Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Knox
The conference room is ready by eight-thirty.
I've reviewed the contract three times since Friday, made Marcus verify every detail twice, and now I'm standing at the windows watching the city wake up while I wait for Winter Hayes to arrive.
She accepted the project via text Friday night.
Professional, concise, exactly what I'd expect from her.
Marcus appears in the doorway.
"Ms. Hayes is here."
I turn from the windows. "Send her in."
Thirty seconds later Winter walks into the conference room wearing a navy dress that hits just above her knees, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She's carrying a leather portfolio and looks completely composed.
"Good morning," she says, setting her portfolio on the conference table.
I cross the room. "Thank you for coming in."
We sit across from each other. I slide the contract toward her along with a folder containing the project specifications, timeline, and budget breakdown.
"Eight point five million dollar budget, six-month timeline from contract execution to final installation," I say, opening my copy.
"Full creative control within the parameters we discussed, with approval required on selections over fifty thousand dollars per item."
Winter opens the contract and begins reading. She doesn't skim. She actually reads, her finger tracking down the pages, her expression focused. After several minutes, she looks up.
"The timeline has penalties for delays beyond two weeks. I want that extended to three weeks given the custom fabrication required for the penthouse pieces."
I lean back slightly. "Three weeks is generous."
"Three weeks is realistic." Her voice is calm but firm.
"European vendors, custom work, shipping complications. I'd rather build in the buffer now than negotiate extensions later."
I hold her gaze for a moment. She doesn't look away.
"Agreed," I say finally.
She returns to the contract. Ten more minutes pass in silence while she reviews every page, every clause. She sets down the contract.
"The creative control clause requires approval on all custom millwork designs. I want that amended to approval only on millwork that alters structural elements or exceeds budget parameters."
"Why?"
"Because you hired me to design these spaces, which means you trust my expertise. Requiring approval on every millwork detail adds delays and undermines that trust."
I study her across the table. She meets my look directly, doesn't flinch, doesn't soften her position.
"You negotiate hard," I observe.
"I know my worth."
"Clearly."
I make a note on my copy of the contract. "I'll amend the clause."
Something flickers in her expression. Surprise, maybe. But she doesn't comment.
We spend the next fifteen minutes going through remaining details. She catches two more areas that need adjustment. Both are legitimate concerns. I agree to both modifications.
Marcus brings in the updated pages. Winter reviews them carefully, then picks up a pen.
"Before I sign," she says, "I need to confirm the timeline is firm. Six months from today to final installation. No extensions on my end barring circumstances genuinely beyond my control."
"Correct."
"And you understand I have other clients and projects during this timeline."
"As long as those commitments don't interfere with agreed milestones, we have no issue."
She nods, clicks the pen, and signs.
I sign beside her signature.
Done.
Winter closes the contract and slides it back to me.
"When do we get started?"
"Today." I stand.
"But there's something else first. Come with me."
I don't wait for her response, just head for the door. After a brief pause, I hear her footsteps following. We walk past the executive offices, past the open workspace where several team members glance up, to a corner office with windows overlooking the city.
I open the door and step aside. Winter enters slowly, looking around the empty office. Desk, chairs, shelving. Great natural light. Close to the main workspace.
"What is this?" she asks.
"Your office. For the project duration."
She turns to face me.
"I have an office at my studio."
"I'm aware. This is for when your team needs to work on-site. Team meetings, access to project managers, coordination with our staff. It's a resource."
Winter crosses her arms.
"This is very generous."
"It's practical."
She walks to the windows, and I can see her weighing the offer. Deciding if there's something she's missing.
"Thank you," she says finally.
"We'll use it well."
I pull out my phone.
"I want daily check-ins. Brief updates on progress, any issues that need addressing, upcoming milestones."
Her posture shifts. "How brief?"
"Fifteen minutes."
"That's not necessary."
"I disagree."
She turns to face me fully.
"I don't need to be micromanaged, Mr. Sterling. I've built my firm on delivering quality work on time and on budget. Daily check-ins suggest you don't trust that."
"It's not about trust. It's about communication on an eight-point-five-million-dollar project with zero margin for error."
"And if I disagree?"
"Then I'd remind you this is my requirement for projects of this scale."
Her jaw tightens. "I'm not your previous designer."
The comment lands harder than I expected.
"I never said you were."
"You didn't have to. But whatever issues you had with them don't transfer to me."
She's right. The last designer on a project this size missed deadlines, went over budget, delivered work that required extensive revisions. That experience is exactly why I'm being more hands-on now.
"You're right," I admit.
"That's not your fault, and I shouldn't let past problems dictate how I work with you."
Winter's expression softens slightly.
"However," I continue, "daily check-ins remain non-negotiable. Not because I don't trust your work, but because this project is too important to leave communication to chance."
She considers this. I can see her running the calculation. Fifteen minutes is reasonable for a project this size.
"Fine," she says.
"Daily check-ins. 4 pm. Video call, phone, whatever format makes sense that day."
"Agreed."
I add the recurring event to my calendar.
"Anything else you need?"
"Building access codes. Email protocols for your team. Project file server access."
"Of course, Marcus will handle all of that asap."
Winter nods. "Then I'll bring my team in to set up, and we'll begin material sourcing immediately."
"Timeline for installation?"
"Three weeks. That gives us time to finalize selections and place orders."
"Good."
I move toward the door, then stop and turn back. She's standing by the windows, sunlight catching her profile, and for a moment I forget what I was going to say.
"When do you want to schedule the first site visit?" I ask.
She turns from the window.
"The sooner the better. I need to walk the units again, take detailed measurements, understand the bones before we start designing around them."
"This afternoon?"
"That works."
She pulls out her phone and starts typing notes. Her fingers move quickly across the screen, efficient and precise. I should leave now. Let her assess the space alone, get back to the emails waiting in my inbox.
Instead, I walk further into the room.
"You'll need to coordinate with Tom Barrett on the construction schedule. Any conflicts with your installation timeline, he needs to know immediately."
"Understood." She doesn't look up from her phone.
"I'll reach out to him today, or maybe I will see him on site."
Winter finishes typing and looks up. We're standing closer than I realized.
Maybe three feet apart. Close enough that I notice the exact shade of blue in her eyes, the small silver earrings she's wearing.
Close enough that the air between us feels different somehow.
Her expression shifts almost imperceptibly. Not uncomfortable, just... aware.
I should step back. For a moment, neither of us moves.
The silence stretches just half a second too long.
Long enough that I notice her breathing, the way her fingers tighten slightly around her phone, the fact that she's looking at me with the same awareness I'm feeling.
Then her phone buzzes in her hand, breaking whatever that was. She glances at the screen.
"My assistant. I need to take this."
I step back, putting proper distance between us.
"Of course. Looking forward to working with you, Ms. Hayes," I say as I head for the door.
Winter turns, meets my eyes.
“Likewise, Mr. Sterling."
I leave the office and head back toward my own, already thinking about the site visit this afternoon.
I arrive at the Sterling Tower site at one-forty-five. Tom Barrett is already there, standing in the lobby of what will eventually be the main entrance, reviewing something on his tablet. The space is raw concrete and exposed steel right now, but the bones are good. The structure is sound.
"Knox." Tom looks up when I approach.
"Winter Hayes and her team should be here any minute. I pulled the latest construction schedule so she can see where we are with rough-ins and mechanical."
"Good. She'll want to know timeline on electrical and HVAC before she finalizes placement for custom elements."
Tom nods just as a black SUV pulls up outside.
Winter steps out first, followed by four people I assume are her team.
She's changed since this morning—dark jeans, a fitted white button-down, boots that look practical for a construction site.
Her hair is still pulled back, and she's carrying a leather messenger bag and what looks like a professional camera.
She says something to her team, gesturing toward the entrance, and they follow her inside.
"Mr. Sterling. Tom." Winter nods to both of us as she approaches.
"This is my team. Maya, my project manager. James and Claudia, senior designers. Liam, our technical specialist."