“I have a copy on a USB drive,” I said.
“In that case, Ms. Reyes,” Eleanor said, pointing at the laptop, “please proceed.”
With trembling hands, I pulled the thumb drive out of the pocket of my slacks, thankful I thought to keep it on me.
All eyes tracked me as the correct slide deck blinked onto the projector screen. The clicker felt slick in my palm as I turned sideways to face both the execs and the room. The air was thick going through my nose, as if breathing through a wet towel. My chest fought for each inhale, fingers tingling around the clicker, heat crawling up the back of my neck. Too loud. Too bright. Too much.
Then, across the room, I found Lincoln—that maddening grin, those damn dimples. His face lit up with pride. My lungs unlocked, air sliding back in, steady enough to keep me standing.
“My concept is built on one idea—brand intimacy,” I began, my voice shaky for half a sentence before I found the thread and tugged hard. “Consumers don’t want to feel sold to; they want to feel seen. So how does your clean energy philosophy speak to them?” I clicked to the next slide, showing my mock-up campaign with a breakdown of demographics, marketing approaches for connection, and conversion rates to turn awareness into paying customers. I talked through confidently because for all my flaws, I was damn good at my job.
Annelisa interrupted halfway through my case study. “How is this fundamentally different from Kline & Warren’s pitch?”
Good question. My pulse kicked. My eyes darted to the side where I caught Carmen’s gaze near the front row. She was smiling, a proud smile that could melt iron. Maybe she was on my side after all. “Because theirs focused on a broad awareness,” I said, flipping back a slide. “Mine starts from a microlevel, so it comes as a result of trust. Think ripple effect, not broadcast.”
Eleanor actually nodded. That tiny gesture loosened my spine a little.
I kept going, walking them through the strategy, the visuals, the numbers I’d obsessed with over the weekend while eating the food and drinks Lincoln kept sending.
Priya cut in. “You’re asking us to build a whole new customer experience journey. What’s the ROI timeline?”
I glanced at the audience, and Lincoln was still focused on me.
“Eight months,” I said without hesitating, clicking to my projected timeline. “Twelve if you start from scratch, but I’ve included ways to repurpose existing infrastructure.” My voice didn’t shake this time.
By the time I hit my last slide, it didn’t feel as if I was convincing them, more like I’d been hired already, and I was telling them where we’d start.
“Thank you, Ms. Reyes,” Eleanor said when I wrapped. “Very strong presentation.”
“I do have something to add,” Annelisa cut through her peer’s compliment. “Your graphics are not polished enough. What is your plan to get them up to the requirements of our company?”
There was no harm done, I could do graphics but certainly not my strong suit. I wasn’t above admitting that. “I’d be happy to bring in a graphic designer for this project,” I stated, hands in my pockets. “Or to work with someone of your choosing already on your team.”
The three women exchanged a look, a silent language of sharp glances and barely there smirks.
When I was finally dismissed, I was dizzy with relief. Stepping away from the platform, I saw Natasha in the back of the room casually stirring sugar into her coffee, perfectly at ease. Everyone around me was absorbed in their own conversations, even the execs chatted among themselves. I moved toward my chair and so did Natasha, and my chest tightened. I tried to slow myself down, but there was no escaping her perfume. There was something violent in the floral scent that made it difficultto breathe. I felt my pockets for my rescue inhaler. Then I remembered I didn’t have it. I didn’t go back for it.
“Nice presentation,” she said, voice low and teasing as she hovered over me, smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
My throat tightened. The scent more powerful the longer she stayed. “I thought I’d give credit where credit’s due.”
My brain focused on forcing air into my lungs as my airway constricted. If she’d leave with her perfume, I could breathe just fine.
“Lincoln must be proud. You know how I used to get Lincoln to talk to me? We’d make fun of you.”
Then hot liquid drenched my chest, not enough to burn, but shocking enough to steal the air away. My vision darkened. It was too much, the perfume, the coffee, the stress; I couldn’t get my breathing under control without an inhaler.
“We’d talk shit about you, and then he’d fuck me so hard I’d feel him for days.” She spoke low enough only I could hear the cruelty in her voice.
My chest tightened, breaths coming fast and shallow. I struggled to step back, more wheezing than breathing by now. I tried making eye contact with someone, anyone, but nobody’s eyes were on us.
“Yeah, you heard that right,” she hissed, just for my ears. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Nina! Let me clean your blouse up. Silly me,” she announced louder, in perfectly rehearsed concern.
She pulled out a sleeve of Clorox wipes and leaned closer, lingering over me. When she pulled the plastic out, the antiseptic hit me in a wave, pungent and razor-edged, before she even reached the stain. It cut into my lungs, making me cough, tiny spasms rattling my ribs.
“Oh, come on,” she said, voice soft, venomous. “Don’t tell me you’re actually… struggling.” She tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Lincoln would besoimpressed with me right now.”
I gasped, clawing at my chest, but still, no one paid attention. She didn’t retreat, she finally brushed my blouse with the wipe, fumes rising faster now that the smell was closer.
