"The Battle of the Billionaires"

CHAPTER 2

Chapter 2: “The CEO’s Challenge”

Ava’s alarm rang earlier than usual the next morning, though she’d barely slept. Her mind had replayed every detail of the day before — the storm, the interview, and especially that piercing look from Liam Blackwell.

She dressed carefully, choosing a navy sheath dress she’d bought second-hand but tailored to fit her shape perfectly. Her shoes were polished, her makeup minimal but precise. If she was going to face the most intimidating man in the fashion world again, she wouldn’t look like a drenched commuter this time.

By 7:30 a.m. she was already at Blackwell Tower, well before most staff. The lobby felt calmer at this hour, the chandelier’s crystal drops catching the early sunlight instead of fluorescent glare. She breathed in the scent of fresh-brewed coffee and leather furniture and tried to convince herself she belonged here.

On the thirty-fifth floor, she found Mr Grant already reviewing sketches at his desk. The senior director looked up with raised brows.

“Punctual. That’s a good start,” he said.

“I figured it’s better to be early than memorable for the wrong reasons,” she replied, offering a polite smile.

Grant chuckled softly. “You’ll need that sense of humour. The CEO called for a division briefing at nine sharp. I suggest you sit in — you’ll see how things really run here.”

The idea both thrilled and terrified her. Sitting in on a meeting with Liam Blackwell on her first official day felt like being thrown into a lion’s den. But she nodded. “Of course. I’d like to learn.”

She spent the next hour quietly arranging her small workspace: a drafting table near the window, a pinboard for inspiration swatches, a cup of cheap pens that looked out of place amid the sleek chrome desks. She tried not to overhear the other junior designers whispering about her; she caught fragments — “That’s the new one… came from Queens… must have impressed Grant fast.”

At exactly nine, the staff filed into the glass-walled conference room that overlooked the skyline. Ava took a seat near the end of the long table, heart thudding as Liam entered. He carried no papers, only a sleek tablet, and wore the same air of cool command as yesterday. Conversation hushed instantly.

He began the meeting without preamble. “We’re six weeks out from the Spring Line showcase. Sales from last quarter dipped five percent. That ends now. I want fresh concepts that balance innovation with the Blackwell signature. No excuses.” His gaze swept the room like a spotlight.

Ava straightened in her chair, taking notes even though his words felt like directives carved in stone.

When the discussion turned to design pitches, Grant introduced her. “This is Ava Cruz, our newest junior designer. She’ll be working on preliminary sketches for the evening-wear segment.”

Liam’s eyes met hers across the table. “Evening-wear is the heart of our brand. If you’re not afraid to risk something bold, now’s the time to prove it.”

There was no warmth in his tone, but it wasn’t dismissive either — more like a gauntlet thrown. Ava nodded, unsure whether she’d just been encouraged or warned.

The rest of the meeting sped by in a blur of sales figures, marketing timelines, and logistical issues. When it adjourned, most employees hurried out to their departments. Ava lingered to collect her notes, only to hear Liam’s voice behind her.

“Miss Cruz.”

She turned quickly. “Yes, Mr Blackwell?”

He studied her for a moment, arms crossed. “You looked like you wanted to speak during the meeting.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I—just had a few thoughts about colour palettes for the spring showcase. But I didn’t think it was my place yet.”

His brows lifted slightly. “If you have ideas, speak. We hire people to think, not to stay silent. Bring me a concept board by tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow morning. The words hit her like a sudden gust of wind. She managed to keep her voice steady. “Understood.”

“Good,” he said, already turning away. “Let’s see if you can handle pressure better than the weather handled you yesterday.”

His remark made her flush again, this time with a mix of embarrassment and determination. Fine, she thought. I’ll show you I can handle more than a little rain.

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind. Ava immersed herself in sketching after researching current trends and revisiting Blackwell’s archived designs. She taped swatches of shimmering satin and textured crepe to her board, experimented with brush strokes of aquamarine, blush gold, and midnight violet — colours that whispered of spring nights in the city.

By late afternoon her fingers were smudged with pencil graphite, her shoulders stiff, but a spark of pride lit her eyes. Her concept was daring yet respectful of the brand’s elegance: asymmetrical evening gowns that flowed like rain-streaked skylines, accented with delicate metallic threads that caught light as subtly as morning dew.

Mr Grant stopped by near closing time and examined her board quietly.

“Interesting. You went for movement in the lines,” he murmured.

“I wanted the designs to feel alive — like the city after a storm,” she said.

A faint smile curved his lips. “That’s the kind of language Liam responds to. Keep refining. He asked for this tomorrow, but if you’re confident, you could show it to him before you leave.”

Her stomach fluttered. “Now?”

“Now. He’s still in his office. Might as well face the challenge head-on.”

Ava hesitated only a moment before gathering her sketches. She walked the short hallway to the corner office, each step echoing her quickening heartbeat. Through the half-open door she saw Liam by the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled up as he scrolled through data on his tablet.

She knocked gently. “Sir? May I show you the concept board you requested?”

He looked up, expression unreadable. “Already?”

“I thought you’d want an early preview,” she said, trying to sound composed.

“Come in.”

She propped the board against the edge of his desk. Under the glow of the floor lamp, the sketches looked almost luminous. Liam studied them in silence, moving closer. She could feel the weight of his scrutiny; it was as if the room itself held its breath.

Finally, he nodded once. “Not bad.”

Ava bit the inside of her cheek. “I’ll take ‘not bad’ as a start.”

A hint of amusement flickered across his eyes — gone as quickly as it appeared. “The lines are fresh. The metallic accents might photograph well under stage lighting. Keep refining. And remember: confidence sells the design as much as the cut.”

“I understand,” she said, relieved yet oddly eager for more of his elusive praise.

As she gathered her board, Liam added, “Miss Cruz… New York rains often. Bring an umbrella that can survive it next time.”

She couldn’t help but laugh softly, tension breaking for a moment. “I’ll invest in a better one.”

Walking out of the office, she realised her nerves had shifted into determination. The CEO might be demanding, but she wasn’t here to shrink under pressure — she was here to rise.

Outside, evening lights sparkled on the wet streets. Ava paused by the lobby’s glass doors, her reflection caught between city lights and the tower behind her. For the first time in a long while, she felt the stirrings of belonging.

She whispered to herself, “Game on, Mr Blackwell.”