Chapter 8: First Heated Exchange

Celeste’s POV

If there’s one thing I hate more than bad coffee, it’s being told how to do my job especially when I’ve been in the events game for years. Okay, maybe not “decades” level of years, but still. I’ve planned weddings where the bride’s mother tried to set the groom on fire with a candelabra (long story), and somehow I came out with applause. So yeah, I know my stuff.

But Julian Sterling? The man thinks because his name is stamped across the glass doors of Sterling Enterprise, his every word is gospel. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

“Move the entire layout to the east wall,” he said, not even looking at me but at his stupidly sleek tablet.

My pen paused midair over the seating chart. “The east wall?” I repeated slowly, because maybe he just misread the blueprint.

“Yes,” he said, still not looking at me. “The lighting there is better.”

I stared at the floor plan again. The east wall is where we’ve got the buffet setup, the floral arch, and oh, right a massive load-bearing column in the middle.

“If I move everything there,” I said, keeping my voice polite but tight, “our guests will be staring at a concrete pillar during the keynote speech. Very inspirational, I’m sure.”

Finally, he looked up. That unreadable gaze pinned me like I was a rookie on her first day. “Are you suggesting my judgment is flawed, Ms. Marshall?”

I smiled the way people do right before they slap someone in a movie. “I’m suggesting your ‘better lighting’ doesn’t magically erase architectural obstacles.”

A flicker. Just a flicker in his eyes annoyance, maybe? Or curiosity? Whatever it was, it made my stomach tighten in a way I did not approve of.

“Adjust the plan,” he said, voice low. “Make it work.”

I leaned back in my chair. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll know exactly where to place responsibility.”

Ouch. The man really knew how to serve ice with a side of intimidation.

“Fine,” I said, shoving the seating chart toward him. “But when your guests start tweeting about the ‘pillar of doom,’ don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His mouth twitched. I swear it almost became a smirk, but then he shut it down so fast I wondered if I imagined it.

Julian’s POV

She’s infuriating.

Celeste Marshall walks into my office with that determined little set of her jaw, like she’s already ready to fight me before I even open my mouth. It’s… irritating. And distracting. And I do not get distracted.

Her pushback just now it wasn’t about the wall. It was about control. And I’ll be damned if I let someone else set the pace in my own company.

Still… the way she countered me with logic instead of just emotion was rare. Most people cave when I make a directive. She didn’t. She looked me straight in the eye and threw my order back like a challenge.

I hate challenges.

Except when I don’t.

I leaned back, observing her scribbling on the blueprint with a sharpness that bordered on defiance. She was doing it to prove she could, even though she thought my suggestion was idiotic. I knew that because I could practically hear her muttering insults in her head.

“Your plan had a flaw,” she said, not looking up.

I raised a brow. “And you’re here to save me from myself?”

Her pen paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing. “Someone has to.”

That did it. The corner of my mouth actually twitched. She didn’t see it thank God.

“You’re bold for a contractor,” I said, deliberately letting my voice drop an octave.

“Or maybe,” she said, finally glancing up, “I’m just right.”

There it was again heat under the ice. And I don’t mean just in her words. There’s something about the way she stands her ground that makes me want to test just how far she’ll go before she cracks.

I shouldn’t want that.

I especially shouldn’t notice the faint scent of her perfume when she leans across the table, or how her fingers brush the paper like she’s coaxing it into shape.

But I do.

And that’s the problem.

Celeste’s POV

By the time we’re done “discussing” the layout which is basically me proving my original plan works and him not admitting I’m right I’m sweating. Not from nerves, though. More from the way his gaze keeps flicking to me like he’s evaluating something beyond my work.

And then, the most bizarre thing happens.

“Keep it your way,” he says, just like that.

I blink. “Wait… seriously?”

He nods, eyes narrowing like he’s gauging my reaction.

I’m tempted to say something snarky, but instead I just gather my papers and stand. “Noted.”

As I head toward the door, I hear him say under his breath, “This is going to be interesting.”

I pretend I didn’t hear.

Because if I did, I’d have to admit I agree.