Chapter 7- THE PRESENTATION

By the time I got home, my heart was still racing like crazy.

My hands wouldn’t stop trembling, my mind replaying every second of that elevator moment- his voice, his stare, his scent. God, what was wrong with me? This man had me feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling.

The thrill of it all… it was dangerous. Addictive. Wrong.

And yet, I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.

I threw my bag on the couch, microwaved the leftover pizza from two nights ago, and ate in silence — though my thoughts were anything but quiet.

When I finally crawled into bed, the sheets smelled faintly of lavender and exhaustion. Sleep came fast and heavy.

Then the alarm went off.

I groaned, stretching my arm out to hit snooze. Just five more minutes.

Then it hit me. The presentation.

My eyes shot open. I sat up so fast my blanket flew off.

“Oh my God, today’s the presentation!”

Suddenly, I was a tornado, rushing into the bathroom, brushing my teeth while pulling my hair into a bun, nearly stabbing myself with an eyeliner pencil. I threw on a knee-length pencil skirt, a white blouse that said I’m responsible but not dead inside, and a pair of nude heels. My black multipurpose bag went over my shoulder, and I was out the door before my brain even caught up.

If the universe had a sense of humor, it was definitely laughing at me today.

First, the Uber driver turned out to be the chatty type, the kind who thought every red light was an invitation to share his life story.

“So, where do you work, miss? Media? Wow! Maybe you can help me go viral—”

I smiled politely, the kind of smile that begged for silence. He didn’t get the hint.

Then, halfway through the drive, the car coughed. Once. Twice. And died.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath as we coasted to a stop by the roadside.

The driver tried to laugh it off. “Just a small issue, I’ll fix it.”

Spoiler: he didn’t.

By the time I managed to order another ride, after twenty long minutes of failed connections and surge pricing, I was practically vibrating with anxiety.

When I finally reached the office, I was two minutes late.

Just two minutes.

But it might as well have been two hours, because when I asked the receptionist if the meeting had started, she said in that calm voice only receptionists have,

“Yes, ma’am. It started right on time.”

Panic. Instant, sharp panic.

The CEO was in there. He was in there.

And I, the girl who’d just humiliated herself in an elevator yesterday, was about to walk in late.

I took a deep breath, straightened my blouse, and pushed open the conference room door.

The room went quiet.

Every head turned my way- board members, supervisors, interns. And there, at the far end of the table, sat Alexander Bells. Black suit. Watch gleaming. Expression unreadable.

I could feel every inch of his gaze crawl over me as I walked to a seat. For a second, I actually wondered if my dress was too short, or if I was just paranoid. Either way, it wasn’t a good sign.

I kept my eyes on the presenter and tried to calm the storm in my chest.

Eventually, it was my turn.

I walked up to the front, clutching the clicker like it was my lifeline. My palms were slick with sweat, but my voice, thankfully, held steady.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Aria Dane, and today I’ll be presenting—”

I lost myself in the flow after that. Words came naturally. I’d spent the whole night preparing, and it showed. People nodded. Mrs. Adans even smiled once or twice.

But not him.

Alexander sat back in his chair, unreadable, one hand resting on his chin, his eyes skimming through his phone like he couldn’t care less if I was speaking or vanishing into thin air.

It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.

When I finished, the room clapped.

Questions came in. I answered each one clearly, feeling that spark of confidence return — until his voice cut through the air.

“Miss…”

I froze mid-sentence. “Dane,” I said quickly.

He looked up at last, his tone sharp. “Yes. Miss Dane. Firstly, you arrived late by two minutes.”

I blinked. That’s what he started with?

“You strode in like a model at a fashion show,” he continued, his gaze sweeping down and back up. “And your presentation…” He exhaled softly, almost disappointed. “…is just barely there.”

A few people shifted uncomfortably. My heart dropped to my stomach.

He turned to my supervisor. “Mrs. Adans, is this how you train the new hires? This is not the quality Voss Media stands for.”

And just like that, he stood up and left the room.

Silence fell. Thick, suffocating silence.

I stood there, face burning, eyes stinging. Everyone was staring at me- some with pity, some with that thank God it’s not me look.

I forced a smile that felt like broken glass and walked back to my seat. Lila leaned over, whispering, “Girl, I told you, he’s a mood-swinging demon. Don’t take it personal. You were so good.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

The moment the meeting ended, I escaped to the bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and finally let it out.

Tears. Frustration. Anger.

I wasn’t crying because of what he said — not exactly. It was because I’d tried so hard. I’d fought through heartbreak, humiliation, and exhaustion to prove myself… and it still wasn’t enough.

After a few minutes, I washed my face and stared at my reflection.

“Pull it together, Aria,” I whispered. “You’re not here for him. You’re here for you.”

When I finally came out, my supervisor, Mrs. Adans, was waiting by my desk.

“Aria, can we talk?”

My stomach sank. “Yes, ma’am.”

We went into her office, and she gave me a small, reassuring smile.

“First of all, you did well. Don’t let Mr. Bell’s tone discourage you. He’s… particular.”

“That’s one word for it,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

She chuckled. “He has high standards. But he also notices potential. Take his criticism constructively, alright?”

She slid a note toward me — handwritten points.

Work on pacing during delivery.

Avoid overexplaining slides.

Keep eye contact steady — confidence reads louder than content.

“These are the small things that make a great presentation,” she said.

I nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and humiliation. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll work on it.”

She hesitated, then added, “By the way… he wants to see you.”

My heart stopped. “Mr. Bells?”

“Yes. He said to send you to his office as soon as you’re done here.”

I tried to keep my face neutral, but my pulse betrayed me.

Of course he did. Maybe to fire me. Maybe to scold me again. Maybe.

No. Don’t even think maybe.

“Okay,” I said softly. “I’ll go.”

As I left her office, I caught my reflection in the glass door, eyes still a little red, lipstick slightly smudged, heart nowhere near steady.

I took a deep breath and straightened my blouse.

If Alexander Bells wanted to see me, he’d see me.

Not the girl he broke down in a meeting. Not the heartbroken ex of his son.

He’d see Aria Dane.

Even if my voice trembled doing it.