Chapter 8
Something about the format of these panels meant they often ran together into a bit of a blur for Connor. But that couldn't be unexpected when he'd grown accustomed to attending these events twice a year, every year, for seven years.
Familiar faces were routine by now–namely clients, media partners, investors invited as guests–each mingling with one another, networking and trading information before the start of the day’s panels.
He slipped in a few minutes into Trembley’s opening remarks, finding an empty seat by the doors.
Normally, he would have sat with Nate for an event like this–and that had been the plan. But then on the way over, Nate asked if he could check with Finance for their most up-to-date numbers from finance and try to update their slide deck before that afternoon.
“You don't mind, do you?” He asked, while Connor found himself answering before he could even think twice about it.
“Not at all.”
And he really didn’t.
Finding those numbers meant using the last few minutes they had playing a rather tedious game of Telephone.
Most directors weren’t actively checking their email today–including one Tan Atkins–so he had to text Liam for Ryan’s number just to try to access something he already had, numbers that hadn’t changed since Nate last saw them.
That was the kind of tedious work Connor expected in his role. The kind most directors dolled out. The kind Nate has never given him.
And somehow, he wasn't annoyed. Why should he be? Nate barely seemed to be holding himself together, his charismatic mask bearing a number of hairline cracks. The entire shell might splinter if someone were to nudge him too roughly.
The way Berkshire likely would.
So maybe Connor was trying to protect Nate from any additional stressors. Protect Nate, ultimately, so he could protect himself.
“–and this year, much like last year, has rewarded the continued efforts of Alarie Inc’s chief supporting partners, without which we would not have borne witness to such spectacular results from across our diversified channels–”
Connor didn’t pay much attention to Trembley’s presentation. After all, it was nearly the exact same introduction he delivered last year. The only difference was a few minor changes to address internal Alarie Inc. leadership shakeups.
“We’ve welcomed innovation across our client management departments, and we’ve seen new energy brought into our investor relations efforts,” Trembley continued, the rough scratch of his voice almost hypnotic enough as to distract anyone from what he was saying.
And it was better that they be distracted. After all, this was the most direct reference he’d likely make to Devore’s departure, and Nate stepping in as his replacement.
For a moment, Connor found himself wondering if he should have worked with Nate on the possibility that he’d be asked to speak to Devore vacating the role.
But no.
No, he couldn’t prepare for everything. All he could do was get Nate as passable as he could. Which…
Connor’s eyes scanned the audience, finding Nate near the side of the ballroom.
Not hard to recognize him in the rows of seats, if only for the way he stood out in that ridiculous red suit of his.
But what was surprising was seeing that he was sitting beside Elle Thornton.
At least, Connor assumed so, if only based on the sight of Junie’s blonde curls sitting to Thornton’s right.
He could only pray Nate didn't fidget or start trying to engage her in small talk.
Nothing that might even possibly grate her.
Connor could only imagine how tense she might be leading into these events based on Junie's demeanor that morning–and he couldn’t play interference to any scathing comment she might make.
But Connor found himself worrying all the same.
The first few panels passed by in a blur, Trembley passing off the stage first to Berkshire.
He only introduced key members of the board, each presenting on a number of matters concerning their own key departments.
Each with a slide deck of their own, each covering all manner of topics from business interests, the market outlook, and key strategic priorities entering into the new fiscal year.
Nothing Connor hadn’t seen before.
Everyone broke for lunch around 12:30 PM, with the next series of panels scheduled to begin after 1:45 PM.
There would be three in total with each covering a key Alarie Inc. department–Client Services, Marketing and Public Relations, and Investor Relations.
Nate’s presentation was scheduled to close out the day, a fact that Connor could only imagine had him clamming up with every handshake he was trying to charm his way through. Investors, namely, happy to make his acquaintance off screen.
But underneath that smile, Connor knew that was a man who was drowning.
He’d wound up finding an out-of-the-way spot just outside the ballroom, initially planning to wait for Junie so they could grab lunch together.
But then Nate had caught his eye. To anyone else, nothing would likely seem out of the ordinary.
Just charismatic, charming, Nate Santos, tugged around to meet this person and that person, shaking hands and standing pleasantly–but his smile was strained, his shoulders tense, his expression cracking as he turned.
And Berkshire appeared behind him, hand at his shoulder, leading Nate around the bustling atrium, introducing him again and again as Nathan to each and every suit-cladded, gray-haired industry professional in attendance.
He could hear his voice booming over the din.
And Nate seemed to scan the crowd like he was looking for someone, before turning, before his gaze landed on Connor.
Like an animal caught in a cage.
Connor hesitated only a moment before pulling his phone out of his pocket, typing up a quick text to Junie.
Won’t make lunch, Berkshire dropped some extra requirements for our panel.
He hated lying to Junie. But he also knew–she wouldn’t have taken it well if he told her Skipping lunch, I think Nate needs me. How would that have sounded?
Too-available. Spineless. Desperate.
Everything she hated in overeager new assistants. Everything they used to be, that she grimaced at.
His phone buzzed with a text from Junie.
What, you’re leaving me to eat with your shadow?
Connor rolled his eyes before sending her a reply.
Be nice.
Junie only reacted with a little pink heart to his message. Connor slipped his phone back into his pocket, looking up to find that Nate had vanished.
Not making the rounds, not even with Berkshire. Just gone.
Connor’s phone was already in his hands, preparing to give him a call, before he stopped himself. No, he had a good idea where Nate probably was.
Fifteen minutes later, Connor was navigating his way back to the meeting room they’d first slipped away into that morning.
He’d stopped by a catering cart on his way, taking two aluminum-wrapped bowls and a couple packs of plastic cutlery.
Alarie usually contracted with decent catering for these events, and today they’d brought in some kind of protein bowl.
Not that Connor had much of an appetite.
He also couldn’t imagine Nate did, either–but they’d both be better off trying to eat.
With both bowls balanced on one arm, he hesitated only a moment before knocking on the meeting room door.
Silence followed, and Connor wondered if he’d assumed incorrectly, that maybe Nate wasn’t here, but then the door opened just a crack.
“Connor?” Nate asked in a quiet voice.
“Who else would it be?” Connor smiled. “Let me in.”
And Nate stepped aside, closing the door behind him while Connor took in the room. Notebook open on the table, his pen laying beside it, red jacket hanging off the back of his chair.
Alone–but that wasn’t a surprise. He must have wanted to cram in a little more studying.
“Brought you lunch,” Connor said, setting both bowls down on the table before taking a seat.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Nate responded stiffly, not seeming to know what to do with himself. And then he caught himself and actually looked at Connor, the lines in his face softening. “I mean, thank you. Really. Thanks.”
“It’s supposed to be good.” Connor motioned for Nate to sit as he took a bowl for himself. “Some Mediterranean place nearby.”
“Like, Greek?”
“I think.” He peeled off the aluminum lid and picked up a fork, mixing the contents for a moment before taking a bite. It wasn’t the kind of thing he'd normally order for himself, but it was good. Different. Not quite a salad, but close. “Maybe Lebanese.”
Nate watched him for a moment before mirroring his actions, going through the motions a bit robotically, even as he tried a mouthful of orzo. But he set his fork back down and pushed the bowl away, returning to his notebook.
Not that he could read it from where he sat, but Nate flipped through a few pages of meticulous notes, scanning, reading quickly, and moving on to the next.
His scrawl was barely legible, but the format felt uncannily familiar–a page split in half, with what looked to be singular words and phrases on the left side paired with larger paragraphs of information on the right.
You can’t say he isn’t trying, Connor thought to himself, holding back a sigh.
Trying, sure.
But it would be a lie to say this was doing him any good.
For as many times as he reread his own notes, they wouldn’t save him from the presentation he would have to give in a few hours.
So Connor did something he’d never do normally - he pushed Nate's bowl back towards him and took his notebook so it was just out of reach.
“You need to eat,” Connor said, employing the same tone he’d used on Junie that morning. Just firm enough, but not so tough that Nate could shatter. He knew Nate hadn’t eaten that morning, at least not the offered breakfast of pastries and coffee. Probably not anything else, either.
For a moment, Nate looked like he wanted to argue. He looked at the chair where Connor stashed his notebook, and the conflict played out in plain view in those handsome features of his.
But Connor was ready to hold firm, only raising an eyebrow at Nate as he took another bite, like there was an invisible line he was daring him to cross.
A staring contest, perhaps, but he won. Nate broke first, looking back down at his bowl and obediently taking his fork before starting to eat.
The silence that followed was strange, not awkward, not uncomfortable. It simply was an easy silence, one that Nate didn’t break by speaking up, one that Connor didn’t feel the need to end of his own accord.
Just outside of this room, he could hear the chatter of other attendees, other conversations, other voices. But Connor didn’t speak even then, and the spell remained unbroken for just long enough that they were both able to eat until satisfied.
A rare peace.
And after a few moments, something seemed to happen.
Whatever dark cloud lingered in this room, blocking out the sunny skies around Nate, seem to have faded away.
Connor was sure he even caught Nate smiling at him, something small and knowing shared between the two of them.
He even smiled back, though he didn’t know why.
Once they finished, Connor handed Nate back his notebook without apology.
“Cornell notes,” he said aloud, the name of that notetaking style coming back to him. He distinctly remembered learning how to do that in high school, as far away as that felt now.
“Yeah, they’ve… that’s always made sense to me,” Nate responded, a crimson tint to his cheeks. ”If I don’t write something down–I mean, it’s just gone.”
“No need to fix what’s working. Seems like it’s working.” And Connor didn’t comment on it past that.
They spent the rest of their lunch break running through another mock Q&A. Questions Nate had answered dozens of times already, but questions Connor was happy to take him through if it helped.
By the end of the hour, Connor decided that if he wasn’t prepared by now, then he likely never would be. But he certainly didn’t say that to Nate.
“You’re going to be fine,” is what he said instead, meaning it.
Nate’s expression almost resembled that of an imprisoned man receiving clemency.
“You mean it?”
And Connor nodded.
“It’s just a panel. They won’t ask you anything worse than what I did.”
He could only hope for Nate’s sake that would be true.
But he carried himself with his head held high as they exited the conference room, making their way back to the ballroom for the start of the second half of the day.
Connor used the time before Thornton’s panel to send Junie a text. He didn’t want to ask if she’d eaten–that would only have pissed her off–so he tried for some encouragement instead.
Hang in there, his text read. Day’s almost over.
Junie reacted to his text with a skull emoji. Not soon enough, clearly. She was blissfully hidden from view for the entirety of Thornton’s panel on maintaining Alarie Inc.’s reputational integrity in the social media age.
But Elle Thornton herself was a sight. A slight, petite woman with a voice that seemed to fill the entirety of whatever space she occupied, she shone like a beetle in her purple pantsuit on that stage.
Both the thorn in Junie’s side and her greatest mentor, Elle Thornton was a woman who had earned every bit of her reputation as a cutthroat director with an unrivaled expertise in spinning every story that came her way.
Her confidence, her unflappable expression, this was a woman he should be emulating. And for all that she intimidated him, there were few public speakers Connor admired more.
If Connor had been sitting beside Nate, he likely would have nudged his own director, whispering, “Pay attention to her.” But Nate had stepped out shortly after her panel began.
For a moment, he even found himself wondering - what if Nate left the conference? What if his nerves got the better of him and he’d fled? And then Connor decided, no. That was unlikely.
But just as Thornton’s panel was set to end, just as Connor was starting to actually wonder where Nate could be, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
As surreptitiously as he could, he chanced a glance at the screen.
One word, from Nate.
Ready?
Connor’s lip curled into a hidden smile as he thumbed back a reply.
Ready.