Chapter Three-Vincent
2153 Words
Vincent Stanley hated wasting time.
That was why he had spent the better part of Monday morning going through the plans for the new Stanley headquarters with increasing irritation.
The building was enormous.
Twenty-six floors.
Multiple executive offices.
Private meeting rooms.
Conference halls.
Employee lounges.
Reception areas.
Several private suites.
A boardroom.
A dining area.
And an entire executive floor that Vincent wanted redesigned from the ground up.
The structure itself was impressive.
The interior wasn’t.
It was too cold.
Too traditional.
Too much like something designed twenty years ago by people who believed expensive furniture automatically meant good taste.
Vincent stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office, looking down at the city.
“We need someone good,” he said.
His secretary nodded.
“We’ve contacted several firms.”
“And?”
“They’ve submitted proposals.”
Vincent turned around.
“I’ve seen them.”
He walked toward his desk.
“They’re all the same.”
His secretary remained silent.
Vincent picked up one of the proposals.
“Luxury marble.”
He picked up another.
“Gold accents.”
Another.
“Dark wood.”
He dropped the papers onto the desk.
“Apparently, everyone believes rich people want to live inside a jewelry box.”
His secretary tried very hard not to smile.
Vincent noticed.
“Something funny?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
He sat down.
The problem wasn’t money.
Money had never been the problem.
Vincent could spend whatever was necessary.
What he wanted was someone who understood space.
Someone who understood that a building could be expensive without feeling cold.
Someone who could create a space that was professional but not lifeless.
Powerful but not intimidating.
Elegant without being excessive.
Someone who understood what he wanted even when he didn’t have the patience to explain every detail.
And so far, he hadn’t found that person.
Until his mother mentioned the Rosewoods.
It happened during breakfast.
His mother had been sitting across from him, calmly drinking her tea while Vincent looked through his tablet.
“You still haven’t found your interior designer?”
“No.”
“You should speak to the Rosewoods.”
Vincent looked up.
“The Rosewoods?”
His mother nodded.
“Yes.”
He knew the family.
Of course he did.
The Rosewoods had been around for years.
Finance.
Hospitality.
Real estate.
Investment.
They were one of those families whose name appeared quietly in business circles without ever needing to announce itself.
Vincent frowned.
“I didn’t know they did interior design.”
“They do.”
He looked at his mother.
“Since when?”
She smiled.
“Since one of their children decided to do it.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Which child?”
“Riley.”
The name didn’t immediately register.
“Riley?”
“Yes.”
Vincent thought for a moment.
Then something clicked.
“The younger one?”
His mother nodded.
“You’ve met him.”
“Have I?”
“When you were twelve.”
Vincent stared at her.
His mother smiled.
“You came with me to the Rosewood house.”
Vincent vaguely remembered.
He remembered his mother speaking with Mrs. Rosewood.
He remembered the large house.
He remembered her husband.
He remembered their older son, who had been several years older than Vincent.
And then…
A child.
A little girl with long hair.
At least, that was what Vincent had assumed.
He had been twelve.
The child had been somewhere around seven.
Long hair.
Small face.
Quiet.
He remembered seeing the child walking through the house.
Vincent frowned.
“Wasn’t Riley a girl?”
His mother laughed.
“No.”
Vincent looked at her.
“No?”
“No. That was Riley.”
He blinked.
“The boy?”
“Yes.”
Vincent looked back at his tablet.
“I thought he was a girl.”
“You were twelve.”
“I know.”
His mother smiled.
“Riley has always had long hair.”
Vincent shook his head slightly.
He barely remembered the child.
That had been twenty years ago.
They hadn’t seen each other since.
“What does he do exactly?”
“Interior design.”
“Is he good?”
His mother gave him a look.
“Very.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
“You sound certain.”
“I’ve seen his work.”
That made him pause.
His mother wasn’t someone who praised people unnecessarily.
“If you don’t believe me,” she continued, “look at his portfolio.”
Vincent did.
And for the first time that morning, he became interested.
The designs were…
Different.
Not loud.
Not excessive.
Not obsessed with making everything look expensive.
They were elegant.
Warm.
Modern.
Clean.
The spaces looked expensive without screaming about it.
Vincent scrolled through several projects.
“This is his work?”
“Yes.”
“Impressive.”
His mother smiled.
“I told you.”
Vincent looked at the screen again.
He didn’t particularly want to hire someone because his mother knew their mother.
Connections had never been his preferred way of doing business.
But good work was good work.
And if Riley Rosewood was as talented as his portfolio suggested, Vincent didn’t care who his parents were.
“Send them an inquiry.”
His mother smiled.
“I already gave them your contact.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You already did?”
“You’re welcome.”
He sighed.
“Mother.”
She smiled innocently.
“Just meet him.”
So Vincent did.
He sent the company an official email requesting a meeting.
And Monday morning arrived.
Now he sat behind his desk, reviewing the project requirements one final time.
The new office needed to feel like Stanley Corporation.
Professional.
Sophisticated.
Strong.
But not suffocating.
Vincent wanted private rooms for senior executives.
A large boardroom.
Several smaller conference rooms.
A private dining room.
A lounge for visiting clients.
A waiting area.
A library.
A quiet working space.
Everything had to be functional.
Everything had to have purpose.
He was halfway through reading the proposal when his secretary knocked.
“Come in.”
She stepped inside.
“Mr. Stanley?”
Vincent looked up.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Rosewood is here.”
Vincent’s eyes lifted.
“Mr. Rosewood?”
“Yes.”
For some reason, Vincent had expected a woman.
Perhaps because of the name Riley.
Perhaps because of the image he vaguely remembered from childhood.
He pushed the thought away.
“Send him in.”
His secretary nodded.
“Of course.”
The door opened.
And Vincent looked up.
For a second, he said nothing.
The person walking into his office was not what he had expected.
At all.
Long, silky hair fell around his face and down past his ears.
The hair was light, almost blond under the office lighting.
His features were soft.
Delicate.
Almost feminine.
His face was youthful.
His expression calm.
He wore a simple but elegant outfit that somehow looked effortless.
And Vincent immediately understood why, from a distance, someone might mistake him for a woman.
But then the stranger looked directly at him.
And Vincent noticed the hearing devices tucked discreetly beneath his hair.
The man approached his desk.
He stopped.
Then smiled.
A gentle smile.
“Hi.”
His voice was soft.
“My name is Riley.”
Vincent stared at him for half a second longer than he should have.
Then he stood.
“Vincent Stanley.”
Riley’s smile grew slightly.
“I know.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
Riley seemed to realize how that sounded.
“I mean—”
He gave a small laugh.
“Obviously. The company is yours.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, he gestured toward the chair.
“Please, sit.”
Riley nodded.
He sat down calmly.
Vincent took his seat again.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Vincent studied him.
Not rudely.
Professionally.
There was something different about Riley.
He didn’t appear nervous.
Most people who entered Vincent’s office became tense within seconds.
Riley didn’t.
He looked around.
Not fearfully.
Curiously.
His eyes moved over the office.
The furniture.
The windows.
The lighting.
The walls.
Vincent noticed.
“You’ve already started working.”
Riley looked back at him.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re looking at the room.”
Riley smiled.
“I can’t help it.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Why?”
“I’m a designer.”
A pause.
Then Riley added,
“When I enter a room, I notice things.”
Vincent looked around his own office.
“What do you notice?”
Riley hesitated.
“Do you actually want me to tell you?”
“Yes.”
Riley looked at him.
“Your office is beautiful.”
Vincent waited.
“But?”
Riley smiled.
“But it doesn’t feel like you.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“And what exactly does that mean?”
Riley looked around again.
“Everything is expensive.”
Vincent said nothing.
“The furniture is beautiful. The materials are good. The view is incredible.”
He looked back at Vincent.
“But everything feels…”
He searched for the right word.
“Controlled.”
Vincent’s expression remained unreadable.
Riley continued.
“Like nobody is supposed to relax here.”
Silence.
Vincent had spent millions designing the space.
And this twenty-five-year-old man had walked in and insulted it within five minutes.
Yet strangely…
Vincent wasn’t offended.
Because Riley wasn’t insulting him.
He was observing.
“You think you can change that?”
Riley smiled.
“I know I can.”
Vincent stared at him.
There was no arrogance in his voice.
No attempt to impress.
Just certainty.
Vincent picked up the project proposal.
“Tell me what you would do.”
Riley opened his portfolio.
And suddenly the meeting became something else.
Riley talked about light.
Flow.
Texture.
Privacy.
Function.
He explained why certain rooms needed natural light while others required controlled lighting.
He discussed executive offices without making them feel like fortresses.
He talked about the boardroom.
The reception.
The private dining room.
Employee spaces.
Client lounges.
Vincent listened.
For the first time in weeks, someone was actually answering the questions he had been asking.
Riley didn’t simply talk about making the building beautiful.
He talked about making it usable.
Human.
Efficient.
Comfortable.
When he finished, Vincent looked at the designs again.
“You’ve thought about all of this.”
Riley smiled.
“I had time.”
Vincent glanced at his watch.
They had been talking for almost an hour.
He hadn’t noticed.
That alone was unusual.
Riley gathered his papers.
“So?”
Vincent looked at him.
“So?”
“Do you want me to take the project?”
Vincent studied him.
The long hair.
The soft features.
The calm expression.
The quiet voice.
The hearing aids.
Everything about Riley seemed almost delicate.
And yet there was something surprisingly steady beneath it.
Vincent finally nodded.
“Yes.”
Riley smiled.
“Okay.”
“However.”
Riley waited.
“I want complete professionalism.”
“You’ll get it.”
“And I expect the project to stay within budget.”
“Of course.”
“And I don’t want unnecessary changes made simply for the sake of making changes.”
Riley smiled.
“I agree.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Then we have a deal.”
Riley stood.
He held out his hand.
Vincent looked at it for a moment before taking it.
Riley’s handshake was warm.
Firm.
Nothing like he expected.
“Thank you, Mr. Stanley.”
“Vincent.”
Riley blinked.
Vincent wasn’t sure why he had said it.
Perhaps because “Mr. Stanley” suddenly sounded too formal.
Riley smiled.
“Vincent, then.”
And there it was again.
That smile.
Quiet.
Warm.
Almost annoyingly peaceful.
Vincent watched as Riley turned toward the door.
Before leaving, Riley glanced back.
“I’ll send you the first concepts by Friday.”
“Good.”
Riley nodded.
Then he left.
The door closed.
Vincent remained still.
For several seconds, he stared at the door.
His secretary eventually walked in.
“How did the meeting go?”
Vincent looked down at the proposal.
“He’s good.”
His secretary smiled.
“I thought you might like him.”
Vincent frowned.
“I didn’t say I liked him.”
She immediately nodded.
“Of course, sir.”
Vincent looked back toward the door.
Riley Rosewood.
The little boy he had vaguely remembered from twenty years ago.
The child he had mistaken for a girl.
The quiet young man with long hair and a gentle voice.
The designer who had walked into Vincent Stanley’s office and calmly told him that his expensive office didn’t feel like him.
Vincent shook his head.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
He returned to his work.
At least, he tried to.
Because for the first time in a long time, Vincent Stanley found himself thinking about someone who wasn’t a business deal.
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