“Walk us through your process,” says Cindy, another investor. “What were you thinking when you designed these slides? What story are you telling?”
I see Bailey’s hesitation, see her glance at me. I give her the slightest nod.
She stands, moving to the front of the room. These bastards want to put her on the hot seat so they’d have something to gossip about later, but I trust my girl. She’s got this down to a science.
“When Mr. Williams asked me to create these materials,” she begins, “I wanted to tell a story about transformation. This isn’t just corporate growth to me, but it’s evolution.” She clicks to the next slide, showing a series of interconnected circles that I’d thought were just decorative. “These are the stages of investment. Each circle builds on the last and creates a pattern of stability and innovation.”
“Interesting,” Whitmore says. “And the color palette?”
“Blue for trust, gold for aspiration. However, I used gradients instead of solid colors because your investments aren’t static; they’re fluid and adaptive. The gradient suggests movement, progress.”
Hmm. That makes so much sense.
Cindy nods slowly. “You’ve clearly thought this through. What about the typography?”
Bailey launches into an explanation of font psychology and visual hierarchy, which has every person in the room leaning forward. She discusses how serif fonts convey tradition, while clean lines imply modernity. How the spacing creates breathing room that allows complex information to feel accessible.
I watch her own the room. Skeptical investors start nodding, asking follow-up questions, and engaging with genuine interest. She’s not just answering; she’s teaching them to see design as a strategy, not just decoration.
Pride swells in my chest so intensely it almost hurts. This brilliant, beautiful woman is changing everything.
When she finishes, twenty minutes later, Whitmore has dissolved in smiles. “Ms. Rodgers, that was remarkably insightful. Mr. Williams, you’ve clearly surrounded yourself with talented people.”
“I have,” I say, unable to keep the warmth from my voice. “Bailey is one of the best designers I’ve ever worked with.”
Cindy stands. “I think we’ve seen enough. Pending final review, we’re prepared to move forward.” She looks between us. “You’re both attending the reception tonight, yes?”
“Reception?” Bailey asks.
“Cocktails at the Shard. Six PM. It’s informal, but all the major players will be there.” Whitmore checks his watch. “We’d like to continue this conversation in a more relaxed setting.”
“Of course,” I say, ignoring Bailey’s glare. “We’ll be there.”
Bailey’s smile is tight. “Actually, I wasn’t planning to attend—”
“Oh, but you must come,” Cindy insists. “I want to hear more about your animation work. Daniel mentioned you have other creative projects?”
“I—yes, but—”
“Then it’s settled. Six PM. Don’t be late.”
He turns away before I can say anything else, the meeting dissolving into small talk and shuffling feet. I gather my things slowly, buying myself a breath or two before Bailey and I step into the hallway behind him.
The elevator ride down is silent until we’re alone.
“You were incredible,” I say the moment the doors close.
“I was doing my job.” But her cheeks flush with pleasure, betraying her.
“You did more than your job. You won them over completely.”
“They were testing me.”
“And you passed with flying colors.” I turn to face her fully. “Bailey, you were brilliant up there.”
She finally meets my eyes. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
