New Blueprints
711 Words
Chapter V : New Blueprints
The new branch was quieter. There was no whispering gossip, no pointed stares. Just clean desks, efficient meetings, and people who smiled because they meant it.
Beatrice welcomed the change like fresh air after a storm.
The ache still lingered—like a bruise on her ribs—but each passing day made it easier to breathe.
She dove into her work with focus and quiet tenacity. Her new team respected her, though few spoke beyond what was necessary. She was fine with that. Trust, she had learned, was a slow-built structure.
And then came Blake Steele.
The regional director. Tall. Sharp-jawed. Impeccably dressed. His voice could cut glass, and his standards left no room for mediocrity.
His very presence shifted the air. Conversations halted when he walked into a room. Even department heads stood straighter when he passed by.
But not Beatrice.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t intimidated. She was. The man looked like he belonged in a boardroom magazine and spoke like he had a personal grudge against wasted time. But Beatrice had already been broken once. She had nothing left to prove—especially to a man who was, at the end of the day, just another human breathing the same air.
So when Blake asked questions, she answered with confidence. When he challenged an idea, she explained her process without flinching.
They rarely spoke outside of project reviews or blueprint approvals—but somehow, she had caught his eye.
It wasn’t her smile. It wasn’t her appearance.
It was her steel.
Her refusal to back down. Her clean, thoughtful solutions. Her quiet defiance in a room that preferred silence.
One evening, the office had all but cleared out. Beatrice was still at her desk, scanning numbers across two monitors, a red pen tucked behind her ear. She didn’t notice him until she felt his shadow cross her desk.
“Time to log out,” said a low, composed voice.
She blinked up. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see— I mean—yes. I’ll finish up in just a few.”
Blake looked at the stack of papers she was scribbling over, then back at her. “You’ve already put in ten hours. The problem will still be here tomorrow.”
“Maybe. But tomorrow I’ll have a solution.”
He smiled faintly, more a suggestion of amusement than approval. “You work like someone with something to prove.”
Beatrice didn’t return the smile. “Not to anyone else. Just myself.”
He paused for a beat. Then nodded and walked away.
She exhaled only after the elevator doors closed behind him.
That night, as she walked out the front doors, her bag slung over her shoulder, a familiar silver car pulled up beside the curb.
Her heart stopped.
Noel.
She froze as the window lowered. “It’s late,” he said, voice casual, almost warm. “Let me take you home.”
Beatrice blinked. “I can wait for the bus.”
He smiled, leaning toward the passenger seat. “Don’t make me wait, Bea. Just get in.”
The sound of her name in his mouth felt wrong now. Still, her limbs moved on autopilot. She got in.
The silence inside the car was suffocating.
“You look good,” he said.
“I didn’t ask.”
Noel chuckled. “Still sharp-tongued.”
“No. Just finally tired of being lied to.”
He didn’t reply.
When he dropped her off, she stepped out without another word, shutting the door softly but firmly.
Unbeknownst to her, Blake had seen them. He had come back to retrieve a forgotten folder and happened to catch a glimpse of her entering the car.
He watched her get out again twenty minutes later, her shoulders stiff, her eyes heavy.
He didn’t know what her story was. But he knew one thing:
Most women tried to impress him. Most paused at the sight of his car, his title, his wealth. But not Beatrice.
She didn’t care what he drove. She didn’t laugh at his jokes to flatter him. She didn’t seek his approval.
She just worked.
With quiet brilliance.
And Blake Steele was a man who respected excellence when he saw it.
- Writer
