The absence was immediate and disorienting, my fingers tingling as if they’d been deprived of heat. He inclined his head once, satisfied, his attention returning to me as if the interruption had never existed at all.
I drew in a slow, steadying breath and made my way to the front of the room, where a large screen was at the ready for me to use. But unlike yesterday, there had been no chance to set this up, which meant I was left fumbling as I removed my laptop from my bag. My fingers remained uncooperative, and I ended up having to put my password in three times before it finallyworked. My nervous little looks when glancing at the full room always landed on Oblivion, who was watching me intently. Of course, the eye rolls from the queen bitch in the room weren’t exactly helping matters.
The screen blinked, stubbornly blank for a second too long, and a ripple of discomfort moved through the room. I swallowed, forcing my shoulders to stay square as I clicked through the prompts, willing the technology to cooperate. The silence pressed in, every second stretching until it felt personal.
“It’s always helpful to arrive early when you’re presenting,” Jennifer remarked lightly, tapping a manicured nail against the table.
“Gives you time to test these things,” she provided unhelpfully, and once again, I gritted my teeth hard enough I thought they might chip.
But I refused to look at her. I didn’t trust myself to, as I might have done something childish enough like sticking my tongue out at her. Instead, I focused on my laptop just as it finally connected, making the screen behind me flare to life. Unfortunately, it also did this with an image that made my stomach drop clean through the floor.
Frogs and lily-pads!
Bright green, unapologetic, and each one sitting serenely on a lily-pad in the center of the screen. There was a beat of silence so complete I could almost believe the room was empty. But unfortunately, this was not exactly my day for being lucky.
Which was why heat flooded my face as a couple of people snorted quietly, and I reached for the mouse pad a little too quickly, fumbling as I dragged the presentation file into place. The frogs vanished, replaced by clean lines, charts, and data points, but the damage had already been done. I could feel my ears burning, my pulse skittering as embarrassment crawled up my spine.
I foolishly risked a glance toward the head of the table.
Oblivion was watching me, one hand lifted to his mouth as his fingers rested thoughtfully against his lips, his eyes intent rather than amused. If he had noticed the screensaver, he gave no sign of it beyond a slight narrowing of his gaze. A flicker of curiosity that made my stomach twist in an entirely different way.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said calmly, gesturing with his hand for me to start.
Not impatient.
Not mocking.
Simply observing.
I nodded once, grateful for the permission even as I resented needing it. Then I launched into the presentation before my nerves could regroup. The words came more easily once I started, muscle memory kicking in as I walked through the campaign strategy, the demographic reach, the projected growth. This part I knew. I’d lived with these ideas long enough that they were practically stitched into me.
As I spoke, the room shifted.
Heads tilted in interest. Pens moved. Even Jennifer fell quiet, her earlier smugness giving way to reluctant attention. I paced myself, presenting each point of data, anticipating objections before they could be raised, and building the narrative the same way I had done yesterday. Only now, with the added weight of an audience that felt far more dangerous.
Oblivion didn’t interrupt.
He listened.
Intently.
Every so often, his gaze would flick briefly to the screen, then back to me, tracking my movements, my words, the cadence of my voice. His attention was steady and evaluative. But it was also unsettling, as if he were seeing more than what I was saying.As if he were cataloguing my thoughts before I had time to express them.Like he could see right through me.
By the time I reached the final slide, my breathing had evened out, my nerves settling into something that felt almost like confidence. I finished with a practiced summary, hands braced lightly against the edge of the table as I looked up, waiting.
The silence that followed was different this time.
It wasn’t awkward.
It was expectant.
Almost like everyone seemed to hold their breath but him. In fact, the quiet stretched on just long enough to make my nerves start rattling again. My confidence was teetering on the edge as I searched the faces around the table for some indication of what they were thinking. Mr. Banner shifted in his seat, lips parting as if he were about to step in to smooth things over, to redirect, and to save face the way he always did when he sensed uncertainty.
However, he didn’t get the chance.
Oblivion straightened slowly in his chair, his hand lowering from his mouth as his gaze remained fixed on me. Respect flashed in his eyes, and when he finally spoke, his voice was calm and unhurried. A tone that flowed effortlessly across the room.
“This is inspired,” he stated, and I felt my lungs fill with air.
