Unfinished

Chapter Eight

Stacy

Maya was staring at me like I’d lost my mind.

“You sent him seven pages?”

“Six and a half, technically. The last page is mostly signatures.”

“Stacy.”

“What?”

“We just won the biggest project this studio has ever handled, and your first response was to send the client a list of things you don’t like about his contract?”

I closed my laptop.

“I sent him a list of things I want clarified.”

“You crossed out an entire paragraph.”

“Because it was ridiculous.”

She pulled the contract toward her.

“‘The developer reserves the right to request modifications at any stage of the project without additional compensation.’”

She looked up.

“Okay. That is ridiculous.”

“Thank you.”

“But couldn’t you have waited until after we celebrated?”

I glanced at the unopened bottle of champagne on the shelf.

Maya had brought it in after Samuel called to confirm we’d been selected. She’d insisted on buying the most expensive bottle she could find at the supermarket, which apparently cost forty-three dollars.

I’d told her we should wait until the contract was signed.

She’d called me emotionally unavailable.

“I promise we’ll celebrate,” I said.

“When?”

“When I know we aren’t signing away our right to get paid for extra work.”

Maya sighed.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yet incredibly employable.”

“Debatable.”

She got up and headed toward the door.

“By the way, your sister called.”

I looked up.

“Jenny?”

“She asked whether you’d eaten.”

I frowned. “Why didn’t she call my phone?”

“She did. Apparently, you didn’t answer.”

I checked my screen.

Four missed calls.

Two from Jenny.

One from Ruth.

One from an unknown number.

“Oh.”

Maya folded her arms.

“Please tell me you haven’t forgotten lunch again.”

“I had a sandwich.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

She stared at me.

“Get out of my office,” I said.

“Gladly. I’m going to order food before you collapse on the contract.”

⸻

Jenny arrived carrying a paper bag from my favorite bakery.

She didn’t knock.

She had a key, which I’d given her after I locked myself out of the apartment twice in one month. Somehow, she’d decided the key also entitled her to enter my workplace whenever she pleased.

“Where’s my favorite overworked designer?”

I looked up.

“She’s busy.”

“Then I’ll talk to her when she’s done.”

Jenny dropped the bag on my desk and kissed my cheek.

I opened it.

A chicken sandwich, a cinnamon roll, and a bottle of juice.

I looked at her.

“Are you stalking my eating habits?”

“Someone has to.”

“Maya called you, didn’t she?”

“She might have mentioned that you’re surviving on coffee and stubbornness.”

“Traitor.”

“Which one of us?”

“Both.”

Jenny pulled a chair closer.

“Eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I unwrapped the sandwich.

She watched until I took a bite.

“Happy?”

“Getting there.”

I chewed.

“So what brings you here? Besides monitoring my nutritional intake.”

“I heard you got the project.”

I smiled.

“Who told you?”

“Ruth. Who apparently heard from Maya.”

I groaned.

“Does everyone know my business before I do?”

“Only the important people.”

Jenny leaned forward.

“Stace, you did it!”

I laughed when she reached across the desk and grabbed my hands.

“Not officially. We’re still negotiating the contract.”

“But they chose you.”

“They did.”

Her smile widened.

“Do you remember when you opened this place?”

I looked around the office.

“Unfortunately. The air conditioner broke twice in the first month.”

“And you had one client.”

“Two.”

“One was me.”

“You paid.”

“Because you threatened to charge me interest.”

I grinned.

Jenny shook her head, smiling.

“I remember you sitting on the floor surrounded by fabric samples, telling me that one day people would recognize your work without asking who your father was.”

I swallowed.

“Jen—”

“And now look at you.”

I glanced toward the glass wall separating my office from the main studio.

Maya was discussing a drawing with one of our freelance designers. Samples covered the conference table, and a delivery of materials sat waiting near the shelves.

It wasn’t glamorous.

It was crowded, noisy, and occasionally held together by sheer determination.

But it was mine.

Jenny squeezed my hand.

“I’m proud of you.”

I looked away before she could see my eyes getting wet.

“You’re going to make me cry over a sandwich.”

“Wouldn’t be your first embarrassing moment.”

I laughed.

“Remember when you cried because the bakery stopped selling those strawberry cupcakes?”

“I was nine.”

“You were twelve.”

“Get out.”

She stole a piece of my cinnamon roll.

“Make me.”

⸻

We moved to the conference table after lunch.

Jenny had always enjoyed looking through my designs, even when she didn’t understand half the technical details.

She pointed at a rendering of the reception area.

“This is beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Is this the project?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned closer.

“I love the lighting.”

“That took some convincing.”

“The difficult client?”

“The very same.”

Jenny smiled.

“Has he stopped arguing with you?”

“Not even slightly.”

“Maybe he just wants everything to be perfect.”

“Then he should hire someone who agrees with him.”

“Would you respect him if he did?”

I paused.

That was annoying.

Jenny noticed.

“Oh, I got you.”

“Don’t look so pleased.”

“I’m your older sister. It’s my job to be occasionally wiser.”

“Occasionally being the important word.”

She laughed.

I showed her the dining-room designs, explaining how we’d reduced the cost without sacrificing the atmosphere.

Jenny listened, asking questions about the materials and the furniture.

When I finished, she sat back.

“Stace, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you happy?”

I frowned.

“With the designs?”

“No. With everything.”

I looked at her.

She shrugged.

“You’ve worked so hard for this. I just hope you’re actually enjoying it.”

I thought about the late nights, the difficult clients, and the constant fear of making a mistake that could hurt the business.

Then I thought about opening the studio each morning and knowing I was building something that belonged to me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”

Jenny smiled.

“Good.”

I studied her for a moment.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you happy?”

She looked surprised.

“Of course.”

“With everything?”

She glanced toward the window.

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

She gave me a small smile.

“Nobody’s life is perfect, Stace.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing serious.”

“Jenny.”

She laughed softly.

“Look at you, turning the interrogation around.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m fine. Work’s been a little stressful, that’s all.”

I watched her.

Jenny had always been the calm one. When our parents argued, she knew how to settle things. When I got into trouble, she knew what to say to make it less terrible.

But sometimes I wondered who she talked to when things weren’t going well.

“You know you can tell me stuff, right?”

Her expression softened.

“I know.”

“Even if it’s messy.”

“Especially if it’s messy?”

“Obviously. Have you met me?”

She laughed.

Then she reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“I know, little sister.”

I squeezed back.

Whatever was bothering her, I trusted she’d tell me when she was ready.

⸻

My phone rang while Jenny was gathering her things.

The caller ID displayed Samuel — Voss Development.

I answered.

“Hello, Samuel.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Williams. I’m calling about the contract amendments.”

I sat straighter.

“Have they been reviewed?”

“Yes. Our legal team has accepted several of your proposed changes.”

“Several?”

“Mr. Voss would like to discuss the remaining provisions with you directly.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course he would.

“Which provisions?”

“Design approval authority, revision limits, and compensation for additional work.”

“The three most important ones.”

Samuel chuckled.

“That’s one way to describe them.”

I glanced at Jenny, who was watching me with interest.

“When does he want to discuss them?”

“He has some availability tomorrow. I can send you the details.”

“All right.”

“And Ms. Williams?”

“Yes?”

“Congratulations on being selected. Your presentation was excellent.”

I smiled.

“Thank you, Samuel. I appreciate that.”

After we ended the call, Jenny raised an eyebrow.

“That sounded serious.”

“Contract negotiations.”

“With the difficult client?”

“Apparently, he wants to argue about the clauses I changed.”

“Maybe he just wants to understand them.”

“Jenny, you’re being suspiciously reasonable today.”

“One of us has to be.”

I shook my head.

She picked up her bag.

“Don’t let him bully you.”

I smiled.

“Thought you said he might have good reasons?”

“He might. Doesn’t mean you should let him push you around.”

I laughed.

“Now that’s the sister I know.”

She hugged me.

“Call me later.”

“I will.”

“And don’t forget the cinnamon roll.”

“You’re leaving me half of it?”

“Consider it a reward for being successful.”

“How generous.”

She kissed my cheek and left.

I watched her disappear through the studio doors.

Then I looked down at the contract.

Nelson Voss wanted to negotiate.

Fine.

So did I.

⸻

The following day, I walked into Voss Development with my annotated contract tucked under my arm.

Samuel met me near the elevators.

“Ms. Williams.”

“Stacy, please.”

“Stacy. Mr. Voss is waiting.”

“Of course he is.”

Samuel smiled.

“Should I warn him you’re in a good mood?”

“That depends. Is he?”

“I wouldn’t make any promises.”

We stepped into the private elevator.

I glanced at the polished walls and the discreet security panel beside the doors.

The building was beautiful, but I’d stopped being impressed by expensive offices years ago.

Money could buy marble floors.

It couldn’t buy good judgment.

Samuel led me into a conference room where Nelson sat reviewing a document.

He looked up.

“Ms. Williams.”

“Mr. Voss.”

His gaze dropped to the folder in my hands.

“More amendments?”

“Only if you give me a reason.”

Samuel suddenly became fascinated by the coffee machine.

Nelson leaned back.

“Sit.”

I took the chair opposite him.

He pushed a copy of the contract across the table.

“Your legal revisions are thorough.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t necessarily a compliment.”

“I decided to take it as one.”

His mouth twitched.

I opened my folder.

“Shall we?”

He tapped the first highlighted paragraph.

“You want approval authority over material substitutions.”

“I want approval authority over substitutions that affect the final design.”

“That could delay procurement.”

“Only if someone decides to replace a carefully selected material with something completely different without consulting me.”

“Our procurement team knows what they’re doing.”

“So do I.”

He watched me.

I held his gaze.

Then he picked up his pen.

“Fine. We can require your written approval for substitutions that materially alter the approved design.”

I blinked.

“That was easy.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

I smiled.

We moved to the next clause.

And the next.

We disagreed over revision limits, discussed compensation for additional work, and eventually reached a compromise that protected both sides.

It wasn’t the argument I’d expected.

Nelson challenged my reasoning, but he listened when I explained it. When he disagreed, he gave reasons rather than simply reminding me he was in charge.

I found that surprisingly refreshing.

At one point, he looked up from the contract.

“You negotiate like you expect everyone to take advantage of you.”

I stiffened.

“I negotiate because I run a business.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

I stared at him.

He set down his pen.

“Relax, Ms. Williams. I’m not criticizing you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m saying you don’t have to approach every conversation like someone’s trying to take something from you.”

I looked down at the contract.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

He couldn’t possibly understand why I was so careful.

He didn’t know what it felt like to trust someone completely and discover they’d used that trust against you.

He didn’t know how much work it had taken to rebuild a life after people decided your worst moment was the only thing worth remembering.

And I wasn’t about to explain it to him.

“With respect, Mr. Voss, you don’t know me well enough to make that judgment.”

He studied my face.

Then he nodded.

“Fair enough.”

I hadn’t expected that.

He turned back to the document.

“Let’s finish.”

We did.

By the time we reached the final page, we’d agreed on terms I could live with.

Nelson closed the folder.

“I’ll have legal prepare the clean version.”

“Good.”

“Once both parties sign, your studio can begin work.”

I nodded.

“Thank you.”

He looked at me.

“For what?”

“Listening.”

A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t make it sound like a rare event.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I stood and gathered my things.

“Stacy.”

I paused.

It was the first time he’d used my name without the formal Ms. Williams.

I looked at him.

“Yes?”

“Your revised reception design was excellent.”

I stared.

He continued before I could respond.

“The changes improved the space. You were right about the lighting.”

I smiled slowly.

“Careful, Nelson. You’re developing a habit of agreeing with me.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

I laughed.

He shook his head, but he was smiling too.

For the first time since we’d met, I left his office without wanting to argue with him.

I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Perhaps working with Nelson Voss wouldn’t be quite as terrible as I’d imagined.

Or perhaps he was simply having a good day.

Either way, STACE Studio was about to begin the biggest project of its existence.

And I intended to make every part of it count.