She already is.
Rorie breathes in deep, and I see the tiny shift when the nerves bleed out and the steel kicks in.
The woman who made me fall so fast and hard I still haven’t hit the ground.
The woman who made me believe again.
“Good morning,” she starts, her voice clear and calm now. “You’ve seen some incredible pitches today. Bold ideas. Big visions. We could’ve given you another version of that. But we’re not here to blend in.”
She pauses, lets it breathe, lets the words hang, owning the silence. And then she presses the button.
The first image blazes onto the screen behind her: a glittering coastline, the kind of scene you see in movie trailers right before the plot twists your heart in two.
“This is about something bigger,” she continues. “Something timeless. Something unforgettable. SomethingCrossMedia.”
Her eyes flick to Asher. To Shelby. And—God help me—to me. For half a second, she smiles a tiny, private smile that’s ours.
She’s not scared.
She’shome.
The presentation unfolds like a movie script. Golden beaches, poker tables tucked into shadowy corners, speedboats carving through sapphire water. It’s not just scenic. It’s cinematic.
It’snota pitch.
It’s a seduction.
“Cross Media and White Thorn Resort will never be just another luxury chain. You are the memory people hold dear—the place they think about long after they’ve returned home. And what’s more unforgettable than stepping into a world that feels straight out of the most iconic moments in history?”
Images change. Old film stills. Monte Carlo. James Bond. She’s not pitching a brand. She’s pitching a world.
I glance toward Shelby Davidson. She’s leaning in now.
“This,” Rorie continues, “is The Cross Affair.”
My pulse spikes. Around me, people are leaning forward. Whispering. Hooked.
Shelby looks like she’s already mentally packing her vintage luggage for the first reservation.
And me? I sit, watching the love of my life turn a room full of sharks into believers.
Watching her shine.
Watching her win.
Not because she needs me. But because she never needed anyone's permission to beextraordinary.
She paints the entire experience like a scene from a high-stakes movie. Cocktail lounges, hidden messages, mystery adventures. She hits every note like she’s known them all along.
Her voice softens at the end. “We’re not just selling a destination. We’re selling an era. A fantasy they’ll never stop talking about. And will continue to crave more of, hopefully…forever.”
Another glance at me before she finishes. There’s a heartbeat of silence and then the applause hits, loud and rolling like thunder.
She steps back from the podium, her shoulders lifting, then falling with a visible exhale. She catches my eye across the room. Her fingers brush the bracelet at her wrist.
The anchor.
Our anchor.
