Love lies and a billionaire’s secret

CHAPTER FORTY–THREE- THE TANGLED WEB

As she was heading back to her desk, she quite literally ran into Leon Allistair.

“Mr. Allistair! I’m so sorry,” Nia stammered, mortified.

Leon steadied her with a hand on her arm, his touch sending an unwelcome thrill through her. “No harm done, Nia. You seem to be in quite a rush today.”

Nia laughed nervously. “Just trying to keep up with Madame Rosseau’s demands. The gala preparation is… intense.”

Leon’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Ah, yes. Rosseau can be quite the taskmaster. But from what I “hear, you’re handling her admirably.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nia said, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing. “I’m doing my best.”

“Indeed you are, Leon said, his gaze warm. “In fact, I was hoping to discuss something with you. Do you have a moment?”

Nia glanced at her watch. It was 11:55. Her mother would be waiting at the park soon. But how could she refuse her boss? Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Of course, Mr. Allistair,” she heard herself say,

As Leon led her towards his office, Nia felt a mix of excitement and dread. What did he want to discuss?

The gala venue, a grand ballroom with soaring ceilings, stood silent and empty, waiting to be transformed. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor. The room’s bare walls seemed to stretch endlessly, their plain white surfaces a blank canvas yearning for adornment. Ornate moldings traced the edges of the ceiling, hinting at the space’s potential for grandeur. Gilded sconces dotted the walls at regular intervals, unlit and lifeless in the quiet afternoon.

In the center of the vast space, a small group of figures stood huddled together, their voices echoing in the emptiness. Madame Rosseau’s disapproval cut through the air like a knife, shattering the ballroom’s tranquil atmosphere.

“Non, non, non!” she exclaimed, her arms sweeping dramatically through the air. Her tailored suit rustled with each emphatic gesture, and her perfectly coiffed hair bobbed indignantly. “We need silk draperies crystal chandeliers, a cascade of orchids!”

The venue manager, a middle–aged man in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks, winced visibly. His shoulders hunched slightly as he tried to make himself appear smaller in the face of Madame Rosseau’s onslaught. “Madame,” he began hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I understand your vision, but we must consider the budget limitations and safety regulations.”

As he spoke, the manager’s eyes darted nervously around the room, as if seeking an escape route. His hands fidgeted with the clipboard he clutched tightly to his chest, knuckles white with tension.

Madame Rosseau’s face, already flushed with passion, turned an alarming shade of red. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she drew in a deep breath, preparing to unleash what promised to be a blistering tirade.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE – THE TANGLEDY WER

Nia, who had been observing the exchange with growing concern, saw the impending disaster looming on the horizon. She stepped forward quickly, her heart racing but her voice steady. “Madame, if I may?”

All eyes turned to her, a mix of curiosity, skepticism, and, in the case of the venue manager, desperate. hope. Nia took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before launching Into her Impromptu presentation.

“I believe we can create a–stunning atmosphere that aligns with your vision while respecting our constraints,” Nia began, her voice growing more confident with each word. She gestured towards the walls, drawing everyone’s attention to the room’s existing features. “The venue already has beautiful gold accents that we can enhance. By using strategically placed uplighting, we can create a warm, inviting glow that will transform the space.”

As she spoke, Nia moved around the room, pointing out specific areas and painting a verbal picture of her vision. The others followed her movements, their expressions shifting from doubt to interest.

“For centerpieces,” Nia continued, “we could repurpose some of the company’s corporate awards. They’re sleek, modern, and already have a prestigious air about them. We can intersperse these with simple yet elegant floral arrangements to add a touch of natural beauty.”

Madame Rosseau’s eyebrows raised slightly, her earlier anger giving way to a grudging curiosity. Encouraged, Nia pressed on.

“And for the backdrops you mentioned, Madame, I have an idea that could be both cost–effective and impressive. The company has old trade show booth fabric in storage. With some creative draping and fighting, we could transform it into stunning backdrops that will make the space feel luxurious and intimate.”

As Nia finished outlining her vision, a hush fell over the group. The planning committee members exchanged glances, some nodding appreciatively, others frowning as they considered the unconventional approach. Nia held her breath, watching Madame Rosseau’s face intently for any sign of her reaction.

The event planner’s mouth opened, and Nia braced herself for a scathing retort. To everyone’s shock, including Nia’s, Madame Rosseau said, “It’s… not entirely horrible. Continue.”

For the next hour, the ballroom buzzed with intense discussion as Nia and Madame Rosseau engaged in a heated back–and–forth, refining the vision. Ideas flew back and forth, each woman building on the other’s suggestions and finding creative solutions to potential problems.

Nia proposed using mirrors to amplify the effect of the uplighting, creating the illusion of a larger, more opulent spacesMadame Rosseau countered with the suggestion of incorporating the company’s colors into the floral arrangements, tying the decor more closely to the brand.

As they debated the merits of various table layouts, Nia caught sight of the venue manager’s face. Hist earlier panic had given way to a grateful smile, and Nia felt a surge of pride wash over her. She was not just solving a problem; she was creating something truly special.

By the end of their impromptu planning session, Nia and Madame Rosseau had developed a comprehensive plan that managed to be both luxurious and budget–friendly. The bare ballroom no longer seemed like an insurmountable challenge, but a space full of potential, waiting to be realized.

As the group began to disperse, making notes and assigning tasks, Nia allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction. She had taken a potential disaster and turned it into an opportunity to shine. Little did she know that her greatest challenge was yet to come.

The shrill ring of Nia’s phone cut through the quiet darkness of her bedroom, jolting her awake. Fumbling for the device, she squinted at the bright screen, her heart racing as she saw the time: 3 AM. The caller ID displayed Madame Rosseau’s name, and Nia’s stomach dropped. A call at this hour could only mean trouble.

CHAPTER FORTY THRET THE TANGLED WER

“Hello?” Nia answered, her voice rough with sleep.

ard

Madame Rosseau’s voice came through the speaker, high–pitched and frantic. “Nia! It’s a disaster! A massive power outage has struck half the city. Multiple vendors are canceling. We need to act now!”

Fully awake now, Nia’s mind raced through the implications. With less than 24 hours until the gala, this power outage could detail everything they had worked so hard to achieve. “I’m on my way,” she said, already throwing off her covers and reaching for clothes.