CHAPTER 18- MORE THAN ONE BOSS

Anna's POV 

The messages kept arriving.

I finished the wind-load notes and sent the revised model back to Jun with three clear instructions. Before the reply came, Mei appeared at my door with a cost summary from Finance. The material substitution they proposed would save money on the east tower cladding but changed the thermal performance enough to affect the environmental targets. I compared the two reports side by side, marked the conflicting lines, and called the Procurement desk.

A woman named Helen answered. Her voice was brisk, already mid-calculation on another project. I explained the conflict without raising my tone. She listened, asked for the exact specification numbers, and promised a revised quote by mid-afternoon. I thanked her and ended the call, then forwarded the marked pages to the Environmental team with a short note requesting their assessment of the performance drop.

Emily returned with a tablet full of coordination requests. We sat at the side table and worked through them in order. Architecture needed confirmation on the setback dimensions. Engineering wanted clarity on the transfer-beam revision before they locked the steel package. Project Development required an updated timeline that reflected the new consultant constraints. I answered each one with the data I had, noted what still needed verification, and assigned the follow-ups.

A senior engineer from the structural group, Chen, stopped by with a rolled set of connection details. He waited until I finished speaking with Emily, then spread the sheets across the remaining space on the table.

“The joint at grid C still shows a clash with the service riser,” he said. “If we shift it, we lose clearance on the public terrace.”

I leaned over the drawing, traced the conflict with one finger, and proposed a minor rotation of the riser core. Chen studied the change, nodded once, and took the sheets back to revise. The exchange lasted less than four minutes. No extra words.

By late morning the volume of open items had grown. I opened a fresh document and began compiling a concise breakdown for Andreas, starting from key decisions made, remaining conflicts, cost implications, and the revised sequence for the next two weeks. The responsibility settled heavier with every line I added. I was not only designing. I was holding the threads that connected six departments and making sure none of them pulled the others out of alignment.

At 11:40 a message appeared on my screen.

“My office. Five minutes. Bring the breakdown”.

I saved the file, printed two clean copies, and walked the corridor to the corner office. The door was open. Andreas sat behind the desk, one folder already open in front of him. He did not look up until I placed the pages on the clear space between us.

“Summarize the material conflict,” he said.

I did. The original cladding, the proposed substitution, the thermal difference, the effect on the environmental certification targets, and the cost delta Helen had confirmed. He asked three questions, each short, each aimed at a specific number or risk. I answered without hesitation. My hands remained still at my sides.

He turned one page, scanned the timeline, then closed the folder.

“Lock the original cladding. Inform Procurement and Environmental today. Adjust the cost report accordingly and send the final version before six.”

“Understood.”

He gave a single nod. The interaction ended. I left the office with the second copy of the breakdown still in my hand and returned to my desk. The entire exchange had taken under seven minutes. 

Emily was waiting when I sat down again. We divided the remaining tasks. She handled the internal notifications while I drafted the formal confirmation to Helen and the Environmental lead. Other members of the team moved in and out..Jun with a progress update on the massing model, a junior architect with a question about drawing standards, an administrative coordinator confirming the booking for the next client review. 

Each conversation stayed focused on the work. I answered, directed, and kept the document open so nothing slipped.

Late in the afternoon Emily gathered her tablet and stood.

“I’m heading out. Don’t stay past seven if you can help it.”

“I’ll finish the cost adjustment and the next-stage notes. Then I’ll go.”

She gave a small, knowing look and left.

The open floor gradually emptied, screens went dark, the low conversations faded until only the soft hum of the building systems remained. I stayed at my desk, organizing the day’s findings into a clean sequence for tomorrow, open items, decisions locked, questions still waiting for answers. The corporate machine kept turning even after the people left. I could feel the size of it now: not one difficult CEO, but an entire network of departments, deadlines, and expectations that all had to move together.

I reached for the small bottle of hand cream in the drawer, the unscented one I kept for days when my hands felt dry from paper and screens. I smoothed a thin layer over my palms. The faint, clean scent rose.

My hands stilled.

For a moment the quiet office dissolved. The same light fragrance, the same clean note against skin, a hotel room five years earlier, low light, a stranger’s voice close to my ear. The memory arrived without permission and without full shape, only the sensory edge of it.

I closed the bottle and set it back in the drawer. My fingers remained pressed against the edge of the desk until the fragment loosened its hold.

I returned to the open document and continued typing.