Chapter 17 The Price of Praise #2
I drew in a slow, steadying breath and made my way to the front of the room, where a large screen was at the ready for me to use.
But unlike yesterday, there had been no chance to set this up, which meant I was left fumbling as I removed my laptop from my bag.
My fingers remained uncooperative, and I ended up having to put my password in three times before it finally worked.
My nervous little looks when glancing at the full room always landed on Oblivion, who was watching me intently.
Of course, the eye rolls from the queen bitch in the room weren’t exactly helping matters.
The screen blinked, stubbornly blank for a second too long, and a ripple of discomfort moved through the room.
I swallowed, forcing my shoulders to stay square as I clicked through the prompts, willing the technology to cooperate.
The silence pressed in, every second stretching until it felt personal.
“It’s always helpful to arrive early when you’re presenting,” Jennifer remarked lightly, tapping a manicured nail against the table.
“Gives you time to test these things,” she provided unhelpfully, and once again, I gritted my teeth hard enough I thought they might chip.
But I refused to look at her. I didn’t trust myself to, as I might have done something childish enough like sticking my tongue out at her.
Instead, I focused on my laptop just as it finally connected, making the screen behind me flare to life.
Unfortunately, it also did this with an image that made my stomach drop clean through the floor.
Frogs and lily-pads!
Bright green, unapologetic, and each one sitting serenely on a lily-pad in the center of the screen. There was a beat of silence so complete I could almost believe the room was empty. But unfortunately, this was not exactly my day for being lucky.
Which was why heat flooded my face as a couple of people snorted quietly, and I reached for the mouse pad a little too quickly, fumbling as I dragged the presentation file into place.
The frogs vanished, replaced by clean lines, charts, and data points, but the damage had already been done.
I could feel my ears burning, my pulse skittering as embarrassment crawled up my spine.
I foolishly risked a glance toward the head of the table.
Oblivion was watching me, one hand lifted to his mouth as his fingers rested thoughtfully against his lips, his eyes intent rather than amused.
If he had noticed the screensaver, he gave no sign of it beyond a slight narrowing of his gaze.
A flicker of curiosity that made my stomach twist in an entirely different way.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said calmly, gesturing with his hand for me to start.
Not impatient.
Not mocking.
Simply observing.
I nodded once, grateful for the permission even as I resented needing it.
Then I launched into the presentation before my nerves could regroup.
The words came more easily once I started, muscle memory kicking in as I walked through the campaign strategy, the demographic reach, the projected growth.
This part I knew. I’d lived with these ideas long enough that they were practically stitched into me.
As I spoke, the room shifted.
Heads tilted in interest. Pens moved. Even Jennifer fell quiet, her earlier smugness giving way to reluctant attention.
I paced myself, presenting each point of data, anticipating objections before they could be raised, and building the narrative the same way I had done yesterday.
Only now, with the added weight of an audience that felt far more dangerous.
Oblivion didn’t interrupt.
He listened.
Intently.
Every so often, his gaze would flick briefly to the screen, then back to me, tracking my movements, my words, the cadence of my voice.
His attention was steady and evaluative.
But it was also unsettling, as if he were seeing more than what I was saying.
As if he were cataloguing my thoughts before I had time to express them. Like he could see right through me.
By the time I reached the final slide, my breathing had evened out, my nerves settling into something that felt almost like confidence. I finished with a practiced summary, hands braced lightly against the edge of the table as I looked up, waiting.
The silence that followed was different this time.
It wasn’t awkward.
It was expectant.
Almost like everyone seemed to hold their breath but him.
In fact, the quiet stretched on just long enough to make my nerves start rattling again.
My confidence was teetering on the edge as I searched the faces around the table for some indication of what they were thinking.
Mr. Banner shifted in his seat, lips parting as if he were about to step in to smooth things over, to redirect, and to save face the way he always did when he sensed uncertainty.
However, he didn’t get the chance.
Oblivion straightened slowly in his chair, his hand lowering from his mouth as his gaze remained fixed on me. Respect flashed in his eyes, and when he finally spoke, his voice was calm and unhurried. A tone that flowed effortlessly across the room.
“This is inspired,” he stated, and I felt my lungs fill with air.
The word landed, shattering like glass.
Even Mr. Banner seemed to suck in a quick breath. A few people blinked, clearly caught off guard by the certainty in his tone. I felt my pulse stutter, heat rushing back to my face as the meaning sank in.
Then he did something completely uncharacteristic in this corporate setting.
Oblivion began to clap.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
The sound was utterly shameless, cutting cleanly through the silence.
His applause felt like a beating drum from the head of the table and his attention never left me.
He didn’t look around to see if anyone followed.
He didn’t care whether this was appropriate or unexpected.
He simply acknowledged what he’d seen, on his own terms. And my response was as if my skin was suddenly being touched by the sun.
My cheeks burned, and embarrassment made my skin clammy.
But to make it worse, after a heartbeat of stunned hesitation, the rest of the room scrambled to catch up. Hands came together in uneven bursts. Applause spread awkwardly from one end of the table to the other as people exchanged confused glances and forced smiles.
Jennifer’s clapping was stiff and reluctant, her expression tight as she stared down at the table. Mr. Banner recovered quickly, nodding along as though this had been his plan all along.
As for me, I stood there, frozen, my cheeks still trying to melt their way down the rest of my face. My hands still braced against the table as the sound washed over me. I wasn’t sure where to put myself, how to receive it, my chest tight with a mix of relief and disbelief that made my head spin.
Oblivion finally stopped clapping, and naturally, everyone followed without question.
“Well done, Miss Shadowmere… well done,” he said, and the praise was far from simple. It was personal, and somehow far more overwhelming than the applause itself.
My throat tightened as I nodded, the words lodging uselessly somewhere behind my ribs.
“Thank you,” I managed, my voice softer than I intended.
He inclined his head once, satisfied.
It was also at this point that my boss cleared his throat loudly, seizing the moment.
“Yes, well,” he said, already shifting into damage-control mode.
“We’re very pleased with the direction this has taken. Of course, if there are any other concepts you wish to see, we do have…”
“No,” Oblivion said sternly, interrupting him and shutting down even the idea of something else.
The single word stopped Mr. Banner cold and he faltered, his mouth snapping shut as Oblivion leaned back once more, folding his hands together as though the matter was already settled.
“This is precisely what I want,” Oblivion continued, staring straight at me when he spoke, and I couldn’t help the little shiver that rippled down my spine.
“And I would like to discuss the next steps privately.”
The implication hung heavy in the air, making Mr. Banner blink before nodding quickly.
“Of course. Absolutely,” he replied, now motioning for everyone to leave, which most seemed more than eager to do.
All but Jennifer, who looked far more eager to be sitting on Oblivion’s lap and walking her clawed fingernails up his suit jacket.
Not that he had even spared her a glance this entire meeting.
Chairs scraped as people began to stand, the meeting dissolving into murmurs and side glances as the room emptied with surprising efficiency.
And as the last of my colleagues filed out, I caught myself watching Oblivion, the way he commanded the space without effort.
How quickly everyone had fallen into line.
It wasn’t his office. It wasn’t his business.
And yet, with a few measured words, he had bent the room to his will.
I wondered, not for the first time, if this was what always happened around him.
The boardroom felt too quiet without everyone else in it, the polished surfaces reflecting my own uneasy expression back at me as I gathered up my things. Oblivion remained seated, composed, and unhurried, as though the room were still full and waiting on his command.
As for me, I was the last to leave, despite being the most eager of all. But just as I was about to step through and finally make my escape, the sound of my name stopped me cold.
“Miss Shadowmere…”
I swallowed hard before looking back in time to see Oblivion stand, making me wonder if he was about to follow me. After a sharp tug on his cuff, he looked up, pinning me in place with a warning before he spoke…
“Don’t go far now.”