Chapter 3

Blue Citrus Studio's financial reports were even worse than I had imagined.

As I flipped through the thick stack of documents, my frown deepened. The studio had been operating at a loss for eight consecutive months, employee salaries were already two months behind, and three projects were facing client penalties for delays.

It was a miracle that the studio was still standing.

"So, Ms. Evans," Robert leaned against the desk, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Still think you can pull us out of this?"

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling window, outlining his athletic build.

He wore a dark blue shirt today, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing well-defined forearms. If you ignored the challenging glint in his eyes, it was a rather pleasing sight.

"More stimulating than I imagined," I closed the file and met his gaze. "Tell me, Mr. Collins, how did you manage to run a talented studio into this state?"

Robert looked displeased. "What did you just—"

"Put away your anger," I cut him off, pulling a sheet from the file. "In the past eight months, you took on twelve projects. Nine lost money, either because the quotes were below cost or repeated revisions led to budget overruns."

I pulled out another sheet. "And the funniest part? For the only three profitable projects, you failed to collect the final payments."

Robert snatched the file. "You don't understand the situation. Some clients deliberately delay approvals to make things difficult."

"Then sue them," I stood up, slapping the table. "Are the contracts just for show? Is the law a joke? Does the dignity of your designers mean nothing?"

The office fell silent instantly. A few employees who had been secretly watching quickly pulled their heads back. Robert stared at me, the anger in his eyes gradually shifting into something more complex. Finally, he said quietly, "You're right. I've been too idealistic."

This sudden surrender caught me off guard. I had prepared for a heated debate, not expecting him to concede so quickly.

I gathered the files. "There's a full staff meeting at 2 PM. Before that, I need to understand every registered employee's skills and specialties."

Robert nodded, turned to leave, then stopped abruptly. "Rachel, why did you come to our studio? With your abilities, you could easily find a better place."

I looked out at the bright sunshine and murmured, "Maybe because I hate losing too."

*****

At the full staff meeting, I announced three decisions.

"First, project team restructuring." I stood in front of the whiteboard, scanning the more than twenty employees. "Work will be reassigned based on your specialized skills. We will cancel the mixed-operation model."

Whispers filled the conference room. A guy with dramatic hair raised his hand. "Ms. Evans, the previous model was set by Mr. Collins. He said cross-disciplinary collaboration sparks creativity."

"And that led to repeated project delays," I said bluntly. "Creativity is important, but meeting deadlines is more important. Starting today, each project will have clear milestones. Miss one by a day, and it impacts performance pay."

Disgruntled murmurs arose. Robert just sat in the corner, expressionless.

"Second," I raised my voice. "company financial transparency. Starting this month, everyone will know the company's account balance and the profit/loss status of every project."

Even the finance director couldn't stay calm. "That's against the standard."

"In my company, this is the standard," I stated firmly. "If employees dare not even face their own team's financial reality, how can we talk about weathering this storm together?"

The room fell silent. I took a deep breath and announced the final decision. "Third, we are pursuing all outstanding payments. The legal department starts preparing materials today to sue those clients withholding final payments."

"Are you crazy?" a senior designer stood up. "Those are potential repeat customers."

"No," I said coldly, "those are vampires treating designers like free labor. From today, Blue Citrus Studio only does business based on mutual benefit."

After the meeting, employees filed out, discussing animatedly. Robert walked over to me. "You said 'my company' earlier?"

"Just a slip of the tongue," I said.

Robert snorted lightly. "You're quite accustomed to giving orders."

"You're too accustomed to compromise," I said, gathering my files. "Robert, you're an excellent designer, but not a qualified businessman."

Unexpectedly, Robert didn't argue. He was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "What's for dinner?"

"What?" I was startled.

"It's already 7 PM," he pointed to the darkening sky outside the window. "Since we're going to be working together, we should probably know each other's tastes, right?"

Half an hour later, we sat in a small diner near the office building. Robert expertly ordered two burger combos, specifically telling the owner, "No onions on one of them."

I raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I don't eat onions?"

He shrugged. "I guessed. You look like the type who's picky about food."

The burgers arrived quickly. Robert wolfed his down, while I sipped my drink slowly. Under the warm yellow light, his sharp features seemed softer.

"Tell me about AetherPeak Hotel." I broke the silence.

Robert's chewing paused. "That was a project from two years ago. We entered the bidding but lost. Six months later, Quentin Group won the bid. The plan they released was identical to ours, just with a different logo."

"You didn't appeal?" I asked.

"Appeal?" Robert smirked coldly. "We couldn't even get our bid bond back. Quentin Group bribed the review committee and accused us of plagiarism."

I put my drink down. "Do you have evidence?"

Robert pulled up several images on his phone. "This was our original proposal. This is what Quentin Group released. Even the angles of the renderings are the same."

The comparison was stark. I felt a surge of anger at the Quentin family's shamelessness. "Now is different," I said firmly. "I'm here now."

Robert looked at me steadily, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Why are you helping us?"

"Because I somehow owe you," I met his gaze openly. "Even though I didn't know at the time, Hector bought me a diamond necklace with the money he made plagiarizing your work."

Robert suddenly smiled, a smile that lit up his whole face. "You know, you're much more interesting than I thought."

Just then, my phone rang. The caller was a person I hadn't heard from in a long time—Robin Coleman, my former assistant.

"Sorry, I need to take this," I said, getting up and walking outside.

"Rachel," Robin's voice was tense. "Are you at Blue Citrus Studio?"

My heart tightened. "How do you know that?"

"Mr. Quentin is asking about your movements. Someone came by the company today asking for your contact info, saying you're working at Blue Citrus Studio now," Robin said.

I gripped the phone tighter. "And?"

"I'm worried he might cause trouble for you," Robin lowered his voice. "Hector is in bad shape. Quentin Group's stock is plummeting, the board wants someone to blame, and he desperately needs a scapegoat."

"So he's targeting me?" I said coldly. "Thanks for the warning. I'll be careful." After hanging up, I returned to the diner.

Robert had already paid the bill and was waiting for me at the door. "Trouble?" he asked perceptively.

"Hector is asking about me," I said briefly. "Starting tomorrow, we need stricter access control at the studio."

Robert frowned. "If he dares to make trouble, I'll call the police."

"No," I shook my head. "That will be too easy on him."

On the way back to the studio, we instinctively quickened our pace. In the slightly chilly night, Robert silently walked on the side closer to the road.

*****

Over the next two weeks, the studio miraculously began operating at high speed. I reorganized all project workflows, cut two clearly unprofitable collaborations, and focused on preparing the AetherPeak Hotel bid proposal.

William kept his promise, formally signing the contract and transferring the funds three days later. The day the money arrived, the whole studio cheered. Even the usually aloof Robert cracked a smile.

After the signing ceremony, William said to me privately, "Don't celebrate too soon. My money isn't free. I need to see actual outcomes for the AetherPeak Hotel project."

"You don't trust me?" I retorted.

William chuckled lightly. "On the contrary. Precisely because I understand your capabilities so well, my expectations are higher." He handed me a folder. "These are the client's detailed requirements. They're coming to hear the proposal presentation next Monday."

I read through the documents, my frown deepening. "These demands are almost impossible to meet in a week."

"That's why I came to you," William took a step closer. I could even smell the faint woody scent on him. "Rachel, prove to me you're worth the investment."

After he left, I immediately called a core team meeting when I projected the client requirements onto the large screen, and the room filled with groans.

"This is downright unreasonable," the guy with the dramatic hair—I now knew his name was Jason Kutcher—grabbed his head and exclaimed. "They want the design to incorporate local cultural elements, have a modern feel, and we have to deliver the proposal in a week?"

The other designers murmured in agreement. Robert remained silent until everyone had vented, then he asked me, "What do you think?"

Everyone looked at me with worry.

"We take it," I said firmly. "Not only will we do it, we'll do it brilliantly."

Robert nodded, stood up, and walked to the whiteboard. "I'll handle concept design. Jason, your team handles cultural element extraction—" He quickly assigned tasks, methodical and clear, a far cry from the irritable director he usually was.

By the time the meeting ended, it was late at night. Employees gradually left, leaving only Robert and me in the office. Robert suddenly asked, "Are you going home tonight?"

I shook my head. "There's not enough time. I plan to pull an all-nighter."

"Funny, so do I," Robert opened a drawer and pulled out two packets of instant coffee. "Supplies are limited, so make do."

We each buried ourselves in work. At 3 AM, just as I was getting unbearably tired, a cup of hot coffee suddenly appeared in front of me. "Take a break," Robert said. "You haven't moved from that screen for four hours."

As I took the coffee, my hand accidentally brushed against his. A slight electric tingle made me pull my fingers back quickly. Robert seemed to notice too; he coughed lightly and turned back to his seat.

"Robert," I asked suddenly, "why do you insist on doing design? With your skills, you could easily go to a better company."

He was silent for a moment, then said, "My father was an architect. When I was little, he always took me to see various buildings, saying good design can change people's lives."

"Later, he passed away from illness, and the designs he left behind were distorted beyond recognition by unscrupulous developers. From that moment, I decided to become a designer who could stick to his principles," he added.

Moonlight streamed through the window, outlining his resolute expression. In that moment, I seemed to see a different Robert—not the irritable director, but a dreamer clinging to his ideals.

"Your turn," Robert asked me. "Why did you choose architectural design?"

I looked out at the night. "Because buildings are more reliable than people. You get back what you put in. They never betray you."

Robert looked at me thoughtfully, then suddenly smiled. "It seems neither of us is that complicated."

By 6 AM, we had finally completed the first draft of the proposal. When the final 3D rendering finished generating, Robert and I both let out a simultaneous sigh of relief.

"Not bad, partner," Robert stretched, revealing a strip of toned waistline.

I quickly averted my gaze, pretending to be composed. "Likewise."

Robert came to stand behind me to look at the screen. "This atrium design is quite avant-garde."

"The client wants to be stunned," I clicked to rotate the view, showing him more details. "Using modern materials to interpret the local traditional architectural structure both echoes the local culture and meets their requirement for landmark status."

"Genius," Robert said softly.

I turned to look at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Robert quickly stepped back. "I'm going to take a shower. We'll continue in an hour."

After he left, I re-examined our proposal. I had to admit, Robert's conceptual design was truly outstanding, and my structural optimizations made the wildly creative ideas feasible. The professional synergy between us had produced a strange chemical reaction.

Just then, I suddenly received a text from William. William: [You pulled an all-nighter? Don't forget the Monday presentation.]

Rachel: [Don't worry. We'll be ready.]

William: [We? You and Robert are getting along well?]

I stared at this message for a long time, ultimately deciding not to reply. Outside the window, the morning sun was slowly rising. A new day was beginning, and Robert and I seemed to have found a certain rhythm of working together.

Yet, when I accidentally flipped open Robert's sketchbook left on the table, a page filled with my name made my heartbeat suddenly accelerate. I quickly closed the book, pretending I had seen nothing.