“Hold up.” Vance raised a hand. “Did you say twenty-two hundred?”
“Correct. Plus the terrace, which brings the functional event space to the three thousand square feet requested.”
“The marketing materials promise three thousand square feet ofindoorevent space. Not outdoor. Not terrace. Indoor.” He looked around the table. “That’s a problem.”
The sales agents looked dubious, but Doug leaned in. “Go on, Meredith.”
She pulled up the original design brief on her second screen. “The brief specifies three thousand square feet of usable event space, not exclusively indoor. The terrace was part of the design from the initial proposal—it’s covered, it’s permitted, and it’s integrated into the flow of the building. In this climate, covered outdoor space functions as indoor space nearly all year round. Even in January, we can have heaters when needed.”
“Buyers don’t read it that way,” Vance grumbled, suddenly an expert on what buyers wanted. “They see three thousand, they expect three thousand under a roof.” He looked at William and Andrew. “Am I right?”
One of the men frowned. “They do like outdoor space for kids’ parties.”
“Not if it’s raining,” Vance fired back. “There are downpours here in August and September.” To Meredith, he said, “You’re from Atlanta. You might not know that.”
Meredith knew the weather patterns better than the local meteorologist but let the comment pass. “The terrace is under a roof,” she explained. “It’s a covered structure with?—”
“I think we need Eli on this.” Vance said it like he was calling for a doctor. “This is the kind of design decision that needs senior-level sign-off. No offense, Meredith, but the clubhouse is the centerpiece of the development. We can’t afford a disconnect between marketing and architecture.”
The room went quiet. Doug Fenton looked at his hands, his body language screaming that he’d rather be out on the job site checking on contractors than sitting in this room. The sales associates studied their tablets.
Connor sat perfectly still, his gaze on her.
And all Meredith could do was make a decision—fight or flight.
She could pull up the design brief, the permit application, the county approval—all of which confirmed that the clubhouse design was exactly what had been agreed upon. She had the documentation. She had the numbers. She had every right to stand her ground in this room.
But Vance wasn’t arguing facts. He was arguingauthority.
She chose flight, but only because she really did want her dad’s support before she died on this hill.
“I’ll loop Eli in,” she said evenly. “But the design is sound and I’m confident it aligns with the approved brief. We can move to the Phase One drainage update, which has been affected by some of the residential changes.”
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of infrastructure timelines and inspection schedules. Meredith participated, answered questions, and maintained the steady professionalism she’d learned from watching her father in a hundred similar meetings.
But deep inside, something was cracking.
Not because of Vance. She could handle Vance with one arm tied behind her back—and Connor could tell him as much, since he literally worked that way.
What bothered her was the silence from everyone else. Doug Fenton, who respected her work, hadn’t said a word. The Lakeside salesmen had stared at their screens. Nobody in that room had pushed back.
Nobody had said, “Actually, Meredith already addressed that.”
And the thought that crept in was the one she’d been fighting since the day Dad handed her this project:They think I’m here because of Eli.The boss’s daughter, playing architect. Nepotism in a hard hat.
She knew it wasn’t true. She knew her work had earned this—the Alastair model that outsold every other floor plan, the array of elevation alternatives she’d designed from scratch, the Phase One timeline that was running ahead of schedule. She knew.
And eventually, so would Vance and Co.
Back in the office, she closed the door and sat at her desk without turning on her monitors. Connor lingered close and watched her.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re doing the thing where you say fine and your jaw could cut glass.”
She almost smiled. “He’s never going to respect me, Connor. And the worst part is, everyone in that room deferred to him. Not one person backed me up. And I’m not counting you.”
