My breathing slows.The panic is still there, but it isn’t swallowing me whole anymore. I inhale slowly through my nose, the cool marble still grounding me beneath my fingertips.
Then I straighten.
One breath.
Then another.
My reflection still looks nervous, but no longer like I’m about to fall apart.
“Okay,” I murmur quietly. “You can do this.”
I gather my hair and twist it back into place, securing the pins with steadier fingers. When I’m finished, I intentionally leave one thin teal strand loose, letting it fall visibly along my temple. Jayce loves when I let my teal show, and that helps give me confidence.
It’s a small reminder that I’m still me.
I smooth my jacket, square my shoulders, and take one last steadying breath before pushing open the bathroom door. The hallway outside is quiet, the muted hum of a busy office drifting through the air.
Feeling more confident, I make my way into the conference room.
It’s a large space, with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the city. I hardly notice anything else about the room because the moment I step inside and see that Jackson and his board are already present and seated, my mind starts to race again. Six people in total, wearing immaculate suits, gaze up at me with polite, expectant stares.
The full, 3D model I built and sent over is sitting in the middle of the table.
“Ms. Holloway,” Jackson says warmly. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I manage, my voice calmer than I feel. I go around and shake hands with each board member before moving to the front of the room, where a large presentation screen hangs behind me. My laptop suddenly feels heavier in my hands as I place it on the podium.
You’ve got this.
I flip it open and connect the cable to cast the presentation.
My hand trembles slightly as I guide the plug into the port. For a brief, horrifying second it won’t line up, and my fingers fumble.
Please work.
The screen flickers, then my title slide appears across the display.
Oh, thank God.
Relief rushes through me so fast that I nearly laugh. I quickly pass out copies of my presentation so everyone can follow along.
I swallow before turning to face the group.
“Hello, everyone,” I say, clicking the remote controlling my computer. The first slide pops up on the flatscreen behind me. “My name is Sutton Holloway. I’m here representing Holloway Architecture, and I want to thank you for the opportunity toshow you what Holloway can do to create a performance center designed for artists, not just audiences.”
Jackson leans back in his chair, one ankle crossing over the opposite knee, clearly intrigued. Around him, the rest of the board shifts their attention fully toward the screen.
“This building isn’t just a venue,” I continue. “It’s a creative engine. Rehearsal, performance, education, and community engagement all working together under one roof. My proposal includes a main proscenium space, a black box for experimental work, and a flexible studio theater that can adapt from rehearsal hall to intimate performance space.”
“And acoustics?” one of the boardmember asks.
“Variable acoustic panels throughout,” I quickly reply, moving to the next slide. “Adjustable ceiling reflectors. Each space can be tuned depending on the production, whether it’s spoken word, orchestral, or an amplified performance.”
As I go through my explanation, I see a few heads nod.
The woman seated beside Jackson scribbles something on a notepad.
Jackson taps his pen against the table, studying the slide. “And public flow? We want visitors to the center to be able to move through the facility easily.”
