Finance clears his throat. “Cost controls? Thursday is comp-forward.”
“We’ll save our questions until the end,” Caterina says again, then nods at me to continue.
And I do. I walk them through the rest of the weekend, quickly and efficiently. Once I’m done, the questions start again.
Though my heart is beating hard under the tall man’s eyes, I answer each one as clearly as I can.
Before I know it, the questions have petered out, everyone looks satisfied, including Caterina—no perceptible difference from the man in the back—and I’vedone it.
I got through the presentation.
Chairs scrape. The shift in the air is lighter as people talk and stack their notebooks, tuck pens behind ears, and start triaging out loud.
Gina leans in on her way up. “Send me your timing grid,” she says, a kind curve to her lips. “I’ll match mine up with yours.”
“I will,” I say.
Tomás gives me a brief nod that is probably as much as he ever says. The rest file out: Ops, PR, giving me nods of approval.
Movement pulls at my peripheral. The man at the far end stands. No flourish, just a rise and an unhurried turn toward the door. People part for him in that unconscious way that says hierarchy. He doesn’t look at me. He was listening the entire time; I felt it like a hand at my spine keeping me upright. At the threshold, he pauses—the smallest check of pace—and then he’s gone.
I exhale only when the door hushes shut. The room feels bigger with fewer bodies in it.
Caterina closes her notebook and stays seated. She waits until the last pair of heels fades down the hall, then tips her head at the chair next to her. “Sit.”
I sit. My hands hover above the laptop for a second before I fold them together to keep them from broadcasting nerves I don’t need to carry anymore.
She doesn’t make me guess. “You did well,” she says. “Clean plan, clean presentation.”
“Thank you,” I say, and my voice doesn’t wobble this time. My body catches up and finally relaxes.
“Two notes,” she adds, because she’s Caterina. “On the Thursday invite, I want ‘we opened with our community’ to be the headline. Lead with the welcome. And add a line in the staff-families Sunday email about photo permission. HR will love you.”
“Done,” I say, already rewriting in my head.
She studies me a beat. “How do you feel?”
“Like I can unclench my jaw,” I say, honestly.
Her mouth tilts. “Good. Do that. Then send me version two by tomorrow. Locals draft, RSVP workflow, credential map, invite copy, and the no-live/no-BOH language. I’ll loop PR and Ops.”
“On it.”
She leans back, pen still in hand. “You did really well, Liv,” she says. “You can relax now.”
I swallow and let my shoulders drop. “I did, didn’t I? I did really well.” My nose scrunches with pleasure as a smile breaks out.
Caterina laughs. “You did. Everybody loved it.”
I think briefly ofthe man in the back. Did he?
I push the thought away.
“I’m glad. I wasn’t sure about the locals-only event, but I really think it’s good.”
“It is,” she adds, brisk again. “It’s a great idea, and we’ll come off looking great for it. Plus, everybody will be foaming at the mouth to be here on day two.”
I laugh. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
