"The Battle of the Billionaires"

CHAPTER 5

Chapter 5: “The Contract Dinner”

By the end of the week the studio was buzzing like a hive. The Spring Line showcase was less than two months away, and every designer seemed to be running on caffeine and adrenaline.

Ava had been so absorbed in finalising the prototype sketches for the smart-fabric gown that she almost didn’t notice Samantha appear beside her desk late Friday afternoon, a sleek leather folder tucked under her arm.

“Cruz,” Samantha said crisply. “Mr Blackwell wants you at a dinner meeting tonight. Seven-thirty. The Rosewood Hotel — private dining room.”

Ava looked up, startled. “Dinner… with the team?”

“With Mr Blackwell,” Samantha clarified, her voice smooth as glass. “He wants to review the Ward Tech contract and the collaboration piece. Formal attire. Don’t be late.”

Before Ava could ask anything else, Samantha had turned away to distribute more folders to other staff.

Ava stared after her, pulse quickening. Dinner with Liam Blackwell. Alone.

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She went home early to prepare, rummaging through her small closet for something that would pass for formal yet understated. She chose a navy sheath dress that skimmed her figure without being flashy, pairing it with a simple silver necklace and the only pair of black heels she owned.

The Rosewood Hotel’s private dining room was a world away from her modest apartment: all marble floors, amber-lit chandeliers, and glass walls framing the glittering city skyline. A maître d’ led her through to a quiet corner table set for two.

Liam was already there, seated with the ease of someone who belonged to such places. He wore a charcoal suit that somehow looked sharper than what he wore at the office, the tie loosened just enough to soften his otherwise austere appearance.

“Cruz,” he said by way of greeting, rising briefly before gesturing for her to sit. “You’re on time. Good.”

Ava felt her nerves spike but kept her voice steady. “You asked for a meeting. I thought punctuality was important.”

A flicker of amusement touched his mouth — so brief she almost missed it. “It is.”

The waiter appeared to take their orders: Liam requested seared salmon with roasted vegetables; Ava opted for pasta primavera. The clink of crystal glasses and the low murmur of distant conversations wrapped them in a strangely intimate bubble.

Liam opened the leather folder beside him, sliding a printed contract toward her. “Ward Tech’s pilot collaboration. I want you to review the design clause. Ethan Ward suggested we showcase your gown as the centrepiece of the fabric reveal.”

Ava scanned the page, surprised. “He named my design specifically?”

“Yes. He’s shrewd like that,” Liam replied, watching her expression. “But it works in our favour. Your concept has potential. We just have to make sure the contract keeps creative credit with Blackwell.”

She nodded, focusing on the clauses. Still, she couldn’t ignore the weight of Liam’s presence across the table — the way his attention seemed to rest entirely on her, as if he was evaluating more than just her ability to read a contract.

Once the papers were set aside, their conversation shifted. He asked about her design process, her inspirations. It was the first time he’d spoken to her without the clipped formality of the office, and Ava found herself talking about her childhood sketching gowns for paper dolls, about her fascination with how fabric moved on a real body.

Liam listened in silence, chin resting lightly on one hand. When she faltered, he asked questions that were surprisingly thoughtful, even gentle.

“You draw in movement,” he said finally. “That’s rare. Most designers sketch in stillness.”

Ava laughed softly. “It’s probably because I always pictured them walking down a runway in my head.”

His gaze lingered on her, unreadable yet no longer cold. “That vision is exactly what makes your designs worth watching.”

The words caught her off guard. Coming from Liam Blackwell — a man reputed for his stoicism and brutal honesty — it felt like an unexpected compliment. She found herself smiling before she realised it.

The food arrived, giving her a moment to compose herself. Over the meal their conversation turned to the upcoming showcase and the logistical hurdles of integrating new tech fabrics into couture designs. For a while, they sounded less like boss and employee and more like two professionals brainstorming late into the night.

When dessert was offered — molten chocolate cake — Liam ordered one for the table. Ava almost declined but changed her mind when she saw the faintest spark of mischief in his eyes.

As they shared the dessert, a comfortable silence fell between them. Through the glass wall, the skyline shimmered like scattered diamonds under the night sky.

Ava broke the quiet with a hesitant question. “Is it true what they say… about the rivalry with Ward Tech?”

Liam’s fork paused mid-air. His eyes met hers, dark and steady. “People say many things. Most of them half-true at best.”

“Half-true?” she echoed softly.

“There was a merger once. It ended badly. Ward and I… inherited the consequences.” His tone left no room for further probing. “Focus on your designs. Leave the rest to me.”

Ava nodded, sensing the line she shouldn’t cross, yet the flicker of vulnerability in his voice lingered in her mind.

When the meal ended, Liam stood and offered to walk her to the curb. Outside, a light drizzle misted the pavement. A black car waited at the entrance — his driver.

“I’ll have you dropped home,” he said simply, holding the door open for her.

For a brief moment, as she stepped into the car, their eyes met again. Something unspoken passed between them — a faint current beneath the calm surface.

On the ride back to her apartment, Ava stared out at the rain-blurred lights of the city, wondering what exactly had shifted between them during that dinner.

Whatever it was, it felt like the first crack in the wall Liam Blackwell kept so carefully around himself.