Chapter 4 Early Morning Ambush

I barely slept at all. I was working through the night surrounded by sketches and concept boards, with bad coffee and determination being the motivators. When my alarm sounded at 6 AM, I had three rough ideas for the Archer campaign.

My eyes were burning as I looked at my reflection. Black circles around my eyes made me look like someone who'd been through three rounds of a boxing match. I did my best with concealer and pulled my hair into a tidy bun.

Professional. Confident. Not even slightly intimidated by the meeting to come with my dreaded boss.

At exactly 7:30, my phone rang.

*Boss from Hell: Car is outside.*

When I reached the street, a black sedan was parked by the curb, the same one Blackwood had disappeared into last night. The driver, an older man with kindly eyes, opened the door for me.

"Good morning, Ms. Gray."

"Morning," I replied, getting in the backseat.

I anticipated seeing Blackwood inside. Instead, the sedan was empty, its leather seats spotless and with a slight whiff of expensive cologne.

The drive to Blackwood Tower was less than ten minutes in the dawn traffic. My stomach tied itself in knots with each block, anxiety mounting. What if my suggestions were not sufficient? What if dinner last night had worked him away from me?

The car came to a stop in front of a private gate that I hadn't noticed before. The driver opened the door for me.

"Mr. Blackwood is in the executive gym, level 35," he told me, producing a key card. "This will get you in."

The executive gym? That was wrong.

But a cutting-edge exercise center was right in front of me when I used the card. Glass walls from floor to ceiling offered a stunning panorama of the city waking up. The room was empty except for one person.

Alexander Blackwood was pummeling a punching bag with controlled anger, his back to me. He wore black athletic shorts and a fitted gray t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders, now glistening with sweat. It was unsettling to see him without his usual covering of carefully tailored business suits.

I stood stock still, not knowing whether to shout or retreat back to the elevator. I didn't have time to decide before he spoke to me over his shoulder.

"You're punctual, Ms. Gray. I appreciate it."

He made one final, hard punch at the bag and turned to face me. His hair was disheveled, his face red with exertion. He looked younger somehow. Almost human.

"I, uh, brought my ideas," I explained, lifting my portfolio. "Though I wasn't expecting to display them in a gym."

Something like amusement flickered over his eyes. "I start every day here at 5 AM. It clears my head." He reached for a towel on a bench nearby. "Take five minutes to shower. There's coffee in my office through there."

He nodded toward a glass door at the opposite end of the gym before ducking through another door.

His own office bore little resemblance to the staid room where I'd conducted the interview. This office was smaller, somehow cozier, with a plush leather couch and bookshelves that filled most of one wall. Family portraits were notably lacking, I observed.

There was a humming coffee machine in the corner with a note beside it: "Help yourself." The handwriting was blocky and sloping.

I made myself a cup and tried to unwind by looking at the books on his shelves. Business strategy, architecture, classical literature – not what I had expected from a cold-blooded CEO.

"Find anything interesting?"

I nearly spilled my coffee. Blackwood stood in the doorway, completely transformed back into the tall businessman in the charcoal suit and blue tie. His hair was still damp from the shower.

"Sorry," I grunted automatically. "I was just..."

"You apologize too much," he interrupted, striding to the coffee machine. "It undermines your authority."

I stifled another apology. "Noted."

He gestured for me to sit on the couch while he sat in an armchair facing me. No desk between us this time.

"Show me what you've got," he said, sipping his coffee.

With slightly trembling hands, I opened my portfolio and spread out three concept boards. I'd worked all night on these, trying to come up with something that would blow him away.

"Archer watches have traditionally marketed themselves as status symbols for older wealthy men," I demonstrated. "But that market is shrinking. To attract young tech entrepreneurs, they need to reposition."

I pointed to my first design. "This approach is based on innovation, combining Archer's Swiss know-how with the newest technology. Old-school craftsmanship combined with new-vision."

Blackwood studied it silently, his expression unreadable.

I moved to the second board. "This concept is more life-oriented. Instead of portraying the watches as symbols of success, we portray them as tools for people who value their time. 'For those who make every second count.'"

No reaction yet.

My confidence wavered as I presented the third concept to her. "This one's a little more. avant-garde. It acknowledges that nobody needs an expensive watch to tell the time anymore. Instead, we position Archer as the choice for people who care about design and quality in a world that's increasingly digital."

When I finished, Blackwood did not comment, examining each board in a systematic manner. The silence dragged on until I couldn't stand it anymore.

"They're just rough ideas," I said quickly. "I can head in another direction with them if...I'm"

"The third one," he cut in. "Make that work."

I blinked. "Seriously? It's the riskiest approach."

"Exactly." He moved closer. "Archer's problem isn't the quality of their products. It's that they can't tell me why anyone under forty would care about mechanical watches."

He had brushed his fingers across my third concept board. "This addresses that directly. It's genuine. Honest."

Our eyes had met.

"Like you."

His praise startled me. "Thank you."

"However," he continued, "the execution fails. The visuals are too safe, too cautious. If the concept is revolutionary, then so should be the imagery."

He was right, of course. I had been holding back on the design, not wishing to take things too far.

"I can redo it," I told him. "Perhaps something more."

"Provocative," he completed. "Illustrate the difference between throwaway technology and enduring craftsmanship."

I was impressed by his observations. For a man who sounded all about business, he understood creative strategy well enough.

"Why me?" I found myself asking before I could catch it.

Blackwood's eyebrow rose. "Excuse me?"

Too late to turn back now. "Why put me on this project? You've got dozens of experienced designers. I'm just. me."

He stared at me for a long time. "The creative department has become complacent. They take old ideas and recycle them with new names. You're a wild card."

"So I'm a system shock?"

"Something like that." A smile danced at the corner of his mouth.

I took a deep breath. "And last night? The restaurant? Was that part of the project too?"

His expression shut down. "Kim has enormous potential, but he is prone to getting distracted by personal matters."

"Women."

"I mean anything other than the job." Blackwood stood up. "The car will take you to the office. Work on the concept for the ten o'clock team meeting."

The brush-off was irrevocable, but something made me fight it.

"Mr. Blackwood," I stood, looking into his eyes. "I value your interest, but I can handle my own personal affairs."

His face darkened. "When those affairs affect my business, they become my business."

"Jason and I aren't involved. We had dinner."

"This time." He stepped closer. "But Kim has a past, Ms. Gray. And you're. delicate."

The term stung. "Because I'm new? Or because you think me weak?"

"Because you're good enough that I don't want to see you derailed." His voice fell. "Office relationships don't typically work. Particularly not when there's a power difference."

Part of me wondered if he was speaking from experience.

"Is that what happened between you and Vanessa?" I blurted out before I could get my senses.

His expression turned cold. "That's not pertinent to this conversation."

But his reaction informed me I'd hit a nerve.

"I should put the revisions in motion," I said, gathering my belongings.

He nodded curtly. "We're meeting with Archer next week. I'll be attending."

Great. More anxiety.

I headed for the door, and he spoke up behind me.

"Ms. Gray?"

I turned. "Yes?"

"Don't sell yourself short." His gaze locked with mine. "Or Vanessa Sharp."

The threat sent a shiver down my spine. "What do you mean?"

"It is that she visited the creative department last night. Asking about you."

My gut dropped. "Why would she care about me?"

"That," he replied firmly, "is what concerns me."

The ride down to the 28th floor in the elevator gave me time to consider the bizarre morning. Blackwood's restraint when it came to Vanessa. His surprise reaction to my concepts. The strange undercurrent between us that wasn't quite professional.

As I came to my station, there sat a tiny box with a card: "For the late night. – J"

Inside it was a chocolate croissant and a gourmet cup of coffee. The consideration touched me, and I felt pleased in spite of my tiredness.

I noticed Jason standing way over at the other end of the office, chatting with fellow employees. He noticed my eye and winked, simulating sipping coffee.

I gestured "thanks" and gave a thumbs up.

Blackwood's warning rang in my head. Was Jason really a workplace player? Or was Blackwood trying to freeze me out for some reason?

As I booted my computer, an email alert flashed.

From: V.Sharp@SharpIndustries.com

Subject: Lunch?

*Olivia darling,*

*I think we started off on the wrong foot. Let me repay you with lunch today? There is so much I can tell you about Alex.and Blackwood Industries. Something a new employee might like to know.*

*Vanessa*

My finger trembled over the delete key. All my instincts were telling me to avoid Vanessa Sharp.

But curiosity was louder. What did she require of me? And what would she reveal about Alexander Blackwood that I didn't already know?

The morning meeting in thirty minutes. I had to be focused on the Archer campaign, not office politics and vague threats.

Nonetheless, I couldn't help but wonder what game I'd unknowingly enlisted in, and if there was any chance of winning.