TANGLED WITH MR BLACKWOOD

Monday, 11:32 AM | Blackwood Signature Events HQ

Lexi didn't float back to her desk — but it was close.

Every heel-click on the polished floor felt different now. Not because she was showing off, but because for the first time in a long time… she didn't feel like she was pretending to belong.

She had sat across from Mr. Blackwood. Spoken. Delivered. Walked away without crumbling under that storm-gray stare of his. And though her heart had drummed like a parade the entire time, he hadn't dismissed her. He'd listened.

But of course, that feeling didn't go unchecked.

As she rounded the corner to her desk, the familiar office noise dimmed just enough for tension to stretch in the air. Vanessa, the polished blonde from PR, looked up with a tight smile — the kind that never touched her eyes.

> "Well, well. Look who just came back from the marble tower," she said sweetly, leaning back in her chair like a queen lounging in her court.

Lexi met her gaze, her face unreadable. "Just a project update."

> "Right. A project that requires a private audience with Mr. Blackwood." Vanessa's smile sharpened, all teeth and implication. "Not bad for week three."

From across the room, Camille — an older events staffer with glossy black hair and a reputation for seasoned sarcasm — let out a dry snicker.

> "Let's hope it's not beginner's luck," she muttered to no one in particular, flipping through a vendor catalog as if it personally offended her.

Lexi didn't respond. Not with words, anyway. She let the silence stretch between them like tempered glass. Cool. Controlled. She sat down at her desk, slid on her headset, and clicked open the latest email from Ava:

> Your team is ready. Conference Room 2B. You lead. They follow.

Lexi's fingers stilled for a beat. Her heart flipped — not out of fear, but something bigger. This was the part where she stopped riding the wave and started steering it.

 The First Official Gala Team Briefing

12:06 PM | Conference Room 2B

By noon, the room buzzed with light chatter and caffeine-fueled energy. The table gleamed. A whiteboard waited at the front, already marked with fresh red ink. Beside it, a pitcher of water and a stack of crisp notepads signaled one thing — war room mode.

Lexi stepped in with Maya at her side.

> "Okay people," Maya grinned, dropping her bag with a thud, "time to make magic."

Lexi smiled — quietly grateful for her presence. In a sea of unfamiliar egos and office politics, Maya was her safe anchor.

The team filed in, settling into their chairs.

Maya, her chaos twin, half-genius, half-hyper, fully loyal.

Jared, venue and logistics, a man of few words and fewer expressions.

Nina, creative stylist, who dressed like fashion week and spoke like reality TV.

Tosin, comms and vendor expert, whose charm could talk honey from a bee.

And all of them — watching her.

Lexi took a breath, smoothing her blazer. No script. No hiding. Just clarity.

> "Thanks for coming on short notice," she began, stepping to the whiteboard. "Let's keep this simple. The Blackwood Gala isn't just another high-profile event. It's the event. The one that defines our year — and our standards. Which means no fluff. No ego. No missed deadlines. We deliver. Period."

A beat of silence followed.

Then Jared nodded, arms folded. "What's the theme direction?"

> "Legacy. Innovation. Power. Class."

Lexi underlined each word as she spoke, her handwriting swift and bold.

"Those are the four pillars Ava emphasized. We're going timeless — not traditional. Impactful — not crowded."

Nina raised a hand, pen twirling between her fingers. "What about visuals? I'd love to pitch a look that's less 'billionaire boardroom' and more bold elegance. Clean lines. Moody tones. A little drama."

Lexi smiled. "That's exactly what we need. Go bold, but keep it smart. A touch of rebellion wrapped in refinement."

She turned to Jared. "I want three venue options max — rooftop, gallery, and heritage-inspired. But they need space. And versatility. Nothing stuffy."

> "Already scouting," Jared said. "Got a converted museum space in Tribeca. Marble floors. Glass ceiling. No chandeliers, Nina — promise."

Tosin leaned in. "What's the headcount we're building toward?"

> "Initial estimate's 500. Could stretch to 650 if the board expands to international partners. Build margin into everything."

Maya scribbled furiously beside her, practically bouncing. "What if we do projection mapping on the walls? Or floating LED centerpieces shaped like constellations? Oh — or a live string quartet in modern outfits—"

Lexi held back a laugh. "Maya, breathe. Love the ideas. Let's shortlist, then cross-check for budget and logistics."

The meeting spilled past the hour mark. Ideas volleyed across the table, charts formed, roles clarified, energy surged. And something shifted.

Lexi noticed it in the way Nina stopped interrupting. The way Jared started adding details without being asked. The way Tosin nodded at her before moving on. Respect — not just earned, but growing.

They weren't just hearing her.

They were trusting her.

---

The Cracks Behind the Glass

1:22 PM | Hallway Outside 2B

As the meeting wrapped and everyone filtered out in twos and threes, Lexi lingered to pack her things. The room smelled like markers and focus. Her hand brushed the edge of the whiteboard one last time before grabbing her notes.

From the hallway, voices filtered in — soft, but not soft enough.

> "I give her three weeks before she crashes," Camille's voice floated in, laced with cruel confidence. "CEO projects aren't newbie-friendly."

> "Please," Vanessa said coolly, "She can't even walk past Mr. Blackwood without looking like a deer in heels."

Lexi stood still, pen in hand.

Her face didn't flinch. But her spine straightened.

Let them talk.

The real work was just beginning.

 Quiet Moments & One Cold Email

4:57 PM | Main Office Floor

By late afternoon, the floor had thinned out. Most staff were out for lunch or stuck in other meetings. Lexi returned to her desk, her laptop glowing with open tabs and scribbled diagrams.

She was just tightening a venue shortlist when her screen pinged.

> From: Mr. Blackwood

Subject: Thursday

Message:

Bring finalized concepts, venue shortlist, and projected budget margin.

No fluff. No delays.

11:00 a.m.

— MB

No greeting. No warmth. Just clean, sharp pressure — the kind only he could deliver.

Lexi stared at the email. Her pulse spiked — not with panic, but something else. Purpose.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes never leaving the screen.

Then slowly, a smile curved her lips.

> "Challenge accepted, Mr. Blackwood."