Filed to story: Watch Out, I’m The Lady Boss (Eleanor & Sebastian) Book PDF Free
So Sebastian stayed where he was.
Soon, the audience began trickling in.
A host stepped up to the center stage.
The house lights dimmed.
Everyone quieted.
A large screen lit up with the first contestant’s design, and the judges” tablets buzzed to life.
Each screen showed a high-resolution rendering angles, materials list-the usual breakdown.
Once the contestant finished speaking, the judges began tapping their scores.
Sebastian saw Octavia, seated next to a woman who looked vaguely familiar.
He knew Octavia wasn’t there for technical credibility.
She’d been brought in for PR, and her score carried little weight.
It would be scaled down in the final tally.
The real authority sat dead center: Dr Ali?nor Dubois.
Sebastian noticed the other judges kept checking her reaction before submitting anything.
Dubois had the room in her grip.
Sebastian shifted in his chair.
He had no doubt Dubois would lowball Eleanor the second she had the chance.
At least Eleanor had drawn the final slot.
That bought her a few extra minutes.
Each presentation was capped at three minutes.
The pace stayed tight.
Contestants cycled through quickly, and soon they were down to the last handful.
Tristan Hadley jogged down the aisle, shoulders hunched.
He slid into the narrow space beside Sebastian.
Applause rattled through the hall as the contestant before me stepped down.
I walked to the center of the platform.
The screen behind me buzzed once, then flared to life.
White light burned at the edge of my vision.
My palms were dry; I’d made sure of it.
I hadn’t come all this way and worked weeks on four hours” sleep a night just to flinch now.
I gripped the mic in one hand, the laser pointer in the other.
I began.
“Good afternoon, judges, guests. I’m Eleanor Vance.”
I paused just long enough to make them look up.
“The theme: Evening Gala. Gemstones. Composure. I designed a four-piece set intended for high-profile, high-visibility events. Met-tier, red carpet-ready. But every clasp, hinge, and suspension curve is engineered for full comfort. Nothing that requires styling glue or double- sided tape to sit right.”
I clicked the pointer.
The ring rotated on the screen.
“Let’s start with the ring. Cushion-cut Ceylon sapphire, 7.8 carats, zero thermal treatment. Cradled in a platinum claw mount. The tapering shank has micro-pav? spinels-black, not red -to reduce flare under flash photography. The undergallery’s open to let the stone breathe.”
Another click.
The necklace,
“This collar piece uses a floating halo design. Twenty-two Colombian emeralds, tension-set between curved titanium bars for flexibility. They follow the line of the collarbone, not the neckline. It moves with the body, not against it. No flipping, no twisting. Even with hair down.
Next, the earrings.
“Triple-drop configuration. Mixed cuts: marquise, pear, and round. Center stones are white zircons, not diamonds. They give a wetter sparkle under LED but stay lighter on the lobe. The hooks are reverse-weighted to stop swingback when walking.”Last one.
“The bracelet’s a hinged bangle. Center inlay of brushed gold with hex-set garnets, chosen for low reflectivity under spotlight glare, Interior lined with medical-grade silicone. Non-slip. Sweat-resistant. You could wear this through a whole gala dinner and forget it’s there.”
I glanced at Ali?nor Dubois.
She leaned in, elbows on the table.
Her gaze pinned the screen.
I finished.
“Thank you.”
As the last contestant, no one ushered me off.
I stayed in place.
The judges began scoring.
The ones with styluses muttered to each other, heads bent.
One tapped the corner of his screen as if it was unresponsive.
I scanned the audience and found Sebastian immediately in the second row.
His hands came together first.
A few people turned.
Then more clapping.
It spread quickly, like someone had flicked a switch.
I didn’t wave; the whole thing was being livestreamed. But I let him see the smile.
The secondary screen flickered with slow-moving comments from online viewers.
Dubois finally spoke.
“It’s… fine.”
Nothing else.
A long pause.
Then the numbers appeared.
Eight.
Six.
Seven.
A hush.
Then-
Octavia spoke.
She didn’t bother to lower her voice, or hide the hostility in it.
“That last guy’s necklace looked like costume jewelry from a Halloween aisle. You nines. Now she shows actual craftsmanship and you suddenly develop cataracts? Are you taking the piss?” gave him A collective murmur rippled through the room.
The livestream chat exploded.
I glanced at the screen.
The viewer count was jumping in real time.
The comments scrolled so fast I had to squint.
[What the hell is this scoring?]
[Octavia just blew it up. They thought she was here to look pretty. Ha.]
[Eleanor’s work is solid. Actual design logic, not whatever the hell that last entry was.]
[Six?! That necklace is museum-grade. This is rigged as fuck.]
“Dr. Dubois?” Octavia’s voice cut through the noise.
“I’m not a professional designer, sure. But you are. So explain the score. I’m waiting. And I’m not the only one.”
Ali?nor Dubois didn’t answer.
She crooked a finger at one of the staff.
He jogged over.
She leaned in and murmured something.