Chapter 3 Spotlight

The days blurred together as I settled into the rhythm of the Grant Hotel Group. My mornings were filled with meetings, presentations, and reports. My afternoons, more often than not, were spent in one-on-one sessions with different team members. Every moment seemed important. Every decision, crucial.

But despite the busy schedule, something kept nagging at me. Something about Elliot Grant.

It wasn't just that he was intimidating. It was his aloofness. Every time I tried to get a read on him, he would pull back, giving me just enough of a glimpse to keep me intrigued. He never stayed long enough for me to figure him out, and honestly, I wasn't sure if I liked that. But there was something about his gaze, the way he studied me with a level of intensity that made me wonder if he saw something in me I couldn't see myself.

And it was beginning to drive me crazy.

I tried to focus on the work. The team had begun outlining the details of the modernization project, and I was put in charge of developing the financial projections and forecasts. It was a tough assignment, but it was the kind of challenge I was good at. The numbers made sense to me, the strategy was clear. But even when I was buried in spreadsheets, I could feel Elliot's presence. I'd catch him in passing, watching me from a distance, as if he was evaluating my every move.

It didn't help that every time we crossed paths, he seemed to test me. He would throw questions at me, subtle challenges designed to see if I could handle the pressure. It wasn't malicious. At least, I didn't think it was. But I couldn't shake the feeling that he was trying to provoke me, to see how far I could push myself.

That feeling only grew stronger one afternoon when he came into my office unannounced.

I was sitting at my desk, reviewing the latest data when I heard the door open. I didn't look up, assuming it was one of the team members stopping by with a question. But then I heard his voice, and I froze.

"Clara."

I looked up, startled to see Elliot standing in my doorway, his posture as rigid as ever. There was a slight frown on his face, his eyes locked on mine. "Got a minute?"

"Sure," I said, trying to stay composed. "What's up?"

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I wanted to go over your progress on the financial projections," he said, his tone businesslike. "We need to make sure everything aligns with our long-term goals."

I nodded, mentally preparing myself for the inevitable critique. "I've made some adjustments based on the market trends we discussed last week. I'll send you the updated version later today."

He didn't sit. Instead, he walked over to the whiteboard and tapped it with his pen. "You know, Clara, in this business, precision is everything. One wrong move, one bad calculation, and it could cost us millions. I don't need to tell you that, right?"

I swallowed, trying to steady my nerves. "I understand, Elliot. I'm on top of it."

"I hope so," he said, his voice dropping a little. "Because if you're not, I'll be the one who has to fix it."

I tried to keep my composure, but it was hard. There was something about the way he spoke-so calm, so assured-that made my insides tighten. Like he was daring me to mess up.

"I know the stakes," I replied, forcing myself to sound confident. "I won't let anything slip through the cracks."

Elliot studied me for a moment, his gaze hard and unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he nodded. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear."

And just like that, he turned and walked out of my office, leaving me feeling like I'd just been put through a test I wasn't sure I had passed.

The rest of the day was a blur. I worked through lunch, double-checking the numbers and recalculating the forecasts. Every time I thought about the conversation with Elliot, my heart would race. Was he just doing his job? Or was there something else behind his words?

As the evening approached, I finally finished the projections and sent them off to him, along with a brief explanation of the changes I'd made. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I prepared to hit "send," my mind racing. What if he didn't like what I'd done? What if it wasn't good enough?

I took a deep breath and clicked the button. There. It was done.

Just as I was about to log off, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Mark.

"Elliot's meeting with the team at 7. You should join, Clara. Time to see how you handle the spotlight."

I frowned, glancing at the time. It was already past six. I'd been so wrapped up in my work that I hadn't even realized the meeting was happening.

I didn't have time to think. I grabbed my jacket and headed down to the conference room, my nerves creeping back into my chest. I wasn't sure if I was ready for this. But one thing was certain-this meeting could make or break my reputation here.

The conference room was already full when I arrived. The team members were gathered around the large table, and Elliot was standing at the head, flipping through some papers. He glanced up when I walked in.

"Clara," he said, his voice like ice. "Glad you could make it. Let's see if you've done your homework."

My heart skipped a beat. I took my seat at the table, feeling the weight of his words, the tension in the room growing. Everyone was waiting for me to speak, waiting for me to prove myself.

I cleared my throat and opened my laptop, ready to present the projections. But as I looked around the table, I realized something. This wasn't just about numbers. This was about me proving that I belonged here. Proving that I could handle whatever Elliot and the team threw at me.

And for the first time since I started this job, I felt like I might actually be able to do it.