CHAPTER 37: BUSINESS IS BUSINESS

I spent most of Saturday morning studying the Blackwood International project brief, and by lunchtime, I had filled three pages of my notebook with questions, ideas, and possible design solutions. The opportunity was exactly the kind of work I had dreamed about. It was challenging, important, and large enough to help me build a serious professional portfolio. But the company name at the top of every document made it difficult to think about the project without thinking about Alexander.

I wasn't afraid of competing. I was afraid of being judged before I had the chance to prove myself. If I won, people might say Alexander had arranged it. If I lost, they might assume I had never been qualified in the first place.

I wanted neither outcome to have anything to do with him.

When Alexander arrived that evening, I had the project folder open on the dining table. He glanced at it before looking at me.

"Still thinking about it?"

"I've been thinking about it all day."

He sat opposite me. "Tell me what's bothering you."

I turned the folder towards him. "Your company is the client. You're the CEO. We're seeing each other. Do you understand how that looks?"

His expression became serious. "Yes."

"I don't want anyone thinking I got this opportunity because of you. I don't want your employees questioning my work or assuming I've been given special treatment."

"I wouldn't want that either."

I studied his face, waiting to see whether he would offer an easy solution. The old Alexander might have called the department head, arranged a private meeting, or made sure the contract went to me before anyone else could object. But he didn't.

"The selection process should remain completely independent," he said. "I can formally remove myself from anything connected to the decision. The evaluation should be handled by people who have no personal connection to either of us."

"And you won't contact them?"

"I won't discuss your proposal with them, influence their assessment, or ask for updates. I'll make that clear in writing."

I nodded, but there was something else I needed to say. "I want the process documented. I want to know who is evaluating the proposals and what criteria they're using. And if anyone thinks there's a conflict of interest, I want it disclosed."

"That's reasonable."

"Alexander, I'm serious. I don't want you protecting me from criticism."

He gave a small, thoughtful smile. "I know. You're asking me to respect your work, not protect your reputation."

"Exactly."

He reached across the table, then stopped before touching my hand. "Then that's what I'll do. Whatever happens, you'll have earned the opportunity to compete. The result must be yours to win or lose."

For the first time since reading the project brief, I felt some of the pressure leave my shoulders.

The following week, Ethan helped me prepare my proposal. We worked through the budget, checked the measurements, and refined the presentation until every design choice had a clear purpose. I wanted the new centre to feel modern without being intimidating. I chose warm neutral colours, natural materials, comfortable seating, and plenty of daylight. I designed the shared spaces to encourage conversation while giving people quiet corners when they needed to concentrate.

"The important thing is that you explain why," Ethan reminded me during our final review. "Don't just show them something beautiful. Show them how it works."

I spent another evening practising my presentation in front of my mother and Daniel. Daniel interrupted twice to ask whether the meeting rooms would have free snacks, while my mother listened carefully and told me to slow down whenever I spoke too quickly.

By the time the presentation day arrived, I was nervous, but prepared.

Blackwood International's headquarters was as impressive as I remembered. The glass entrance reflected the morning sunlight, and the lobby was filled with employees moving between reception desks and security gates. Everything looked polished and organised, from the marble floors to the carefully arranged furniture. Yet walking through those doors as a professional candidate felt very different from entering the building as someone connected to Alexander's private life.

A receptionist checked my appointment and directed me to the twenty-third floor. Ethan was waiting near the lifts.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ask me again after the meeting."

He laughed. "You'll be fine."

The presentation room had a long table, a wall-sized screen, and tall windows overlooking the city. Several people were already seated. Some looked through printed documents, while others spoke quietly among themselves. I recognised none of them.

A woman introduced herself as the project coordinator and explained that the panel included representatives from facilities, finance, operations, and an external design consultant. She also confirmed that Alexander Blackwood had formally withdrawn from the selection process.

That helped, but I still noticed a few curious looks when my name appeared on the presentation schedule.

I connected my laptop and stood beside the screen.

"Good morning. My name is Amelia Carter, and I'd like to show you how I believe this development centre can become a more welcoming and productive space."

My voice sounded steadier than I felt.

I began with the problems I had identified in the existing layout. The reception area was too formal, the meeting rooms lacked flexibility, and the shared spaces did little to encourage interaction. I presented floor plans, material samples, lighting options, and budget estimates. I explained why I had chosen certain materials and how the design could remain attractive without creating unnecessary maintenance costs.

As I moved through the presentation, the room became quieter. People stopped checking their documents and began looking at the screen.

One of the operations representatives asked how the design would accommodate larger meetings without disrupting the rest of the centre.

I explained the flexible partition system and showed how the space could be divided into smaller rooms or opened into one larger area. Another panel member asked about the cost of natural materials, and I presented alternatives that maintained the same overall appearance while keeping the budget under control.

The external consultant leaned forward. "You've considered long-term maintenance quite carefully."

"Yes. I didn't want the design to look impressive for the first six months and become expensive to maintain afterward."

She nodded and made a note.

Then a man at the far end of the table closed his folder.

He looked to be in his late fifties, with silver hair, a dark suit, and an expression that suggested he was rarely impressed. His nameplate read Graham Whitmore — Senior Executive, Corporate Operations.

"Ms. Carter," he began, "your proposal is interesting. But I have a question about your experience."

I met his eyes. "Of course."

"Your portfolio is relatively small compared with those of the other candidates. This is a substantial corporate project. What makes you believe you're qualified to handle it?"

I had expected the question. I had prepared for it, but hearing it in that room still made my stomach tighten.

"I understand that my portfolio is smaller," I replied. "I'm at an earlier stage in my career, and I'm not pretending otherwise. But the size of a portfolio doesn't automatically determine the quality of a proposal. I've based this design on the requirements you provided, and I've included the budget, material specifications, layout plans, and practical solutions for the issues identified in your brief."

He glanced at the documents.

"There's also the question of how your application came to our attention. Some people might wonder whether your personal relationship with Mr. Blackwood influenced the process."

The room fell silent.

I felt my cheeks grow warm, but I kept my hands still.

"I understand why that question matters," I said. "That's precisely why I requested an independent selection process. Mr. Blackwood has no involvement in evaluating my proposal, and I have no expectation of special treatment. I submitted my work through the same process as every other candidate. I would prefer to be assessed on the quality of that work."

Whitmore studied me for several seconds.

"And if you aren't selected?"

"Then another candidate will have presented a stronger proposal, and I'll learn from the experience. But I don't believe my personal life should disqualify me before my work has been properly considered."

Nobody spoke immediately. Then the external consultant asked another question about the lighting design, and the meeting moved forward.

I answered everything I could. When I didn't know something, I said so and explained how I would find the answer rather than pretending to have all the solutions. By the time the presentation ended, my nerves had settled into something closer to confidence.

The coordinator thanked me and explained that the panel would review all submissions before announcing its decision. I packed my laptop and gathered my documents.

Outside the room, Ethan gave me an encouraging smile.

"You handled that well."

"I hope they thought so."

"You answered every question without losing your temper. That's not easy."

I looked back at the closed meeting-room door. I still had no idea whether I would be selected. I might not even make the final shortlist. But I had walked into that building with my own work, answered difficult questions, and refused to apologise for having a relationship with someone powerful.

Whatever happened next, I was proud of myself.

As Ethan headed towards the lifts, I stayed behind for a moment to collect my coat. I didn't notice that Graham Whitmore had returned to the corridor until I heard his voice.

"Mr. Blackwood."

I turned slightly.

Alexander had just stepped out of his private office at the far end of the floor. He had not attended the presentation, just as he had promised, but he was clearly there for other business.

Whitmore approached him, lowering his voice.

"There's something we need to discuss privately."

Alexander's expression remained controlled. "What is it?"

Whitmore glanced towards me, then back at him.

"Why is Amelia Carter being allowed anywhere near this company?"