He must know what he does to people.
What he does tome.
I wrench my eyes back to the screen, blinking so violently that the text blurs. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed a sock.
Still, somehow, words claw their way out. “Right. Good morning. I’m Georgie Fitzgerald, and today I’m excited to present IRIS—our revolutionary new system that will transform hotel operations.”
The voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to me, but at least syllables are forming.
I tap my phone, praying my shaking finger hits the right button. The screen mercifully shifts; thank fuck.
“So this is IRIS’s main dashboard. Everything’s integrated—heating, lighting, the lot.” I force a swallow that probably everyone can hear. “And since we’ve got machine learning algorithms running in the background, we can, um, predict what guests need before they even ask.”
I click again, but the slide jumps three ahead then jerks back four like it’s having a panic attack of its own.
We land on the title slide. “WELCOME” mocks me in massive letters.
“Sorry, just—just a sec…” I mutter, stabbing my phone.
Someone coughs. That tight, cringey cough that translates to,Christ, this is painful.
“Take your time.”
Patrick’s voice cuts through the suffocating silence from the back.
I refuse to look at him. Physically cannot. If I make eye contact with the apex predator blocking my only escape route, I’ll die. Even if this presentation doesn’t kill me, one look at those eyes might finish the job.
The correct slide appears. I breathe. Barely.
I turn back to the room, doing everything I can to pretend he isn’t here.
Words stumble out of me, stiff and robotic. Roy nods from the front row like I’m nailing it, and I cling to it like it’s the only steady thing in the room.
But I’m not steady.
There’s a tremor I can’t hide, running from my hands to my voice.
Because he’s here, and when Patrick McLaren occupies the same space as me, I forget everything. How to speak. How to think. How to exist like a normal human.
Only this time it’s worse. So much worse.
Because I can feel his attention like a physical weight pressing against my spine. Not his usual dismissive glance that he tosses my way in corridors. Real, concentrated focus.
Like an idiot, I glance toward the door.
His gaze travels over me, taking in the dress that clings in ways my usual work clothes never do. Like he’s trying to reconcilethisversion of me—the fact that I’m not just a floating IT support head with USB sticks for hands.
His brow furrows, mouth pressing into a line. The expression makes me feel like I’ve turned up in my mum’s heels and lipstick, trying to bluff my way into being a grown-up.
Oh God.
I snap my gaze to the back wall. Anywhere but those penetrating blue eyes. “A-and with the AI feedback loop, we can... we can—uh—optimize, um...”
What comes out is a horrible mix of technical knowledge and the corporate nonsense Craig insists we shovel into presentations. Words I practiced until Riri started snoring on the sofa beside me.
Just keep going. You know this. You built the damn thing. Say the words.
I peek at Roy, who’s nodding encouragingly like I’m delivering the presentation of the decade.
