Page 19 of Cava with My Colleague

Jade stops. Her hand is on the door. “How long ago?”

“Eleven years.”

She nods once, and there’s something in her face I haven’t seen in any of our training sessions.

I follow her out.

What happens next is not what I expected.

Jade introduces herself to Agnieszka, shakes her hand, and within thirty seconds is asking questions rather than answering them. What does the network find most useful from industry presentations? What are patients asking for that they’re not getting? She listens—actually listens, the way she doesn’t on stage—and when Agnieszka describes what her daughter went through, Jade doesn’t deflect or rush to fill the silence. She just says, “I’m sorry. Can I ask—what was the hardest part for her?”

I stand slightly to one side and watch Jade Dixon do in conversation what she cannot yet do from a stage. She’s warm. She’s specific. She makes Agnieszka feel like the only person in the room.

I’m engaged enough listening to Jade that no one else steps up to speak to me. After ten minutes, we’re the only ones in the room.

Agnieszka reaches into her bag and pulls out a card. “I’d like to stay in touch,” she says. “If you’re open to it. We have members who would benefit from speaking directly with someone doing this research.”

Jade takes the card with both hands. “Absolutely. I’d really value that.”

When Agnieszka excuses herself, Jade turns to me. The self-recrimination is back, but it’s sitting alongside something else now.

“That was a disaster.” Her voice is flat, matter-of-fact. “How bad was it? Really.”

“It wasn’t a disaster,” I say. “You got through it. The data was correct, the structure held.” A pause. “But you weren’t there, Jade. You were reciting, not presenting. They could feel the difference. They were . . . bored.”

Jade’s shoulders tense, but she doesn’t look at me. “I know.”

She leaves, and I’m alone in the ballroom with the humming air conditioning and the weight of eleven more presentations ahead of us.

We have two days before Vienna. Two days to figure out how to get Jade that confidence that she feels off stage while she’s on stage.

I rub my face, exhausted already, and wonder—not for the first time—why Rebecca thought sending Jade was a good idea at all.

8

Jade

I press the elevator button three times, knowing it won’t make it arrive faster but needing to do something with my hands. It’s 8:47 a.m., and I’m heading down to breakfast solely because my body requires food to function. Not because I want to face the day. Not because I want to risk running into Carlos.

The doors slide open.

Carlos is already inside.

Of course he is. I have eight floors to survive and the universe, which apparently has a vendetta against me specifically, has put Carlos Olivas in this elevator. I step inside. I press myself against the far wall. I stare at the floor numbers like they personally owe me something.

The doors close with a soft whoosh, sealing us into this small, carpeted box.

The elevator music is some bland instrumental version of a song I don’t recognize. Neither of us speaks. I watch the numbers descend. Eight. Seven.

Carlos clears his throat. “We should talk about Vienna.”

I don’t look at him. “Okay.”

“The presentation is tomorrow. If we’re going to⁠—”

“I know when the presentation is, Carlos.” My voice comes out flatter than I intend. Defeated. I’m too tired to put any inflection into it.

He shifts his weight. I can see him in my peripheral vision, wearing another all-black ensemble. Black suit, black tie, black mood to match mine. That Asshat, I think, with great feeling. The name fits better today than it has in weeks.