Chapter 1
Anouk
Our new CEO looks like he stepped off a marble pedestal in the Louvre, and I’m pretty convinced he’s going to fire me.
“This is your work?” He taps the edge of a printout, as if it has personally offended him.
I have looked up the man since the announcement of his ascension to his lofty role was made a few weeks ago.
Luther Grant. Thirty. Made the Forbes 30 Under 30 list last year. He’s worked at companies in the Grant Conglomerate and is now at HelixSphere Analytics. His father, Jacob Grant, is training his son to take over after him and sending him for one- to two-year tenures in various parts of the company.
Nepo baby alert!
I looked him up, yes, but I didn’t think I’d ever meet him.
I never met the previous CEO, and he was here for the five years I worked out of my quiet cubicle on the second floor.
So, long story short, I’m not prepared for this.
Him.
Not even close.
I thought the pharma data analytics team would come to conference room 4B and listen to the CEO give his spiel, and then we’d all go back to work.
I’m not good at meetings.
At all.
This is why I only attend the ones in our team where I know everyone, and my anxiety doesn’t overcome me. My boss understands this.
I look at Dot Harper, who’s two seats away from me.
She smiles, nods, tacitly tells me that it’s okay for me to speak. Safe.
Are you sure, Dot?
Because…God!
“Well?” Luther challenges as he holds up my report, Pipeline Stability it came later, after the trauma, when fear rewired my body before I had the language to understand what was happening.
I’ve also worked with specialists who gave me tools to manage my speech, and with preparation, I can do quite well.
I sit very still, hands folded in my lap, so no one sees them shake as the meeting proceeds. Luther moves on and talks about other data models he’s seen and would like for us to emulate.
A message flashes on my phone. It’s from Dot: You did fine. You are fine. Okay.
I smile and nod at her. I’m not agreeing with her, just acknowledging her kindness.
Dot is my rock. She’s my mentor and my savior. She’s the reason I have a job as a senior data analyst at one of the best data analysis companies in California. But even she can’t protect me in situations like this, though she tries.
By the time the meeting ends, everyone rushes to gather their things. My team looks at me with varying degrees of pity, vindication, and curiosity.
I don’t meet any eyes.
I’m halfway to the door when Luther’s voice stops me. “Anouk.”
I freeze.
He stands at the head of the table, his palms resting on the desk as he looks at something on his laptop. “I’ll need the raw dataset you used,” he demands without glancing at me.
My face burns. “O-okay.”
“And next time”—he lifts his eyes and holds my gaze—“if you submit something, be ready to explain it.”
He’s not being cruel or snarky; he’s telling me what he expects of his employees.
I know executives like him. They don’t try to understand. They don’t care enough to.
We’re alone now, and he can ask why I have trouble speaking—check in with me.
Instead, he decides I’m incompetent.
It’s arrogance in the purest form, where one thinks the world genuflects to them.
I swallow hard and manage not to stumble on the one word I give him. “Yes.”
“Good.” He goes back to his screen, already thinking about something else. His subtext is crystal clear.
You’re not important, Anouk Starling.
I slip out the door, my chest tight, my breathing shallow.
This is why I like my numbers—they don’t humiliate you.
Spreadsheets don’t talk over you.
The truth I know, and have learned the hard way, is that models don’t make you feel small—people do.