Chapter 1 — Presentation Disaster

Sophie

The conference room was a battlefield of sleek glass, polished steel, and unrelenting gazes. Sophie Bennett felt the weight of every eye on her as she stood at the head of the elongated table, her meticulously prepared presentation displayed on the oversized screen behind her. The faint hum of the projector seemed louder than her own heartbeat, which was thundering in her ears. The air smelled faintly of fresh brew from the coffee station in the corner, but the rich aroma did little to settle her nerves. She gripped the edge of the table tightly, her knuckles whitening as she tried to steady her voice.

“This concept,” she began, clicking the remote in her hand to change the slide, "is inspired by the idea of fostering connection. The Grandstone Building was once a place where the community thrived—art, laughter, gatherings. I want to bring that warmth back into the design.”

A hand-drawn slide appeared—a sketch of the Grandstone’s rooftop garden, its once-wild overgrowth tamed into a vibrant sanctuary. Colorful flowers spilled over restored trellises, and cozy seating nooks were interspersed among lush greenery. Gentle sunlight bathed the imagined space in warmth, and Sophie had even detailed planters overflowing with blooms designed to bring life to the edges of the rooftop.

“Take the rooftop garden, for example,” Sophie continued, her voice gaining momentum. “Originally, it was a retreat, a haven for anyone seeking peace amidst the bustle of the city. By preserving its natural elements and weaving in modern touches, we can make it a focal point of the building’s revival. A space for community events, quiet reflection, or even small exhibitions. It’s not just about the design—it’s about giving the Grandstone back its soul.”

Her bright green eyes scanned the room, searching for reactions among the executives’ sharp suits and unreadable faces. The weight of their silence pressed down on her. Mia had suggested picturing everyone in their underwear to ease her nerves, but the fleeting thought of Robert Whitaker shirtless derailed her focus more than it helped. Sophie swallowed hard and clicked to the next slide.

“To honor the building’s history, I’ve incorporated natural materials like reclaimed wood and stone, echoing its original architecture,” she explained, her voice now tumbling out faster. “These elements don’t just reduce waste but create a sense of continuity with the past. The design strikes a balance between nostalgia and functionality—”

“Ms. Bennett.”

Robert’s calm, cutting voice sliced through her thoughts. He leaned forward, his dark hair perfectly in place, his piercing blue eyes fixed on her with surgical precision. He didn’t raise his voice, but the weight of his words was unmistakable. “While your enthusiasm is evident,” he began, “I’m struggling to see how any of this is practical or feasible within the given constraints.”

Sophie blinked, her carefully prepared train of thought suddenly skidding to a halt. “I—I’ve accounted for budgetary concerns—”

“With natural materials?” Robert interrupted, his tone cool but precise. “Do you have the cost projections for sourcing reclaimed wood at this scale? What about the supply chain logistics? The increased labor estimates for restoring a garden that’s been abandoned for decades?” His fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression as sharp and polished as the glass table. “Design is about solving problems, not creating new ones.”

The words landed like lead in her chest. Sophie felt her cheeks flush hot, the heat creeping up to her ears as her pulse raced. She gripped the remote tighter, her hand trembling.

“Mr. Whitaker,” she began, trying to rally herself, “I believe that through careful planning, we can achieve—”

“Sophie,” another voice interjected, syrupy and smooth. Vivienne Crawford. Perched elegantly in her chair, her sharp features framed by her signature sleek blonde bob, Vivienne offered a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. In one hand, she clicked her diamond-tipped fountain pen softly, the sound somehow both soothing and menacing. “What Robert is trying to say,” she said, her words carefully measured, “is that perhaps you’ve become too… emotionally attached to this idea. Passion is a wonderful thing, but our clients are paying for results, not sentimentality. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Sophie’s fingers tightened on the remote, her knuckles white. Vivienne’s words were coated in a veneer of helpfulness, but their condescension was razor-sharp. Sophie glanced at Mia, seated further down the table, who gave her a small, encouraging nod. Her brown eyes practically willed Sophie to keep going.

“This isn’t sentimentality,” Sophie said, her voice steadier now, though her hands betrayed her tension. “It’s about creating spaces that resonate with people, that make them feel connected—not just to the space but to each other. Isn’t that the whole point of design? To create something meaningful?”

Robert’s jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of something crossing his face—a hesitation, maybe?—before his mask of professionalism returned. He didn’t respond. Vivienne, however, let out a soft, knowing chuckle as if Sophie had just suggested turning the Grandstone into a playground.

“An admirable goal, Sophie,” Vivienne said, her tone saccharine. “But let us not forget—this project is a corporate investment. Not an art exhibit.”

The tension in the room was suffocating. Sophie’s heart hammered against her ribs as she fought to maintain composure. She felt her throat tighten, her chest constricting as her words faltered.

“Thank you for your input, Ms. Bennett,” Robert said suddenly, his tone cool and final. “We’ll take it under advisement.”

The dismissal stung. Sophie opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she forced a tight smile, nodded, and began gathering her materials with trembling hands.

The room emptied quickly, the soft murmur of executives’ voices fading as they filed out. Vivienne swept past Sophie, her pen glinting as she slipped it into her jacket pocket. “Chin up, dear,” she said lightly, not bothering to look back.

Sophie sank into one of the chairs, staring at the now-blank screen. Her head swam with a toxic mix of humiliation and frustration. She replayed Robert’s words—“Design is about solving problems”—over and over in her mind, each repetition twisting the knife deeper.

“Hey,” a soft voice broke through her thoughts. Sophie looked up to see Mia hovering nearby, her colorful sneakers peeking out from beneath a bohemian dress. “You okay?”

Sophie let out a shaky laugh. “Define okay.”

Mia plopped into the chair beside her, resting her chin on her hand. “For what it’s worth, I thought your ideas were brilliant. They just don’t get it. Yet.”

Sophie offered a faint, grateful smile. “Maybe they’re right,” she muttered, fiddling with the corner of her blazer. “Maybe I’m just… out of my depth.”

“Not a chance,” Mia said firmly, reaching over to give Sophie’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got something they don’t—heart. And trust me, the Grandstone needs that more than it needs another spreadsheet.”

“Heart doesn’t win clients,” Sophie said with a bitter smile, but her tone softened at Mia’s unwavering support.

“It will if you make them see it,” Mia replied, her voice bright. “Besides, I once managed to win over a barista after botching three lattes in a row. If I can do that, you can sell these ideas. You’ve got this.”

Sophie chuckled softly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks, Mia.”

Mia launched into a story about her disastrous latte-art attempts, managing to pull a genuine laugh from Sophie. But as Sophie left the conference room, the weight of Robert’s critique still pressed on her, gnawing at the edges of her resolve.

The hallways were mostly empty when Sophie passed Robert’s office. Through the glass wall, she caught a glimpse of him—head bent over a notebook, scribbling furiously. His expression was hard and unreadable, but the tension in his posture gave her pause. For a brief moment, Sophie wondered what was going through his mind.

She hesitated, gripping her sketchbook tightly. A dozen sharp retorts and defenses bubbled on her tongue, but she swallowed them and kept walking.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

As she stepped into the elevator, Sophie’s gaze dropped to her sketchbook, the edges of its leather cover worn from countless late nights. She exhaled deeply, her grip tightening.

Wishful thinking? Maybe. But it was also her greatest strength. And she was determined to prove it.