Chapter 10
THE ANSWER
EMMA
The navy wool of my pencil skirt has become a weight, the fine weave scratchy against my thighs as I smooth the fabric for the hundredth time.
My palms are slick. The air backstage smells of dust and expensive perfume, a claustrophobic cage before the release.
Beyond the heavy velvet curtain, the audience is a low, predatory hum.
“Breathe, Em,” Zoe says, squeezing my arm. Her grin is a bright, defiant anchor. “You’ll own that stage. Your tech strategies will have them begging for more.”
I offer a tight smile, willing my heart back into my chest. “I'd be satisfied staying upright in these heels. It's a tragedy that Vanessa's flu is my debut.”
“Please. You could do this in your sleep,” Zoe laughs, the sound muffled against the heavy thrum of conversation from the hall. “Even if those stilettos are technically lethal weapons.”
The tension in my shoulders won’t break. My mouth is sand. I pull a compact mirror from my blazer pocket and check the corners of my lips. The red lipstick is thick and bold. War paint. If my stomach is twisting, no one will see it past the color.
“Is it even?” I ask.
“Perfect power red,” Zoe says with a sharp wink. “Go out there and slay.”
I take a shallow breath. The facilitator’s voice booms through the speakers, an amplified welcome to the Global Marketing Summit. My palms are damp again, and I swipe them down the wool of my skirt, grateful for the dark camouflage.
This is the moment. My first real footprint as a lead for GVM.
I’ve spent every waking hour this week buried in these slides.
It was easier to obsess over data transitions than to stare at the phantom vibration of my phone, waiting for a message that never came.
James' last text still sits in my notifications like a scar that won't fade.
I roll my shoulders back and straighten my spine.
The intro video begins, the bass vibrating through the floorboards. My pulse hammers against my ribs. I've agonized over every syllable, every infographic, cursed Thomas Hawthorn for putting me in the line of fire as a substitute. My perfectionism is a fever, and this is the breaking point.
I step into the light.
The brightness is a physical wall for a second, blinding and hot. Hundreds of eyes settle on me, a collective weight that thins the air. As my vision clears, I scan the front rows.
My breath hitches.
Third row. That stillness. Those broad, uncompromising shoulders.
The floor tilts. It can’t be him. Of all the moments for my mind to conjure a ghost, it had to be now. I've spent the last week calling myself every kind of fool for opening up to him. I showed him the cracks. I let him see me fall apart. For a single heartbeat that night, I believed he cared.
Then, silence. A week of nothing.
I force my eyes to the teleprompter. My voice is thin, but it holds. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for joining us as we explore the future of sustainable marketing. I’m Emma Sinclair, one of the leads at GVM, and I’m thrilled to share our vision.”
Outside, I’m poised. Inside, a shipwreck.
I channel the nerves into passion, leaning on the years of discipline that have never failed me. I gesture toward the infographics, movements fluid and practiced. The audience leans in. I catch the ripple of laughter after my first quip, and the rhythm finally finds me.
“At GVM, we believe in authentic connections,” I say, my gaze sweeping the room. I let my eyes drift back to the third row. The charcoal suit, the frame leaning forward with an intensity that makes the rest of the room blur. The stage lights mask his features, but I know that silhouette.
I find my stride. The audience nods, pens moving over pads. Despite the distraction in the third row, I am winning.
“Our approach isn’t just about data,” I conclude, my voice ringing with a confidence I finally feel. “It’s about the human heart behind every decision. People buy from people.”
The applause hits like a wave. I step back, a real smile breaking through.
“Thank you,” I say, dipping my head. “Are there any questions?”
Hands go up. I handle the first few with ease, talking through analytics and global reach. Each answer builds my armor higher.
Then, a hand in the third row rises. My heart stutters, a skipped beat that sends a jolt of adrenaline through my limbs.
“Yes, the gentleman in the charcoal suit,” I say. I hope my voice does not betray the tremor in my soul.
He stands. He does not just take the floor; he commands it.
“Kaiden Rhodes, from ELK,” he begins. His voice is deep, a resonant baritone that seems to vibrate through the very air I breathe.
“I’m curious about the intersection of technology and human connection.
How do you balance the two without losing the soul of the campaign? ”
I fidget with the clicker in my left hand.
Rhodes, his name sounds familiar but I can’t place it.
“Excellent question. At GMV, we view AI as a tool to enhance human connection, not replace it.
Our AI analytics help us understand consumer behavior, but it's our creative teams who craft campaigns that resonate on an emotional level.”
I expand on the point, using recent projects as my shield. Kai nods, his expression unreadable, and when I finish, he gives me a small, devastating smile.
“Thank you. You have given me plenty to consider.” He sits, and the air seems to return to the room.
The rest of the session is a blur. I am acutely aware of him, a physical weight in the room. As I exit the stage, the applause is still ringing, and my team swarms me with praise. Maybe they’re finally starting to accept me.
“Brilliant, Emma!” our creative director beams. “You were incredible.”
“Thank you,” I manage. My smile is a fragile thing.
“You certainly took some risks up there,” a nasally voice cuts through. Miles stands behind me, eyes narrow. “I suppose not everyone is afraid of a public failure, even if the choices don’t always land.”
I turn to him, my expression a wall of neutral ice. “Is that so, Miles? The engagement during the Q&A suggests otherwise.”
Before I can sharpen the knife, Zoe pulls me into a hug. “Em, you were a star!”
I let out a shaky laugh, the adrenaline starting to ebb, leaving me raw. “Thanks, Zee. I am just glad it is over.”
“Over? It is just beginning.” She winks, gesturing to the hall. “Now you have to mingle with the bigwigs who are currently obsessed with you.”
The words stay trapped in my throat. I want to tell her. The man from the museum is here, the one who saw me shatter, the one who went silent. But saying it would make the humiliation real… so I swallow it down.
The reception area is a sea of dark wool and clinking glass. I plaster on my most charming smile, shaking hands with executives, discussing sustainable practices. I'm mid-sentence when the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I finish my thought and excuse myself.
Kai is here. Impossibly close, smelling of sandalwood and cold air. “An impressive presentation.” His blue eyes are more intense than the stage lights.
“Thank you.” I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated by his height. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He shrugs, a slow, deliberate movement. “I have diverse interests. And I could not miss the chance to see you in your element.”
“I hope the experience was worth the ticket price.”
“Every cent.”
I don’t smile. A week ago, those words would have touched me. Now, they’re reminders of how easily I let my guard down.
“How did you know I would be here?” I ask.
“You mentioned GVM at the museum. LinkedIn provided the itinerary.” He pauses, searching my face. “I wanted to see you like this.”
“I am not sure if I should be flattered or concerned by the research.”
“Impressed, perhaps?” He grins, but the humor fades when I stay cold.
My colleagues are watching us, their curiosity a tangible thing, but I cannot look away from him. I am fighting to keep my composure, to hide the fact that his silence got to me.
“Emma,” his tone drops. “How have you been? It's been a while since...”
“Since you saw me having a panic attack?” I finish for him. “Since I showed you the texts and proved I was a liability?”
His jaw tightens. “Emma—“
“I've been fine. Busy, as you can see.”
“Obviously.” There is a rasp in his voice. Regret, maybe. “I should have reached out. I was not sure if...”
“If what?” The anger I’ve been suppressing all week flares. “If you wanted to deal with me again? The silence was a very loud answer, Kaiden.”
“That's not it at all.”
“Then what?” I take a step toward him, hands beginning to shake. I twist my rings to keep them still. “You asked about my ex. I told you things I don't tell anyone. And then nothing. A week of nothing.”
He reaches for me, but I step back, creating a cold pocket of air between us. His eyes widen, his weight shifting as if he wants to close the gap, but he stops himself.
“I had urgent business out of town,” he says. “I did not know when I would be back.”
The excuse is hollow. A week ago, he was ready to hunt James down. Then he vanished.
“I imagine a man with your resources knows how to send a text,” I say. “Even from out of town.”
He exhales, sharp with frustration. “I deserved that. You’re right. I should have reached out.” He pauses, his gaze locking onto mine. “But you could have reached out to me, too.”
The words hit like a blow. He’s not wrong.
“I didn't think you wanted to hear from me,” I say. “After everything I dumped on you that night, I figured you were relieved to have an excuse to disappear.”
His brow furrows. “Is that really what you thought?”
“What was I supposed to think? You went from driving me home to nothing. Friends don’t do radio silence.”
“I am not good at this…friendship,” he gestures between us. “But I wasn’t relieved. I wasn’t looking for an exit.” He steps closer, ignoring the distance I tried to keep. “I want to be better. If you’ll let me.”
I look up at him. Those blue eyes search mine with a terrifying sincerity. I've seen intensity before. James was a master of grand gestures and focused attention, only to leave me hollow when the world got dark. I can't afford to repeat the pattern.
“I appreciate you coming to see the presentation,” I say, taking another step back. “But I have to get back to my team.”
“Emma.” He does not reach for me, but the command in his voice stops me. “Let me make this up to you. Have dinner with me tonight.”
My heart races, traitorous. Part of me wants to scream yes. The rest screams caution.
“I can’t do tonight.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
I find a spark of my old self, the woman who doesn't accept crumbs. “Call me tomorrow, Kaiden. If you still want to. I’ll let you know then.”
I don’t wait for his response. I turn and walk toward Zoe, my heels clicking a sharp, rhythmic retreat. Behind me, a deep chuckle sends a shiver down my spine.
Zoe is waiting with a massive smirk. “You are evil. I am so proud of you.”
When I don't answer, her face softens into concern. “Are you okay?”
I nod, forcing the professional mask back into place as we approach Thomas Hawthorne.
The ball is in Kai's court. He can call, or he can vanish. Either way, I’m still standing.
I have survived worse.