The words land like a slap.
I freeze for half a second. Maybe less. But it feels like an eternity.
Elspeth winces. I catch it in my peripheral vision. Dr. Vasquez’s expression on the screen flickers with something that might be disapproval. Paloma doesn’t react at all, which somehow makes it worse.
The donors on the screen are watching. Three sets of wealthy, discerning eyes, witnessing the CEO send his secretary for coffee in the middle of a strategic discussion about the very proposal she wrote.
Smile.
Keep smiling.
“Of course, Mr. Rossi.” My voice comes out perfectly steady. A miracle of muscle memory.
Guess he doesn’t want any notes for this next part.
I close my laptop a little harder than necessary.
Fuck him.
He turns toward the other two in the room. “Elspeth? Paloma?”
Elspeth asks for black coffee, no sugar. Paloma requests green tea.
And Nico himself doesn’t bother to tell me his order, because I alreadyknow it.
I walk out of the conference room.
The hallway stretches forever. Glass walls everywhere. No privacy. Someone from the communications team glances up as I pass, and I can already see the question forming in their eyes.
Why is the secretary leaving the big donor meeting?
The break room is mercifully empty.
I grip the counter with both hands and count to ten.
One. Two. Three.
Heat prickles behind my eyes. I blink rapidly, staring at the coffee maker.
Four. Five. Six.
I have a master’s degree. I spent two years researching crisis communications and nonprofit governance. I wrote my thesis on stakeholder management during organizational scandal.
I am notthis.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
But I am, though.
I’m exactly this.
The underemployed secretary who gets sent for coffee.
The person whose ideas get taken and passed off as someone else’s.
Ten.
I prepare the coffee tray.
