A proud smile makes its way on her face, one that I can’t stop myself from mirroring. And while I think that would earn me a kiss, she gets up from my lap before I have the chance to stop her.
“It doesn’t matter. You need to focus on perfecting this presentation. I can’t be a distraction.”
I lean back in the chair, one arm draped over the backrest as I look her up and down. “It’s hard staying focused whenever you’re around.”
Vivienne rolls her eyes, but I see the flush to her cheeks. “Stop flirting with me and get back to work.”
“There’s no work to be done. I told you this.” I motion for her to come over, but she doesn’t budge.
“I’m sorry!” she says with no remorse. “Guess you’ll have more time to get dressed! You can’t possibly disappoint theladies in the crowd by looking like a fraction of your handsome self.”
A glance at my watch confirms she’s right. With only one hour before this presentation, there wasn’t much time to spare. Reluctantly, I rise from my seat, and with each step toward my suitcase, a heavier weight settles in my stomach.
A lot is riding on this talk—the future of this company, thousands of jobs, and the credibility of everyone who works for us.
I don’t want to let anyone down, but it’s only right to acknowledge that this could all go to shit. We’ve been there once, and it’s very probable that we’ll find ourselves there again.
CHAPTER 25
NATE
Within seconds of arriving backstage, I’m handed a microphone, a clicker for the presentation slide, and a makeup touch-up.
Don’t ask me how that last one got slipped in there. But according to the guy who so graciously blended beige cream under my eyes and dusted white powder all over my face, I looked like “a zombie that hasn’t slept more than three hours,” to which I said, “I haven’t gotten any.”
That comment earned me a playful slap on the cheek with a fluffy brush.
Noah, as indicated by his name tag, also wasn’t shy to reiterate that he hadn’t given Carter the same treatment. And that I should get on stage and break nothing “because I’m too perfect to be broken.”
I’ll give it to the guy. I’ve never felt more flattered in my life, but it’s the reassurance regarding Carter that I appreciated the most. It was nice to know that not everyone was rootingfor my downfall, especially when the stage manager seemed to fall into that category.
“On the count of three, the stage lights will go on. Feel free to walk out at any time over the next thirty seconds. You can wait a bit or walk on immediately to get it over with. Beats me. Just make sure you get up there and give your talk. Got it?”
I nod in response, not liking the dirty look he gives me as he strolls away.
I’d like to say my previously good interaction balanced out this bad one—but God knows that isn’t true. The bad always seems to overshadow the good.
I do one last sweep of the backstage area and spot Vivienne, arms crossed tightly over her chest and a frown on her face.
Her expression softens the moment our eyes meet, a lopsided smile breaking through before she shoots me two thumbs-up. She’s clearly trying her best to be encouraging, but it’s obvious that she’s as stressed as I am.
Fake it till you make it.It’s been my mantra for the past few hours, but at this point, I’m not too sure how good I’ll be at faking it when my anxieties are running at lightning speed.
“Three, two, one.” The stage manager’s voice trickles through my earpiece.
I take a deep breath in and march out onto the stage despite the heavy beating of my heart.
I smile and wave into the crowd, who greet me with a respectful clap. It isn’t comparable to what it was once—the all-roaring cheers and whistles. But I’m just grateful that I’m not getting booed—or having tomatoes hurled at me in some great act of public disapproval.
“Good evening, everyone,” I greet the crowd, not having to wait long for the clapping to subside. “You may be asking yourselves, ‘What is this man doing up there addressing a room full of brilliant minds with his shitty reputation?’ And to answeryour question, I’m not too sure of it myself. Someone on the board of directors must have thought this would be great for rage-bait publicity—so here I am!”
A few chuckles, bordering on snorts, ripple through the auditorium.
Not the toughest crowd, it seems.
“To the students in the room, who may or may not have finished their posters and talks on the night before presenting—I’d like to say that I see you, I feel you, and I pulled an all-nighter to put this together as well. So if you see any mistakes—ignore them. You didn’t.”
That elicits genuine laughter from a handful of people, and the sound eases the tension gnawing at me.
