1
When the Slide Hits the Fan
Chicago
Tessa
They were laughing.Not all of them, but enough.
Standing at the front of the conference room, I froze in mid-sentence.What the hell?
Quickly, I scanned the faces of my audience, searching for the source of the joke. I saw nothing worth a laugh, not even Toby the intern, whose unfortunate typo had almost ruined slide number four – the one promising a deep dive into public complaints.
Notpubiccomplaints, no matter what Toby had typed.
Thank God I was a paranoid proofreader.
As the unsettling laughter rolled over the room, my gaze snagged on Toby, sitting in the far back. For some stupid reason, he was recording me with his cellphone.
I frowned. He wasn't laughing, but he did look…what?Smug?
But why?Because he'd been allowed to attend this pitch at all?
He didn't have a seat at the table, just a spot along the wall with the other junior staffers – some from Thatcher-Hale and more from our potential client, Carver Health.
But this presentation?Yeah, it was a big deal – especially to me, the one who'd been pulling double-duty to make it a success.
Just five years ago,I'dbeen the intern – a recent college grad with a lot to prove. Now, here I was, poised for my big breakout, and my audience was snickering like I'd just farted.
With growing dread, I looked toward our client, Evan Carver, whose looming presence dominated the long, glossy table. He was sitting in the power seat, flanked by yes-men in tailored suits.
Evan was in his mid-thirties, tall and pale, with artfully messy bronze hair that probably cost a fortune to look so undone.
He was undeniably attractive. But the longer I'd known him, the uglier he looked, especially now, when my career wasn't the only thing in danger.
He was giving me that look again – the one that saidI know where you sleep.
But then his eyes narrowed, and he rose to his feet. "Miss Sinclair, is this your idea of a joke?"
Hah! Miss Sinclair.That's not what he'd called me last night, when he'd been pounding on my apartment door.
And Istilldidn't know why people were laughing – until I turned and looked at the screen.
At what I saw, my heart nearly stopped.Holy hell.
I dropped the clicker, and the room burst into fresh laughter.
Like a ghost at her own funeral, I stared at the final slide – the one sporting the new and improved Carver logo, which our designers had spent weeks perfecting.
Or rather, that's what the slideshouldhave contained.
Instead, on the oversized screen, I saw a drunken blonde. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick was smudged, and her silver party dress was riding high on her thighs. She was holding a martini and grinding against a paramedic, whose face had been cropped out of view, probably to focus on hers.
Her smile was sloppy. Her eyes were half-lidded. And she didn't seem to care one bit that a second party girl was collapsed behind her, with motionless legs jutting into the frame like a crime scene parody.
In the background was a high-end hotel suite, with low lighting, neutral furniture, and in the far corner, the edge of a neatly made bed that somehow made everything worse.
And that first girl? The one grinding against the paramedic?
