Elise Harper stepped out of the client's headquarters into the damp New Haven morning, her pulse still thrumming with the aftershock of her exchange with Julian Voss. The air smelled of rain and asphalt, a faint tang of salt carried in from the waterfront district just a few blocks away. She tugged her blazer tighter around her shoulders, the folder Claire Nguyen had given them clutched under her arm like a shield. Her mind churned, replaying every word Julian had said, every flicker of that infuriating half-smile. He hadn't flinched when she'd called him out, hadn't even tried to deny what he'd done three years ago. Instead, he'd leaned into it, calm and unshaken, like her anger was just another detail to file away. It made her want to scream.
She crossed the street to a small coffee shop she'd spotted on her way in, needing a moment to regroup before heading back to Pinnacle Designs. The bell above the door jingled as she entered, and the warmth of the place wrapped around her, softening the edges of her frustration. She ordered a black coffee—no cream, no sugar, just the bitter kick she craved—and found a corner table by the window. The barista slid the cup across the counter with a nod, and Elise took it gratefully, settling into the chair with a sigh. She opened the client's brief, flipping through pages of site maps, zoning restrictions, and budget projections, but her focus kept slipping. All she could see was Julian's face, those cool gray eyes watching her like he already knew how this would play out.
The brief was daunting, no question about it. The waterfront district sprawled across thirty acres of neglected land—warehouses with rusted roofs, piers crumbling into the harbor, a tangle of old rail lines that hadn't seen a train in decades. The redevelopment authority wanted a miracle: a mixed-use masterpiece that blended residential towers, commercial hubs, and public spaces, all tied together with infrastructure that could withstand rising sea levels and a skeptical city council. It was the kind of challenge Elise lived for, a chance to erase the past and stamp her name on something permanent. But now it wasn't just hers. It was theirs—hers and Julian's—and that fact twisted in her gut like a dull blade.
She sipped her coffee, letting the heat ground her, and pulled out her tablet to jot down initial thoughts. Her fingers moved quickly, sketching rough outlines of a concept she'd been mulling over since last night: a series of tiered towers with cascading green terraces, their bases anchored by a network of elevated walkways that doubled as flood barriers. It was bold, almost reckless, a design that would demand every ounce of her creativity to pull off. She could already imagine the renderings—glass and steel catching the sunset over the harbor, a skyline that dared the world to look away. It was everything Julian's work wasn't. His designs, from what she'd seen, leaned toward the practical—clean lines, muted palettes, structures that whispered reliability instead of shouting innovation. Safe. Predictable. Boring. She smirked at the thought, adding a note to push the terraces higher, make them defy gravity just to spite him.
The bell jingled again, and Elise glanced up, her smirk fading as Julian walked in. Of course he'd show up here. He spotted her immediately, his stride slowing as their eyes met, and for a moment, she considered bolting. But she held her ground, lifting her chin as he approached, his leather case swinging lightly at his side.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his tone casual, as if they hadn't just traded barbs in a conference room ten minutes ago.
"Actually, I do," she said, closing her tablet with a snap. "But I doubt that'll stop you."
"It won't," he agreed, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down without invitation. He set his case on the table, leaning back with that same infuriating ease she'd noticed earlier. "We need to talk about this. Sooner rather than later."
Elise took a slow sip of her coffee, buying time to steady herself. "What's there to talk about? We're stuck together. Claire made that clear. Doesn't mean I have to like it—or you."
"Fair enough," he said, his lips twitching again, that almost-smile she was starting to hate. "But liking each other isn't the job. Winning the bid is. And we won't do that if we're fighting over every line on the blueprint."
She set her cup down, her fingers curling around it as she met his gaze. "I'm not fighting over lines, Voss. I'm fighting to keep you from hijacking my ideas like you did last time. You want to talk strategy? Fine. But don't expect me to roll over and let you take the lead."
His expression shifted, the amusement fading into something harder, more focused. "You really think that's what happened three years ago? That I just waltzed in and stole your thunder?"
"I don't think it," she said, her voice low and sharp. "I know it. I had that tech mogul locked down—months of meetings, revisions, late nights. Then you swoop in with your polished pitch and suddenly he's gone. No warning, no explanation. Just your name on the contract and mine in the dirt."
Julian leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his eyes locked on hers. "You want the truth? I didn't target you. That client came to me. Said he'd seen my work, liked my approach—less risk, more return. I didn't even know you were in the running until after the deal was done."
Elise laughed, a short, incredulous sound. "You expect me to believe that? That you just stumbled into my project by accident? Please. You're not that naive, and I'm not that stupid."
"I'm not saying it was an accident," he replied, his voice steady. "I'm saying it wasn't personal. It was business. He chose me. I didn't force him."
"Business," she echoed, her tone dripping with disdain. "That's your excuse? It wasn't personal for you, maybe, but it sure as hell was for me. That project was my shot, and you took it. So forgive me if I don't trust you to play fair now."
He studied her for a moment, his jaw tightening, then leaned back again, breaking the tension with a slight nod. "Alright. You don't trust me. I get it. But we're here now, and we've got a month to make this work. So how about we start with something concrete? Lay out our cards, see where we stand."
Elise hesitated, her instinct screaming to shut him down, walk away, figure this out on her own. But he was right—again, damn him—and she couldn't ignore the clock ticking down. She opened her tablet, pulling up the sketch she'd been working on, and turned it toward him. "This is where I'm starting. Tiered towers, green terraces, elevated walkways. It's big, it's risky, and it's what the waterfront needs to stand out."
Julian leaned in, his eyes scanning the screen, and for a moment, he was quiet, taking it in. She watched him, bracing for the inevitable critique, the dismissal she was sure would come. But when he spoke, his tone was measured, almost thoughtful.
"It's ambitious," he said, tapping a finger against the table. "I'll give you that. The terraces are a nice touch—visual impact, sustainability cred. But the cost on those walkways is going to be a nightmare. And the structural load? You're asking for engineering feats that'll scare off half the investors before we even get to the pitch."
"There it is," she said, crossing her arms. "The 'safe and boring' critique. I knew you'd try to water it down."
"I'm not watering anything down," he countered, his voice firming. "I'm pointing out reality. You want to win this, we need something that sells—something the city can actually build, not just dream about. My take's simpler: low-rise mixed-use blocks, modular construction, phased development. Keeps the budget tight and the timeline doable."
Elise stared at him, her irritation flaring into something hotter. "Low-rise blocks? Modular? That's not a vision, Julian, that's a strip mall. The authority wants a flagship, not a budget compromise. If we go your way, we'll blend into every other generic bid out there."
"And if we go yours, we'll bankrupt the project before it breaks ground," he shot back, his calm cracking just enough to show a spark of heat. "You think big, Elise, I'll give you that. But big doesn't mean practical. We need balance."
"Balance," she repeated, her voice icy. "You mean compromise. You mean safe. I'm not here to play it safe. I'm here to win."
"So am I," he said, meeting her glare with one of his own. "But winning means finishing, not just dreaming."
The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken challenges and old wounds. Elise wanted to push harder, to tear into his cautious, infuriating logic, but the barista's voice cut through the tension, calling out an order for someone at the counter. It was enough to pull her back, to remind her where they were. She took a breath, forcing her hands to unclench, and picked up her coffee again.
"Fine," she said at last, her tone clipped. "We've got our starting points. Tomorrow's the team meeting. We'll hash it out there. But don't think for a second I'm backing down."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied, that half-smile creeping back as he stood, grabbing his case. "See you then."
He walked out, leaving her alone with her cooling coffee and a storm of thoughts. She watched him go, his silhouette disappearing into the gray morning, and felt a strange mix of fury and determination settle in her chest. This was just the beginning, she told herself. A collision course, like he'd said, and she'd make damn sure she came out on top.
Back at her table, she reopened her sketch, staring at the terraces and walkways she'd poured her heart into. They were hers—her fight, her fire. Julian could argue all he wanted, but she wouldn't let him dull her edge. Not this time. She finished her coffee in one long gulp, the bitterness a perfect match for the resolve hardening inside her, and started refining her notes. Tomorrow, she'd be ready. Tomorrow, the real battle would begin.