My thumb hovers over the send button.
Chapter seventeen
Sam
The leather chair is lower than Richard's.
I sit with my spine straight, laptop bag still on my shoulder because I haven't been invited to set it down. Richard's at his desk, fingers steepled. The Developer—Aldridge—paces in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking the harbor view. His reflection moves across the glass, sharp suit and sharper edges.
"The design narrative is strong." Aldridge stops pacing. Turns. "The delivery yesterday was a mess."
The word lands flat. No preamble.
My shoulders pull up toward my ears. I force them down, shift the laptop bag. The strap digs into the muscle.
"Disjointed." He says it like he's reading from notes. "That's the word the Board used. Disjointed."
I press my palms into my thighs. My jaw aches. I make myself breathe through my nose.
Richard leans back. The leather creaks. "Sam, walk us through what happened."
I pull in air. Let it out slowly.
“Tom and I coordinated on the slide sequence Tuesday night. Thursday morning, I made last-minute adjustments to the opening images. We had less time to practice the transitions."
"Less time." Aldridge crosses his arms. "Or no time?"
"Less time."
"Because from where I sat, it looked like you two weren't even in the same room. He missed three cues. You talked over him twice."
My throat tightens. I swallow against it. "The content was solid. The Board approved the direction."
"The Board approved the design." Richard's voice is quieter than Aldridge's, which makes it worse. He picks up a pen. Taps it twice against the leather. "They questioned the partnership."
The air in my lungs goes thin. My pulse jumps. I keep my face neutral. "Questioned how?"
Richard taps the pen again. Deliberate. Slow. "Is there friction between you and Tom? Because we can't afford personal issues on a project this visible."
Personal issues.
I need to answer. Need to say something that sounds true without being true. My brain races through options—timeline pressure, tech issues, compressed schedule.
I set my laptop bag on the floor. The movement buys me three seconds. I straighten, meet Richard's eyes.
"No friction. We're navigating a complex timeline with overlapping deliverables. Thursday's presentation was packed, and we didn't leave enough buffer for live adjustments."
Aldridge's reflection shifts in the glass. He turns back to face the window. "We hired Tom because his portfolio showed exactly what we needed—visual storytelling that supports architectural intent. If his eye isn't on the ball, we can bring in someone else for the final push."
My stomach turns over.
Someone else means losing the visual language we created. It means losing the trust we built with the Board. It means finishing the project without Tom.
I wanted that in the beginning. Now the idea makes my hands shake.
"Tom's eye is exactly where it needs to be." I pull my shoulders back. "Thursday wasn't a partnership issue. It was a coordination issue. I didn't give him enough lead time on the slide transitions. That's on me."
Richard's expression doesn't change, but his posture shifts. He leans forward. "I don't care whose fault it is, Sam. I care that it's fixed. Next Thursday needs to be flawless."
