I stared at Mr. Harrington,the CFO of Blackwood Global Enterprises in surprise. He'd called me into his office a few minutes ago, his face already tight with stress, as though delivering the news would give him heartburn.
He leaned back in his leather chair, adjusting his glasses. "You heard me right, Clara. This new energy-infrastructure investment we're making,a multi-billion-dollar joint project with Laxon Energy for renewable grids across Europe…."
My brows shot up. Renewables? That was no small deal. If this worked out, Blackwood's dominance would expand into green energy, solidifying them for the next fifty years.
"Yes, sir?" I asked carefully.
He sighed. "Mr. Blackwood has insisted you report directly to him. Every research, every observation, every forecast,he wants it all on his desk first. Normally you'd hand everything to me, and I'd present it to the board. But not this time."
I blinked, taken aback. "I… report directly to him?"
"Yes," Harrington said flatly. His sharp gaze fixed on me. "So,Richards, let me be clear. Don't mess this up. You're good at your job, I know that, but he's not the type of man who forgives mistakes. Triple-check every number, every projection, before it reaches him. Do you understand?"
My throat felt dry. I nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good." He adjusted his tie. "you can go."
I left his office and headed back to mine, my heels clicking against the marble floor. My thoughts spun with irritation.
Report directly to him?
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I didn't want more encounters with Adrian Blackwood than necessary. His presence unsettled me—his sharp gaze, the way he looked right through me as though dissecting me piece by piece. I hated how it made me nervous.
But I couldn't argue. He was the boss. And Blackwood didn't just hire the best,they demanded perfection.
I dropped into my chair with a sigh, fingers already reaching for my laptop. "Fine," I muttered under my breath. "If it's perfection he wants, it's perfection he'll get."
And with that, I started.
The rest of the week was a blur of late nights, endless coffee, and stacks of financial models. My desk became buried in reports and graphs, spreadsheets with hundreds of tabs, and sticky notes covered with reminders.
But slowly, I carved order out of chaos.
Forecasts, risk assessments, ROI projections, international tax implications—I built it all. My office became my war zone.
At one point, my assistant, Maya, peeked in. "Clara, have you eaten today?"
I glanced at the clock. Nearly 6 p.m. I hadn't.
"I'll grab something later," I murmured, eyes glued to the numbers on my screen.
Maya sighed. "One day, work is going to kill you."
"Not before I kill it first," I muttered.
By the next week day,the board meeting loomed like a storm cloud. I checked my presentation again. And again. Every word, every figure. I even practiced my delivery out loud, rehearsing answers to potential questions.
At 2:30 p.m., I smoothed down my blue blouse, adjusted my black trousers, and checked my reflection. My makeup was subtle but sharp, hair brushed smooth, my pearl studs catching the light. Prepared. Confident.
No mistakes.
I grabbed my binder and walked out.
The boardroom was already filling up when I arrived. At the head of the table, Adrian Blackwood sat like a king on his throne,immaculate in a charcoal suit, expression unreadable.
Our eyes met the moment I walked in.
His stare was steady, piercing. Intimidating.
But I refused to look away. I held his gaze, chin lifted, then broke it deliberately as I took my seat.
I'm not scared of you.
When my turn came, I stood, smoothing my notes.
"Good afternoon," I began, projecting confidence. "Over the past three days, I've conducted an in-depth analysis of the proposed Laxon Energy partnership. The investment involves renewable energy grids spanning across five European countries. Initial cost: $4.6 billion. Projected ROI within the first five years: approximately 12.4% annually, with long-term projections suggesting an increase as global demand for renewable infrastructure grows."
Murmurs of approval rippled across the table. I pressed on, clicking the slides.
"This is not just a profitable venture,it's a strategic one. It positions Blackwood as a leader in sustainability, aligning with international environmental policies. It also creates a new network of governmental contracts. Risks exist, of course: volatile political climates in two of the five countries, and currency fluctuation. But I've modeled three different scenarios to account for those risks…"
"Excuse me."
Adrian's voice cut through the room like a blade. I froze, mid-sentence, and turned.
His dark eyes locked on me. "You're presenting ROI figures based on ideal conditions. What happens if global recession indicators worsen within the next eighteen months? Your model accounts for volatility, yes but what about outright collapse?"
My jaw tightened. "I accounted for recession by adjusting projected annual return to 7.1%. Even in a downturn, the infrastructure itself holds value. Power grids remain essential commodities…"
"Essential, yes," Adrian interrupted, leaning forward, "but government subsidies often collapse first during economic crises. Did you calculate the impact of subsidy withdrawal in both short-term and long-term models?"
Heat rushed up my neck, but I kept my voice steady. "Yes. Scenario Three, pages 24 to 30. If subsidies fail, projected ROI decreases to 4.9% within the first five years, stabilizing after eight due to natural demand. It's lower, but still positive."
His lips curved faintly,not a smile, more like a challenge. "We'll see."
I continued, refusing to falter. Question after question, he threw them at me trying to unsettle me, I knew it. But each time, I answered. Calm. Precise. Unflinching.
By the end, the other executives were nodding, some even impressed. I gathered my notes with quiet pride.
But Adrian wasn't impressed.
He leaned back, arms crossed, gaze fixed on me like a hawk. "Is that all you've got?"
The words struck like a slap.
"I was told Blackwood employs the best," he continued coldly. "Actually, one of the best. But what I see here?" His eyes swept over me, dismissive. "This doesn't impress me."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
I bit my lip, fury prickling beneath my skin. How dare he? No one—no one—had ever questioned my work like that.
But professionalism was armor. I inhaled, forced my voice to stay calm. "I understand, Mr. Blackwood. I'll review my models and strengthen my data points. My goal is to earn your full confidence."
He stared at me for several long seconds, his expression stony. Then he said simply, "Work on it, I expect something better."
And just like that, he moved on, addressing the next department.
I sat silently, hands clasped tight to hide the tension trembling through me.
When the meeting finally adjourned, I rose, gathered my things, and walked out with steady steps.
But inside, I was seething.
Fine. You want better? I'll give you better. And you'll choke on it.