The first impression

The light in the showroom was soft but deliberate, designed to highlight the grains and curves of every piece. Autumn’s heels clicked softly on the polished hardwood floor as she entered, her notebook clutched tightly in one hand.

Sam stood by a sleek dining table, casually resting one hand on the carved wood, sleeves rolled to the elbows revealing strong forearms. His gaze lifted as she approached calm, assessing, like a craftsman inspecting a raw slab of wood.

“So, you’re the accountant keeping me honest,” he said, a teasing edge in his voice.

Autumn’s lips twitched into a tight smile. “Only trying to make sure you’re not hiding any skeletons.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “I promise, just wood and nails here.”

She studied him carefully. The man behind the empire was different from the stories she’d heard less polished, more real. Yet, there was something guarded in his eyes, a quiet strength that made her uneasy and curious all at once.

Their conversation quickly shifted to the costs, projections, inventories. She laid out concerns with clinical precision; he responded with stories about his craftsmen, each piece a labor of love.

“I don’t understand how you keep track of all this without losing the soul of your company,” Autumn said, genuinely intrigued despite herself.

Sam smiled wistfully. “It’s a balancing act like all things worth doing. You must respect the structure without suffocating the spirit.”

For a moment, they were no longer accountant and CEO, but two people trying to protect something precious in their own way.

...****************...

...In the conference room ...

The conference room smelled faintly of cedar and fresh coffee. Autumn sat stiffly at the long table, eyes flicking between her laptop screen and the large wooden cabinet Sam had designed himself, placed like a silent witness behind him.

“Sam, these inconsistencies in the books can’t be overlooked,” Autumn said firmly, pushing her glasses up. “If we don’t get clear records, it could cost the company dearly.”

Sam’s jaw tightened. “I understand your concern, but some of our artisans work on trust and tradition paperwork isn’t always exact.”

“Tradition doesn’t pay the bills,” Autumn replied, voice rising slightly. “We need transparency.”

He stood, frustration flashing in his eyes. “And I’m telling you; this isn’t just numbers. It’s people’s livelihoods it’s family.”

A tense silence fell. Autumn bit her lips, regretting the sharpness in her tone.

“I don’t want to fight,” she said softly. “I just want to do this right.”

Sam exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Me too. Maybe… we’re just coming at this from unusual places.”

Her heart fluttered in a way she didn’t expect maybe, beneath the friction, there was room for understanding.

...----------------...

...Weeks later after ...

Walking past the workshop one afternoon, Autumn paused when she saw Sam kneeling beside Miguel, patiently guiding his hands as he sanded a delicate table leg.

“Not too hard,” Sam whispered, voice gentle. “Let the wood tell you how much.”

Autumn’s breath caught. The hardness she expected was gone, replaced by a tenderness that made her chest ach.

Miguel looked up and smiled shyly, “Sam always says it’s about respect.”

Watching Sam, she realized there was more to him than business, a kindness that words alone couldn’t capture.

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