Aubrey held her breath. She flipped open the first page of "The Obsidian" proposal.
It was a massive commercial plan to convert an abandoned industrial warehouse in Tribeca into a luxury boutique hotel.
She skipped past the financial projections and ROI charts. She flipped straight to the architectural concept sketches at the back.
She stared at the renderings provided by some top-tier firm. It was a sea of generic glass walls and cold marble floors. Aubrey's brow furrowed in disgust.
"This is garbage," she whispered to the empty room. "It completely destroys the historical red-brick integrity of Tribeca."
She dropped the folder and ran down the hall to her own bedroom. She dug into the deepest corner of her walk-in closet and pulled out a dusty, black drafting tube.
She popped the cap off. Inside were her top-graded interior architecture portfolios from RISD.
She carried the tube back to the study and dumped the sketches onto the Persian rug. Her blood was pumping fast. She felt alive for the first time in years.
Aubrey sat cross-legged on the floor. She grabbed a graphite pencil and started sketching directly over the photocopies of Dominick's proposal.
She kept the original cast-iron pillars. She drew a massive, sunken atrium filled with natural light and raw greenery.
Two hours vanished. She was completely lost in the lines and angles, ignoring her cold coffee.
She was just shading the perspective lines of the rooftop bar when the electronic lock on the front door beeped loudly.
Aubrey's head snapped up. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Dominick was back.
She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the papers, trying to shove them back onto the desk. It was too late.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the hallway. They stopped right outside the study.
Dominick stood in the doorway. He had his phone pressed to his ear, listening to his assistant. He had clearly come back for a forgotten file.
His eyes moved past his phone screen. He looked at the scattered drawings on the floor, and then at the pencil gripped tightly in Aubrey's hand.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call. The air in the room turned to lead.
"What are you doing?" Dominick's eyes locked onto the heavily modified proposal in her hand. His voice was dangerously soft.
Aubrey swallowed hard. She forced her chin up and met his stare.
"I was looking at The Obsidian proposal," she said, keeping her voice steady and professional.
Dominick walked forward. He snatched the proposal right out of her hand. He stared at the chaotic pencil lines covering his million-dollar project. His jaw clenched hard.
"Who gave you permission to touch my corporate documents?" He spoke to her like she was a toddler who had just ruined a painting.
"The door was open. I saw it," Aubrey fired back, her spine straight. "And this design is terrible. It's going to ruin the commercial value of that property."
Dominick let out a harsh, mocking laugh. It echoed off the walls.
"You?" he sneered, looking her up and down. "A woman whose only skill is maxing out credit cards on Fifth Avenue and wearing couture to galas? You're going to lecture me on commercial value?"
The words felt like a physical punch to her throat. Her pride bled out on the floor.
"I graduated top of my class at RISD, Dominick! I am more than qualified to handle the interior design for this project!" she yelled, her eyes burning with furious tears.
Dominick didn't even blink. He picked up the modified proposal, refusing to even glance at her intricate pencil lines. Instead of destroying it, he coldly folded the pages and shoved them into the very bottom of his briefcase, snapping the leather flap shut as if locking away something utterly worthless.
"Listen to me, Aubrey," he said, leaning his hands flat on the desk, towering over her. "My corporate files are not a dollhouse for you to play in when you get bored."
