Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Solenn
I sat at the back of the massive conference room, tapping my pen against my notebook as I pretended to take notes while, in reality, I was just trying not to fall asleep.
The meeting had been going on for nearly an hour, and so far, it had been a never-ending cycle of arguments, counterarguments, and what felt like an Olympic-level competition in corporate jargon.
Maverick sat at the head of the long table, completely composed, fingers laced together as he listened to the back-and-forth between the executives without so much as a flicker of emotion.
I had seen him in work mode before, but this? This was something else entirely.
He didn’t just run this room—he owned it.
Every time someone spoke, they watched him, waiting for a reaction, approval, a hint of where he stood. But he gave them nothing. Nothing but silence and that unreadable, unwavering gaze that made everyone fidget in their seats.
I, on the other hand, had no reason to fidget because I was only here to take notes. Not speak, not get involved—just sit quietly in the back and observe, like a good little assistant.
Or at least, that had been the plan.
“We need to pivot our approach,” one of the executives was saying, his voice tense. “The data shows a steady decline in engagement, and if we don’t adjust, we’ll be bleeding money in the next quarter.”
Another executive scoffed. “Pivot how? We’ve already spent millions developing the current strategy. Changing directions now is a logistical nightmare.”
More voices joined in, overlapping, escalating.
“We need a fresh angle.”
“No, we need consistency. Abrupt shifts make us look unstable.”
“We should reconsider the investment into direct-to-consumer?—”
“That’s a waste of resources?—”
I exhaled slowly, staring down at my notes, willing myself to stay quiet.
Except I couldn’t.
Because they were all wrong.
I knew I was supposed to mind my own business, but the solution was so obvious that I was physically struggling not to blurt it out. My fingers tightened around my pen.
And then—before my brain could catch up with my mouth—I muttered, “You don’t need to pivot, you just need to reposition.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that instantly made me regret every life choice that had led me to this exact moment.
I barely had time to process the mistake before every single executive turned to stare at me.
I froze, eyes widening slightly as I realized what had happened.
Oh.
Oh, no.
I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud.
One of the men near the front of the table cleared his throat. “What was that?”
I swallowed, contemplating my escape plan. Unfortunately, Maverick’s gray eyes were already locked onto me, sharp and unreadable. There was no backing out now.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling too exposed, too aware that I had just stepped into a room full of people with decades of experience, and I was just the assistant who was supposed to be quiet.
But I had already spoken. There was no undoing it.
So I owned it.
I sat up straighter, resting my hands on my notebook. “I just mean… you don’t need to throw away the strategy you’ve built. You just need to adjust the messaging. The issue isn’t the plan—it’s the perception of the plan.”
More silence.
I could feel every pair of eyes still on me, waiting, judging, deciding whether I was a complete idiot or onto something.
Then one of the older executives hummed, rubbing his chin. “Explain.”
I exhaled, mentally preparing myself for either praise or immediate termination.
“The reason engagement is dropping isn’t because of the strategy itself,” I said carefully, choosing my words.
“It’s because the messaging isn’t hitting the right audience.
You’ve been marketing to one sector when there’s an entirely untapped demographic that aligns with your brand.
Instead of pivoting, you need to expand.
Reposition the product within the market instead of abandoning the entire approach. ”
A beat of silence.
Then someone murmured, “That’s… a good idea.”
The shift in the room was instant.
Executives who had previously been at each other’s throats suddenly leaned forward, murmuring to each other, dissecting my words, throwing out numbers, projections, and actual solutions instead of more arguing.
I let out a quiet breath, my heart still racing.
I had expected skepticism.
I hadn’t expected them to listen.
But more than that—I hadn’t expected the way Maverick was still watching me.
He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t reacted at all. But something in his expression was different. His gaze lingered like he was seeing something he hadn’t before.
The conversation shifted back to the executives, now engaging in actual productive discussion, and I took that as my cue to go back to my note-taking before I got too comfortable running my mouth again.
The meeting wrapped up shortly after, and everyone began filing out, still buzzing with new ideas.
I was gathering my things when I felt someone approach from behind.
I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Maverick stopped beside me, not speaking at first. Just standing there, like he was waiting for me to acknowledge him first.
I lifted my gaze, meeting his eyes.
“Fix my itinerary,” he said, handing me a folder. “We have a gala tonight.”
I blinked, taking the schedule from him. “A gala?”
“Corporate sponsorship event.” His tone was casual, but his gaze was still too intent, too focused.
I exhaled. “Am I even allowed to say no to these things?”
His lips twitched—the closest thing to amusement I had ever seen from him. “No.”
Figures.
I tucked the folder under my arm, glancing up at him. “I assume I’m going as your assistant. Making sure you don’t accidentally kill a client with your signature death glare?”
Maverick held my gaze for a moment longer before turning to leave without answering.
Which, honestly, was answer enough.
I watched him walk away, something unfamiliar twisting in my stomach.
This wasn’t just about scheduling his meetings anymore.
I was in it now.