Art of Misalignment

Chapter 14 Power Play

In Dave’s office, Jeffrey was sprawled on the leather sofa, messing with a heavy silver lighter.

“Dave, I went over the Old Theater renovation draft,” Jeffrey said, blowing out smoke like it was nothing. His voice stayed easy, but the weight behind it pressed hard. “Chloe’s got talent, sure. But after that ‘data error’ thing? The old guys on the Board aren’t feeling good about her right now.”

Dave sat behind the desk, hands locked together, forehead creased. “Jeffrey, Chloe’s the best I’ve got. That error—we both know what it really was. A project with this much heart, the theater needs her touch. Nobody else can do it.”

“I’m not saying kick her off.” Jeffrey straightened up, leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Just bring Sarah in as co-lead. They watch each other’s backs. If anything else goes wrong, there’s cover. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Dave felt his stomach drop. He knew exactly what “co-lead” really meant: Sarah gets her foot in the door, starts picking at Chloe’s designs, and uses Board pressure to push her out when it counts.

“Jeffrey, that’s not how we run projects. It’s always one lead architect—”

“Rules bend when people need them to, Dave.” Jeffrey cut him off with a thin smile. He stood, walked over, and clapped a hand on Dave’s shoulder—hard enough to feel like a shove. “Next year’s expansion budget has to clear my desk. We’re all on the same team here. No reason to turn this into a fight over something small, right?”

Dave looked up and saw the threat plain as day. He could call the shots on design, but when money talks, he had to listen.

“…Fine. I’ll bring Sarah on.” His voice came out rough, defeated.

Jeffrey gave a short, pleased laugh and walked out.

Across the room, in a corner near the door, Sarah stood touching up her lipstick in a small mirror. She pressed her lips together, wiped the edge with her thumb. Her phone buzzed—Jeffrey’s text. She glanced at it, then back at her reflection. A quick, private smile crossed her face. Sharp. Satisfied.

Meanwhile, Chloe sat alone at her desk down the hall, lost in the theater blueprints, red pen in hand, fighting for every detail.

Inside Dave’s office. He sat behind the desk rubbing his temples hard, eyes moving between the two women standing in front of him. Chloe stood rigid, arms crossed tight. Sarah leaned against the wall, one hip c****d, looking ready to bite.

“I called you both in to make an announcement about the Old Theater project,” Dave said, voice low and tired. “Sarah’s joining. She’ll co-lead with Chloe.”

Chloe cut in before he even finished. “No. I won’t accept that.” Her tone was flat, ice-cold. “Design isn’t something you mash together. Two completely different approaches? You’ll end up with garbage. It’s disrespectful to the work and to me as an architect.”

Sarah’s jaw tightened. She’d spent last night earning this spot in Jeffrey’s bed, expecting to slide right into Chloe’s chair—not share it. She crossed her arms, mirroring Chloe’s stance but with a sharp edge. “I’m not thrilled either, Dave. Chloe’s stuff is way too artsy. She ignores what actually sells. If we’re stuck working together, I’ll be the one cleaning up her ‘vision’ the whole time.”

The room exploded. Chloe fired back about the building’s soul, historical integrity, keeping the theater’s heart alive. Sarah shot straight to ROI, sponsor demands, ticket sales, what the Board actually cared about. Their voices climbed over each other, sharp and unrelenting.

Dave stayed seated at first, just watching them tear into each other. His head throbbed. Jeffrey’s threat sat heavy on one side; Chloe’s real talent on the other. He couldn’t keep pretending this would work.

“Enough!” He slammed his palm flat on the desk. The sound cracked through the room. Both women shut up instantly.

He pushed up from the chair, walked to the window, and stared down at the street traffic for a long minute. Then he turned back, decision made.

“Fine. You won’t budge, so we’re doing this another way.” His voice steadied. “Each of you gets your own team. You each produce a full design proposal for the theater. In two weeks, we put them side by side in front of the Board and the Bureau of Cultural Affairs.”

Chloe and Sarah both went still.

“The winner gets full control. The loser walks away—no second chances,” Dave said.

Chloe pressed her lips together hard. A spark lit in her eyes—anger, yes, but also something fiercer. She nodded once. “I’m in.”

Sarah’s mouth curved into a slow, private smile. She knew she couldn’t match Chloe’s pure design chops, but she had other skills: reading rooms, working connections, giving the people with money exactly what they wanted. Chloe never would.

“Works for me, Dave.” She shot Chloe a quick, challenging glance, then turned on her heel and walked out, heels clicking sharp against the floor.

Back at her own desk, Chloe dropped into her chair and stared at the blank roll of blueprints in front of her. Her hands were clammy. This wasn’t about fixing up an old building anymore. This was a fight—for respect, for her place, for everything she’d built.

“Everyone—meeting room. Now.” She clapped once, sharp. Her voice cut through the open-plan floor like a command.

Less than ten minutes later, her core team was packed in. Chloe stood at the front by the whiteboard, the theater blueprints projected big behind her. “For the next two weeks, we forget what ‘normal’ feels like. I want every piece of data we can get—site surveys, underground drainage, century-old structural reinforcements. We’re not patching this place up. We’re giving it a second life.”

The team caught the urgency fast. The usual low chatter turned into rapid keyboard clicks and overlapping voices hashing out ideas.

Her phone buzzed on the corner of the desk. A text from Liam: “Chloe, pick you up tonight? Got your favorite wine chilling.”

She stared at the screen a long second, thumb hovering. Then she typed back: “I have to be 100% on this for the next two weeks. It’s make-or-break. No distractions. I can’t see you right now. We’ll talk after I win.”

She hit send, flipped the phone over so the screen was down, pulled her hair back into a messy knot, and went right back to the structural load calculations.

Across town, Liam read the message and felt the words land like a slap. Being shut out like that stung—especially when he’d always thought he was the one place she could drop the armor. For a minute, he just sat there, staring at his phone, chest tight.

But the feeling didn’t last.

He picked up the phone again and dialed Maya. When she answered, he kept his voice easy. “Hey, it’s me. I’m clear for the next two weeks. I can come over every night while you practice, if that’s okay?”

There was a short pause on the line. Then Maya’s voice came through, apologetic but firm. “Liam… I’d love that, but the quartet’s got intense rehearsals starting tonight. We’re prepping for the festival, so I’m basically living at the studio for the next few days. I won’t have any real time off.”

Liam blinked, caught off guard. He leaned back against the wall, phone still to his ear. The relief he’d felt a second ago cracked a little. “Oh. Right. Yeah, of course. Festival prep. I get it.”

“I’m really sorry,” Maya said softly. “I wish I could just drop everything, but… call me when things calm down?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He forced a small laugh. “Knock ‘em dead at rehearsal.”

He hung up and stood there in the hallway, phone still in his hand. The apartment felt quieter than usual. Chloe was gone for two weeks. Maya was gone for a few days. And suddenly he had nothing pulling him anywhere.

He walked to the window, stared down at the street lights coming on, and exhaled slowly. For the first time in a while, he didn’t know what to do with himself.