TANGLED WITH MR BLACKWOOD

Tuesday, 10:42 AM | Blackwood Signature Events HQ

Lexi stared at the email like it had been sent by mistake.

Subject: Trial Solo Coordination – Midweek Luxury Brunch

Client: Lirien & Co. Private Wealth Group

Venue: Halcyon Rooftop

Guests Expected: 45

Timeline: Five days

Her name was listed alone — no senior lead, no assistant, no fallback.

No net.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard like they could will the message to change.

A few feet away, Maya leaned over and caught a glimpse of Lexi's screen. She gasped so loud that a junior exec in the next cubicle flinched.

"Your name's on top, Lex," she whispered, eyes wide. "Not under anyone else. That's not a support task… that's your event."

Lexi forced a tight smile. "It's… something."

Inside, her stomach flipped like she was strapped into a rollercoaster she never agreed to ride.

Maya kept staring, somewhere between envy and awe. "You've only been here, what, three weeks? And they're giving you a solo brunch?"

Lexi didn't answer. She didn't trust herself to.

She read the email again. And again.

Five days.

She wasn't sure if this was a test… or a trap.

38th Floor – CEO's Office | Same Time

The same email sat open on a sleek screen in a sunlit office far above. The header glowed softly beneath the gloss of polished glass.

Ethan Blackwood read it in silence, thumb tapping once against the leather armrest of his chair.

The quiet in the room was deliberate — his kind of silence. Crisp, controlled, intentional.

He didn't look up as the man in black approached and stopped just inside the doorway. Composed. Formal. Almost part of the furniture.

"Keep eyes on her," Ethan said, gaze still on the screen. "This week."

"Yes, sir," the man replied without pause.

His name was Gray.

Bodyguard. Silent shadow. Efficient. Invisible.

He never questioned the assignment.

He never needed to.

Wednesday–Thursday | The Breakdown

Lexi barely made it through.

The moment she stepped onto the rooftop Wednesday morning, everything spiraled.

The chef pulled out—"unforeseen family issue," his assistant claimed. The replacement she scrambled to secure was gruff, twice as expensive, and impossible to reach by phone.

The florist dropped out after a payment delay from their side, then refused to deliver unless someone "reassured their trust."

The backup violinist missed rehearsal. Table placements were rearranged by the rooftop's internal team without telling her. A vendor called her "Miss Intern" and hung up mid-call.

She blinked back tears during a call with the linen rental team, her voice shaking as she apologized for a mistake that wasn't hers.

Blisters bloomed on her heels. Her temples throbbed from stress.

By Thursday night, she exited the Halcyon building with a dead phone, two rejected invoices, and the faint scent of roses still clinging to her clothes.

She climbed into a rideshare, folded into the seat like someone twice her age, and let herself break.

No sobbing. No gasps for breath.

Just quiet, exhausted tears — the kind that come when you've done everything right… and still nearly drowned.

Across the street, Gray stood beneath a dark awning, unblinking.

To passersby, he was nobody.

But he saw everything.

He raised his phone.

"Miss Thompson left the venue. Distressed. Alone."

There was a pause.

Then Ethan's voice: clipped. Calm. Measured. "Did she leave the project?"

"No, sir. She cried," Gray said. "But she didn't stop."

Another pause. This one longer.

"Continue observation," Ethan said at last.

"Yes, sir."

Gray lowered the phone and kept his eyes on the retreating Uber, narrowing slightly.

He'd seen many break under pressure.

Lexi Thompson… bent. But didn't snap.

And that mattered.

Friday Morning | Halcyon Rooftop

Lexi arrived an hour early. Her caffeine intake was illegal. Her flats pinched slightly. Her dark curls were pulled into a clean, no-nonsense knot.

But her eyes were steady.

The rooftop had transformed.

The backup floral team came through — blush and ivory centerpieces bloomed in delicate glass bowls. The sun filtered through sheer linen canopies. Waiters in black vests moved in perfect rhythm.

She triple-checked everything. Adjusted a crooked name card. Straightened the guest list clipboard. Smoothed down the nerves.

And when the first guests arrived, she smiled.

Not because she felt ready.

But because she had no other choice.

Midway through the brunch, the client's assistant leaned over and whispered, "Looks lovely. You really pulled it off."

Lexi almost didn't register it.

Her heart was still racing. Her fingers tingled. Her ears buzzed.

But deep down, under all the noise, something fierce and stubborn stirred.

10:33 AM | Bar Corner – Halcyon Rooftop

Gray stood behind a ficus plant near the rooftop bar, silent and still as the planters themselves.

He wore the same suit. Same tie. Same earpiece.

He didn't move.

He just watched.

Lexi walked between tables with quiet authority. Smiled at the violinist who'd finally shown up. Whispered something to the bartender and made a guest laugh.

She was tired — it showed in her eyes.

But she was in control.

Gray lifted his phone. "Venue is stable. Execution clean. Miss Thompson has control."

There was a beat.

Then the reply: "I'll handle it."

Gray lowered the phone.

He didn't need to ask what that meant.

10:47 AM | Halcyon Rooftop – Main Floor

Lexi didn't notice the hush at first.

But something shifted — a ripple in the air, like the moment before a storm breaks.

The violinists missed a beat. Two guests stopped mid-sip.

She turned.

And saw him.

Ethan Blackwood.

Dark navy suit. White shirt. No tie. No assistant trailing him. No clipboard. Just quiet power.

He didn't make small talk. Didn't greet anyone.

He walked straight to her.

Lexi froze, clipboard half-raised.

He stopped a foot away, gaze steady, unreadable.

"You executed under pressure," he said.

She tried to speak. Couldn't.

"I saw the storm. The changes. The cracks. Every part of it."

Lexi blinked, caught between pride and disbelief.

"I don't expect perfection," he said, voice low. "But I notice resilience."

The words struck something raw in her.

"You're not here to play small, Miss Thompson."

She swallowed. Her spine straightened. A slow breath in.

Then, finally—"I won't," she whispered.

Back by the bar, Gray stood in stillness.

He didn't smile. Didn't flinch.

But if anyone looked close enough — past the shadows, past the calm — they might have seen the tiniest nod.

Not for Lexi.

But

for the man who'd seen something in her from the start.

Ethan Blackwood.