Annie was expecting a small panel.
Maybe three to four people. Five at most.
A seemingly quiet room. A table. Questions about fabric, space, color.
Because that was what she prepared for.
But the moment she stepped into the conference room on the ninth floor of A&R, her chest tightened and almost shifted.
This was not casual at all. The room was wide and glass-walled, elegantly situated, overlooking Bronzeville's clean streets and old brick buildings. The kind of view that spoke money without even trying. A long well polished looking table sat at the center, already occupied. Not by strangers, but by people who obviously knew one another. By elites!.
They laughed with ease, some leaning close. They spoke like family.
Annie paused for a moment.
Every head turned as she walked in elegantly.
"Ah," one of the women said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You must be Annie my dear."
Annie nodded quickly in affirmative.
"Yes. Good morning ma'am."
She took the empty seat she was shown, smoothing her blazer carefully, trying to steady her breath.
"You can do this..." she told herself.
"Just breathe Annie, Just breath!"
Adrian sat at the far end of the table.
He didn't look at her.
Not even once. It was as if Devil sent this particular guy to her.
The meeting began without any formal introductions. That alone told Annie everything she needed to know. These people didn't need names. They had history, they had legacy.
Someone mentioned a family, and a light laugher followed suit.
"Still throwing those south side charity galas?"
"They never miss it." A middle aged woman responded.
A white bearded man added, "old money always find a way to stay relevant."
Annie watched, thinking of whether she should chip in something or not.
"So," a gray-haired man said, adjusting his cufflinks, "I ran into the Whitmore family last weekend. Still hosting those ridiculous lakefront dinners."
Another man laughed. "At least they've upgraded the wine."
Another voice chimed in. "Nothing beats the old Hyde Park gatherings. The Caldwells knew how to host."
Schools came next.
"Lab School was brutal back then."
"Briney Young prepared us for nothing except competition."
They spoke casually. So effortlessly.
Annie smiled when expected to smile. Nodded when expected to nod. She was trying to be pragmatic at this point.
Her palms were damp. Then it happened.
A man across the table, in his mid-forties, sharp suit, sharp eyes, turned fully toward her.
"Annie," he said pleasantly, "your family owns Ashcroft Row Properties, correct? South Side properties. Strong legacy."
The room went quiet, all eyes on her. The kind of quiet that rang in her ears.
Her heart skipped.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice!!!.
Ashcroft Row Properties!..
The name hit her like cold water. Such a prestige family.
She froze, but only on the inside though.
On the outside, she did what survival had taught her to do.
She smiled.
"Yes," she said, carefully. "That's correct."
The man nodded, satisfied. "I thought so. My father worked alongside your grandfather years ago."
Annie swallowed. She almost blurted...
"Which grandfather?" She didn't even know her own father, not to make mention of her own grandfather.
She didn't add anything. She didn't need to. In this room, saying less was safer than saying too much.
From the corner of her eye, she felt it. Adrian's gaze. The weird interviewer.
He was watching her now, not openly. Not accusingly. Like someone studying a painting for cracks beneath the frame.
The discussion moved on, but the questions shifted. They were no longer about skill.They were talking about belonging.
"Which projects do you prefer, private estates or commercial spaces?"
"Your parents still live on Prairie Avenue, or have they moved west?" one asked.
"What circles do you usually design for?" another chipped in.
Each answer Annie gave was balanced on a thin wire. A thin thread actually.
Not lies exactly, just truths bent carefully enough to survive.
She spoke of design. Of space. Of emotion. Of how a room should feel safe before it feels beautiful.
For the first time, a few heads nodded in approval.
Even him. Well, whatever!
The meeting ended without ceremony.
Chairs scraped. Conversations resumed. Plans were made without her.
As Annie gathered her bag, relief washed over her too fast, I mean, too soon!.
"Annie."
His voice stopped her.
She paused as her heart skipped again and turned.
"May I have a word?" he asked calmly.
She followed him out.
The hallway was quiet. Glass walls. Soft lighting. The hum of money working somewhere above them.
He stood close, but not too close. Respectful, Controlled.
"You did well in there," he said.
"Thank you." She said avoiding his gaze.
A pause...
Then, softer, almost thoughtful:
"You look very different from the woman I met at the restaurant."
Her breath caught, again!
He turned slightly, facing the window now, not her. "Not worse
"You're more polished now," he continued. "More careful."
Annie swallowed hard. "People look different in different places."
"True," he said. Then he turned to face her.
His eyes held hers.
"I just find it interesting."
She couldn't tell what he meant. Whether he knew, or whether he was testing her.
"I'll be in touch," he added calmly. "You'll hear from us soon."
And just like that, he walked away.
Annie stood there, her heart pounding, unsure whether she had passed something important or stepped into something far more dangerous.