noticed.

“Williams?”

“Yes.”

“Any relation to Charles Williams?”

I paused.

The name was familiar. Charles Williams had business interests across New York, and we’d crossed paths at industry events.

“I haven’t asked.”

My father reached for his glass.

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“Nothing. I know Charles.”

“So do half the businessmen in Manhattan.”

He ignored that.

“Be careful.”

“About what?”

“Getting involved in things you don’t fully understand.”

I stared at him.

“We’re discussing an interior-design contract.”

“That’s what you think.”

I put down my napkin.

“If you have something to say, say it.”

He held my gaze.

Then he smiled faintly.

“You’re becoming impatient.”

“You’re being deliberately vague.”

“Perhaps.”

I stood.

“Goodnight, Father.”

“Nelson.”

I stopped.

“Don’t let a woman distract you from your responsibilities.”

I turned back.

“Stacy Williams is a designer we’ve hired because she’s good at her job. Whatever story you’ve invented around that is your problem.”

His expression didn’t change.

“Just remember that I warned you.”

I left before he could say anything else.

⸻

Samuel called while my driver was taking me home.

“The offer has been sent.”

“Good.”

“Ms. Williams hasn’t responded yet.”

“Give her time to read it.”

“Of course.”

I looked out at the city.

The buildings along Park Avenue glowed against the dark sky. Somewhere behind those windows, people were having dinner, arguing with their families, celebrating promotions, or pretending their lives were more interesting than they were.

I thought about my father’s reaction to Stacy’s surname.

He knew Charles Williams.

That wasn’t surprising.

What bothered me was the warning.

My father rarely said anything without a reason, even when that reason was simply to remind me he believed he knew better.

“Samuel.”

“Yes?”

“Find out whether Charles Williams has any business interests connected to our development.”

A pause.

“Is there a problem?”

“Probably not.”

“Should I look into STACE Studio as well?”

“No. Their professional checks are already complete.”

“Understood.”

I ended the call.

I wasn’t interested in digging into Stacy’s personal life.

Her work had earned her the contract.

That was enough for me.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my father had recognized something I hadn’t.

⸻

When I reached my penthouse, the apartment was quiet.

The housekeeper had already left. Dinner was waiting in the kitchen, though I had no intention of eating again.

I loosened my tie and walked toward the windows overlooking Central Park.

My phone vibrated.

A message from Samuel.

Samuel: Ms. Williams has acknowledged the offer. She’ll review the contract with her team and respond after discussing the terms.

I smiled slightly.

Of course she would.

Most firms would have called immediately to express their gratitude.

Stacy Williams was probably reading every clause with a pen in her hand, preparing a list of things she intended to challenge.

I could almost hear her voice.

I’m not signing something just because you expect me to.

My phone vibrated again.

This time, it was an email.

From: Stacy Williams

Subject: STACE Studio — Contract Clarifications

Mr. Voss,

Thank you for selecting STACE Studio. We’re pleased to have the opportunity to work on the development.

Before proceeding, I’d like clarification on several provisions concerning design approvals, revision limits, and additional work outside the agreed scope.

I’ve attached our proposed amendments for your legal team to review.

Best regards,

Stacy Williams

Founder, STACE Studio

I opened the attachment.

Seven pages.

I stared at the screen.

Then I laughed.

Seven pages of proposed amendments.

The woman had been offered the biggest contract of her career, and her first response was to negotiate.

I should have expected nothing less.

I forwarded the document to Samuel.

Me: Have legal review this.

His reply came quickly.

Samuel: All seven pages?

Me: Unfortunately.

I set my phone down and looked out at the city again.

Stacy Williams wasn’t going to make this easy.

But easy had never been particularly interesting.

And for reasons I wasn’t ready to examine, I was beginning to look forward to working with her.