18. Luther
Luther
Summer has settled in, filtered through fog and restraint, the way San Francisco likes to do it.
It’s been six months since my first day at HelixSphere—six months since I thought firing Anouk was a good idea. It’s amusing to remember how dumb I was.
We’ve now been dating for nearly three months.
Best days of my life.
I have never been in a relationship that is this fulfilling, this easy. But it’s more than that; there’s rhythm at work as well because of how well Anouk and I get along.
That’s the thing people don’t talk about enough—how good work starts to breathe once everyone stops posturing and starts trusting. The Novagene project is one of the best I have worked on because of it.
We are discreet at work about our relationship. It’s Anouk’s boundary, and I respect it completely. She is private by nature, not ashamed—just careful with what she gives and to whom. I don’t need public proof of us. What we have doesn’t require witnesses.
No lunches together in the office.
No lingering touches where anyone can see.
No walking in or out together.
But outside of work, this is the most authentic relationship I have ever been in.
We cook together—me doing most of it, her perched on the counter, reading to me from whatever book she’s halfway through or telling me about a research article she read about friction economy.
We bike along the Embarcadero.
We fall asleep at her place or mine, wrapped in each other.
She laughs more and stutters less.
For the past week, she’s noticed that I’m stressed. No one else has. I hide that shit well, but somehow, she sees things about me that I never let anyone else see, except family. And now, apparently, Anouk.
“You’re worried about the board meeting,” she remarks when we’re having breakfast at her place.
Finn made eggs Benedict before he went for his shift. That man can seriously cook. We’ve become friends in a way since Anouk and I spend time both at her place and mine.
Her equation with Finn is unique. They connect at many levels. Their past but also their present, and I know their futures will always be entwined. It’s not a possessive relationship, but one where they’re each other’s two a.m. phone call, no questions asked.
“Yeah, I am,” I admit. “Dad will be there and…my Godfather, Martin. It’s…a test.”
She puts a hand on mine. “You’ll be fine.”
She says it with such confidence that it makes me feel better. If someone as good as Anouk thinks I can make it, then I probably can, right?
She leans back and studies me thoughtfully. “But tell me what exactly are you nervous about?” she asks, catching me off guard.
She’s intuitive about me, and maybe that’s why she’s able to ask questions that aren’t easy for me to answer.
I think about it for a moment. “Jacob Grant doesn’t miss things. If there’s anything even a little off, he’ll know. Martin—”
“The CEO of Novagene Pharmaceuticals?”
“Yeah.” I nod, releasing a long breath. “He can dismantle a sloppy argument with a raised eyebrow and about five words.”
She taps her fingers against the table, thinking. “How about we do some dry runs, invite colleagues who don’t know the project, and let them poke holes?”
“That’s a damn good idea, my starling.” I kiss her softly, unaware that this is what will unravel us.
As Anouk suggested, we start doing dry runs.
First, it’s just us, and then we ask others to join—those who have had only a passing contact with the project.
I have our chief marketing officer, Gabby, and head of sales, Lowell, sit in as our audience for our last dry run. The board presentation is within a week, and I am getting jumpy by the minute.
Anouk’s stutter is not bad when it’s just us, but put some strangers in there, and she fumbles—a lot.
I worry about how my father will treat her. He’s not going to tolerate having to wait for her to finish her thoughts and sentences. That thought makes me even more nervous.
Erin presents her part and answers the questions competently. Vijay follows. But the core of the presentation belongs to Anouk. The model is hers.
She stands at the front of the room, making a valiant effort to hide her nervousness.
She looks good in a cream and blue wrap-around dress. Hair pulled back. Scarf in place.
She takes a breath before she starts.
“The m-model evaluates supplier v-variance across th-three t-tiers,” she begins.
That damn stutter. Not severe, but present.
I watch the room.
No eye-rolling. No smirks. That alone feels like progress.
But there are questioning looks. Is this who you want to present to the President and CEO of the group?
She moves smoothly enough through the first few slides, grounding herself in the data. Then she hits a transition—one she hasn’t practiced enough—and her words tangle.
“Th-the s-sensitivity a-analysis—”
She stops. It’s for a long, interminable second.
The space inside my chest narrows, but I sit still.
Don’t rescue. Don’t interrupt. Let her fight her fights. That’s the advice I got from Finn.
She closes her eyes, inhales once, then continues.
“—shows that e-even under a f-fifteen percent raw m-material shock, Novagene r-remains within t-threshold.”
She clicks to the next slide, and the mood changes, because the data speaks. She’s a damn good storyteller when it comes to written material and slide decks.
The charts are clear.
The assumptions are explicit.
Gabby nods along. Lowell leans forward, engaged. He asks a question about supplier renegotiation timelines.
Anouk answers it.
Slowly. Carefully. With precision and a stutter.
I have learned that she doesn’t guess. She won’t just talk for the sake of it. If she doesn’t know something, she’ll say she’ll get back to you, but she won’t bullshit.
I respect that.
By the time she finishes, there’s a beat of silence.
“That,” Lowell says finally, “is rock solid.”
Vijay adds, “If the board challenges the volatility bands, this model will hold.”
Anouk exhales, tension easing out of her shoulders. She glances at me, just briefly for validation. I give her a slight nod.
By Anouk’s standards, she did well, but by board meeting standards? I’m not sure.
When I put someone in front of senior management, I want to know, without a shred of doubt, that when the questions come and the pressure is real, the presenters will deliver.
I get messages from our visitors while the meeting room empties.
Gabby: Anouk knows her numbers, but she can’t present. I wouldn’t put her in front of the board.
Lowell: That presentation is world-class. The slide deck is perfection. The presenter, not so much. Just feedback.
Erin says the same thing when she and Vijay stay back in the conference room after everyone leaves.
“We need to finalize presenters so we can lock the board deck.” Erin looks as worried as I feel. “Luther, Jacob Grant will be there. So will the Novagene exec team.”
“I know.”
She taps her tablet, bringing up the agenda. “Given the stakes, I think it makes sense for me to present the model.”
Vijay’s head snaps up. “What?”
Erin shakes her head, irritated with Vijay. “Because clarity matters. This is a board-level presentation. We can’t afford distractions.”
My jaw tightens.
“That’s not what a stutter is.” Vijay’s voice is tight. “It’s a speech difference.”
A frustrated sound rumbles out of Erin. “I’m not questioning Anouk’s intelligence. But perception matters at that level.”
Vijay’s hands lock into fists. “She knows the data better than anyone. Especially you.”
Erin looks at me, her focus on the decision maker, as always. “I can handle the delivery.”
This is where leadership is supposed to feel clear. This is where I’m supposed to know what to do.
But I don’t.
I feel as if I’m drifting without a map.
“She answered every question in the dry run,” Vijay presses. “She didn’t stumble on the content—only on the words. And even then, she recovered.”
Erin slams a flat palm on the table. “Vijay, Jacob Grant will be evaluating Luther as much as the model. You know that.”
And we all know that Jacob Grant doesn’t do patience well. He respects confidence. Speed. Command of a room. I’ve spent my entire life learning how to sound certain even when I wasn’t.
I glance at the screen, at Anouk’s name listed under Lead Analyst.
“Luther, she wants to present, and I agree that she should,” Vijay pleads her case. “She has done the heavy lifting. She deserves the visibility.”
Tell me something I don’t know!
I stare at my laptop screen, where the agenda slide mocks me with the presenters' names.
Erin softens her tone. “We’re not taking anything away from Anouk. We’re optimizing roles.”
I shrug. “She can be there at the meeting and answer questions if they come up.”
Vijay shakes his head, and I can see he’s more than annoyed with me; he’s disappointed. “So you want to sideline her because she has a condition she can’t control?”
When he puts it that way, I feel like an ass.
I rub my thumb against the edge of the table, a nervous habit I haven’t grown out of.
I don’t want to hurt my starling. But this is not about my relationship with Anouk. I have to compartmentalize the personal and professional. Maybe this is why they say not to get into relationships with people at work.
I know she’ll be devastated if I tell her not to present. I should let her. She knows her stuff and—
What if she freezes?
Dad will for sure see it as a leadership fuck up that I put her in front of him in the first place.
He’ll think I’m not ready to lead the family business.
That is untenable. All my life, I’ve been working to become the next CEO of Grant Corporation, take over after my father.
I can’t let that get derailed for any reason.
“I just want this to go perfectly,” I say finally.
Vijay watches me closely. “Perfect isn’t always better than honest.”
Erin meets my gaze. “But it is safer.”
We’re all silent for a long moment as I weigh their arguments.
I don’t announce it, but I already know what I’m going to do. I’m going to lead with caution, as a good leader should.
“We have time. We’ll revisit it.” I stand up and carefully close my laptop because I want to slam it shut.
Erin nods, satisfied.
Vijay doesn’t look convinced.
Well, buddy, neither am I.
Keeping Anouk from presenting isn’t taking anything away from her, is it? It’s just protecting her from what could happen in the meeting with two juggernauts of the industry, two tough CEOs who are known to rip you a new one if you screw up.
And I’m protecting the project, which is my job. Right?
But even as I rationalize the decision I know I’m going to make, I know the truth. I’m afraid of my father finding out that I’m not as good as he wants me to be, as good as I want to be, and that’s why I can’t take the risk of putting Anouk out front, no matter what and how she feels about it.
My fear of looking like a failure in front of my father is much bigger than my love and affection for Anouk.
That’s the truth, and it doesn’t sit well with me.