5. Fight For Josh

Shirley POV：

My palms were slick with sweat again.

I gripped my phone, fighting the desperate urge to call Josh.

Blowing up his phone wasn't an option. He was already flying blind; the last thing he needed was my panic bleeding into his.

I closed my eyes, running the data through my mind one last time.

When my name was finally called, I stood up and forced myself to walk into that conference room with a steady stride.

Despite the internal pep talk, my hands were still trembling.

I scanned the panel. The Marketing Director and several senior VPs sat in a sterile row, with Connor anchored dead center.

Mr. Gish was leaning in, whispering something to him, but Connor cut him off with a single, glacial look.

Gish shut his mouth instantly.

A bitter laugh bubbled up inside me.

I’d spent three years with this man, yet I had been a total stranger to his world.

I moved on autopilot—hooking my laptop to the projector, launching the deck.

"Thank you for having me. I’m here representing Kolvo Studio. Let's talk about why your current marketing ROI is bleeding out, and how Kolvo is going to fix it."

I’d lived and breathed this proposal alongside Josh—gathering data, running analytics, refining the drafts.

I knew the material well enough to survive his absence, but this was my first time taking the lead on a pitch this big.

Every nerve was on edge.

I put on my well-rehearsed “Game Face” and kept the delivery tight.

"Virex is throwing money at legacy media with diminishing returns.

“Kolvo is about precision strikes. We leverage influencer ecosystems to turn social traffic into cold, hard conversions.”

Connor sat with his head slightly tilted, his pen casually scribbled on a notepad.

His eyes looked impossibly cold in the flickering blue light of the projector.

Afraid of losing my focus, I quickly averted my eyes and pushed through to the end of the presentation.

"Finally, I’d like to thank you all for giving Kolvo Studio the opportunity to present our vision. We look forward to the possibility of a partnership with Virex."

I flashed my most polished, confident smile, letting my final gaze rest on Connor as the screen went dark.

The room went silent. The other judges turned in unison toward Connor, waiting for his verdict.

He tossed his notepad aside—a dismissive, clattering sound—and spoke in a toneless drawl.

"Ms. Cage, I have a few questions that require... a bit more detail."

I felt like a coiled spring, every nerve ending on high alert.

"First: Risk management regarding MCNs. If the influencers you’re banking on hit a public relations scandal, what’s your contingency?

"Second: The lack of transparency in social media metrics is common knowledge. Conversion rates are notoriously inflated. Is Kolvo willing to enter a pay-for-performance contract?

“Or would a clawback clause be too much of a 'liquidity risk' for a firm of your... stature?"

His voice was cold.

I looked down, the heat of embarrassment rising in my neck. I couldn't hold his stare.

"Third," he continued, "Virex is about prestige. How do you intend to stop our brand from being diluted by the 'background noise' of social media?"

Every question was a surgical strike at our weakest points, far beyond anything I had rehearsed.

I took a sharp breath and answered as best I could, piecing together logic on the fly.

It wasn't perfect, but I held my ground.

When I finally finished, Connor leaned back, a faint, predatory ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"And what about resource allocation?” His smile widened just enough to be cruel.

"Let’s be real, Ms. Cage. A 'Studio' of two people isn't an agency. It's a hobby. How do you expect to service a global giant with a staff you can count on one hand?

My fingertips went ice-cold. The "Game Face" I’d worked so hard to maintain began to crack.

The Marketing Director looked mortified.

“Sir, we didn't set a minimum firm size during the initial screening... If it’s an issue, we can just cut them from the shortlist now."

It was a setup. They were treating us like a circus act.

To these corporate giants, we weren't a firm; we were a back-alley workshop.

They didn't care if the strategy was brilliant; they were ready to slam the door in our faces based on a headcount.

Furious and insulted, I still wasn't ready to let this opportunity die.

I tilted my chin up, projecting my voice so it carried across the room.

"You’re right, Mr. Rogers. We are a small team. But we are a lean, battle-tested team with a proven track record. In the digital age, the heavy lifting is done through MCNs. Our role is the vision—the high-level execution."

I didn't stop there.

"Flooding a project with endless personnel and physical collateral is a relic of the past. It’s bloated, slow, and impossible to track.

“In a world defined by mobile-first growth, I’d hope a company like Virex would be eager to embrace the future rather than cling to the old styles."

That last sentence had a bite to it—I was done being polite.

Since the Marketing Director felt comfortable being disrespectful, I figured I’d mock their obsolescence before they could kick me out.

I walked out of that boardroom with my head held high.

The second I reached the elevator bank, however, the adrenaline evaporated.

My legs went weak, and I slumped against the wall, gasping for air.

The pressure Connor had applied was surgical; he’d drained the life out of me.

Our size was a weakness, sure, but they hadn't set a minimum requirement for the RFP.

It was all a charade.

This whole "review" was just a rigged game to maintain the illusion of fairness.

A suffocating mix of rage and resentment tightened in my chest.

Ding—

The elevator doors slid open.

I started to step inside, but a shadow loomed over me.

"Come with me." Connor said, his voice as frigid as ever.

"To my office."