She isn’t here to decorate the room.
She’s here to manage it.
Theo, inevitably, disrupts the equilibrium.
“Is it common,” he asks with far too much innocence, “for all the founders of a company to attend a meeting about planning a Christmas party?”
Lucy doesn’t miss a beat.
“I can’t speak to what’s common for Northwell,” she says evenly. “But if leadership is present, I assume the event matters.”
Her gaze doesn’t flick to me. She doesn’t seek approval.
She holds the room.
Theo grins like he’s just been handed a new toy. “It matters.”
Elliot shifts in his seat, amused. Caleb’s mouth curves slightly, almost imperceptible. Rowan doesn’t move.
I step in before Theo can push further.
“Continue,” I say.
Lucy does.
That’s when I realize something else.
She’s not nervous.
Alert, yes. Focused. Aware she’s being assessed by men who rarely attend meetings like this. But she isn’t shrinking under it. She’s adapting.
That’s rare.
She mentions weather contingencies, and I note the way she’s already accounted for risk without being asked. When she says,If Chicago decides to be Chicago, Theo laughs, and something in the room loosens.
She did that.
She eased tension without trying.
Caleb stands when she finishes, introducing himself formally. His handshake is brief, efficient. Rowan gives her a nod from across the room, acknowledgment without intrusion.
Theo stands abruptly, as if he’s been waiting for his moment. Then he mutters, “You look soft.”
Lucy turns on him immediately, posture straightening, expression sharpening just enough to warn him not to mistake her professionalism for tolerance.
“Excuse me?” she says.
Theo backpedals, hands up, words tumbling out. He gestures vaguely at the room. At us. But I am not focused on him. I am watchingher.
I feel something unpleasant curl low in my gut.
Possession,maybe. Or irritation that he’s noticed something I already clocked and didn’t give him permission to say.
I watch as she holds her ground, calm and unflinching.
She tells him she does barre.
She's a dancer?
