Chapter 10
Mira
I read through my presentation one last time. After Tessa's encouraging words, I thought I'd conquered my lack of confidence, but unfortunately, it's back with a vengeance.
With a frustrated groan, I examine my drawing of Nebula Land again. My PowerPoint reflects everything Owen and I created together, but one look at my sketch makes it painfully obvious that I studied literature in college. If I were destined to be an artist, I'd move to New York like every other talented person willing to tighten their belt, and I'd live on ramen every day until the glorious day I finally made it.
Is including this picture in my presentation really a good idea? My illustration skills are on par with those of a two-year-old learning to hold a crayon. It's not as if Elliot expects us to be perfect at everything, but my drawings are so far from perfect... And since I have zero understanding of how Adobe works, I'm stuck doing everything by hand.
With a sigh, I add the photo of my artwork to the last slide. If I run out of time before I reach that point in the presentation, maybe I won't have to expose this disaster to everyone.
Now there's a good idea! I wipe my damp forehead before packing up all my materials.
"Well, here goes nothing..."
I walk into the conference room with my head held high. Everyone smiles at me before returning their attention to their work. I take a seat near the back. Despite the group lunches and brainstorming sessions, I still feel like an outsider among them. My entry onto the team was anything but traditional, and I'm afraid my coworkers suspect I'm receiving special treatment because I landed a creator position directly instead of working my way up one rung at a time.
As soon as she arrives, Tessa turns on the projector.
"So, who wants to go first?"
Several hands go up. Not mine,I'm far too anxious. Tessa chooses the creator sitting closest to her. He bombs with a proposal to renovate Princess Aveline's castle. The idea isn't bad in theory, but that's about it. Nothing particularly exciting. Even our team lead stifles a yawn.
Suddenly, the door opens, and every head turns in that direction. Our coworker stops in the middle of a sentence.
No! As if this day weren't stressful enough already. Here comes Elliot, strolling in as if it's nothing. Today, he's wearing a gray suit that makes me squeeze my thighs together at the sight of it. The charcoal color emphasizes the severity of his gaze. His muscles shift beneath the luxurious fabric as he sits in a chair at the front of the room.
"Continue. Proceed as usual."
His air of authority shouldn't be attractive to me, yet there's something about the way he takes command that draws me in irresistibly.
The other team members sit ramrod straight for the rest of the presentation. One after another, the creators take their turns at the podium. The concepts they present are all similar: a few ride renovations, a few immersive experiences... I start to wonder if my presentation might be a little too bold for this kind of setting, especially with the director here.
As the presentations continue, Elliot's expression grows darker. His reactions only make my nerves worse. I've always had stage fright before speaking in public, but I don't remember it ever feeling this intense. My hands stay clammy, and my breathing keeps getting faster.
"Mira, you're up," Tessa announces.
I stand on trembling legs. The pressure I've put on myself reaches a whole new level beneath Elliot's gaze, which is fixed on mine.
"Hurry. I have another meeting in twenty minutes," he says in a final tone, tapping the face of his watch.
Even though I'm tempted to run for my life, I somehow manage to get myself under control and pull up my PowerPoint. After taking a deep breath, I begin. As I explain my idea, I feed off the team's nonverbal reactions: their small smiles and nods help me grow more confident. I make it to the end of my presentation without fainting. Success! I consider the whole experience a major victory.
When I reach the dreaded slide containing my drawing, I click so quickly that the screen goes black only a second later. Luckily, Tessa's timer goes off at the same moment. I offer my thanks to the good Lord for saving me.
"Oh, looks like I don't have time to wrap up..."
The room applauds, and my team lead gives me a thumbs-up with a broad smile.
"Go back to the last slide."
Elliot's voice hits me like a bucket of ice water.
"Oh, it's nothing important. Just a diagram. And you have a meeting, anyway."
"That wasn't a question," he replies irritably.
Of course. That would require you to know what manners are.
"Miss Damien, I'm waiting," he says impatiently.
His jaw twitches. I curse him in English, Spanish, and Armenian for good measure.
"It's nothing, really," I insist, hiding my trembling hands behind my back.
"That's for me to decide."
I display the slide through clenched teeth. I wouldn't have included it if the instructions hadn't called for a visual aid to accompany our proposal. And of course, as if I needed another reason to feel like I don't belong here, I'm the only creator who couldn't draw if my life depended on it.
My insecurity resurfaces to attack the newfound confidence I gained during my presentation.
Elliot looks thoughtful.
"Your illustrations could use some work."
"Yes, I'll get right on that," I reply sarcastically.
The room suddenly goes silent. I wish I could slap a hand over my mouth and apologize profusely. Elliot remains unfazed.
"You'd better come up with better ideas by next Friday. To say I wasn't impressed would be an understatement."
Well, damn. Every face in the room mirrors my shock. My coworkers remain motionless, probably because they're all too afraid to do anything but stare at the boss.
He tilts his head toward the projector.
"Use Miss Damien's presentation as a guide for what I expect from you going forward. Except for the last slide."
At that comment, my cheeks burst into flames.
"You may all leave, except Miss Damien."
Hearing him say my name gives me butterflies. But they quickly settle when the reality of my situation sinks in. He wants me to stay alone with him. Here?
The team members flee as if the floor has turned into molten lava. Elliot doesn't move from his chair until the last one closes the door behind them. Only then does he approach the podium, giving me no chance to escape his heavy gaze.
I turn to face him and find my back pressed against the podium's wooden frame. I have no desire to test my self-control in his presence; I can tell it's a losing battle. After the way Elliot embarrassed me in front of my coworkers, I want to strangle him.
"If you ever speak to me like that in front of everyone again..." he begins.
"Let me guess. You'll fire me. A little too predictable for my taste, but I respect it since you're the boss."
Elliot looks at me as if he can't believe those words came out of my mouth. Honestly, neither can I. And this time, I can't exactly blame a bottle of wine for this level of bravery and stupidity. Something about him makes me want to provoke him. I'd like to see who the real Elliot is beneath all those layers of ice and indifference.
He frowns.
"I'm capable of much worse."
A shiver runs through me.
"What does that mean?"
"You don't really want to know."
Despite my racing heart, I pretend I'm not intimidated.
"Since you're making all these basic alpha-male threats, I assume you've got a big one. Otherwise, your conquests must be disappointed pretty often."
"Would you like to pull out a ruler and test your theory?"
"I left my magnifying glass at home. Maybe tomorrow."
I'm pretty sure the angel who used to sit on my shoulder has flown off to greener pastures.
The atmosphere between us shifts. His eyes darken as he studies me. I don't know if he wants to strangle me, fire me, or fuck me until I gladly submit to him.
"Are you always this impossible?" he says.
"I don't know. Are you always this much of an asshole?"
My boss glares at me, and less than a second later, his lips crash into mine.
What?!
My brain immediately spins out of control, and my eyelids fall shut as Elliot devours my mouth. Both his hands grip the podium behind me, trapping my body between his thick arms.
He kisses the way he does everything else: with the precision of extensive experience and restrained power. I'm tempted to push him over the edge, because all that pent-up anger has to go somewhere. I'd happily volunteer as tribute!
As I kiss him back, I abandon every last inhibition. I clutch the front of his suit with both hands and hold on as if I'm about to collapse.
You're making a huge mistake. This guy is your BOSS!
But his mouth drives every thought away. Our tongues tangle in a silent battle. Kissing Elliot is a completely new experience for me: toxic enough to overdose on and erotic enough to leave me wanting more. There's so much passion in his kiss that he seems liable to die if he stops. If he keeps going, I might be the one who dies.
But what a way to go!
Elliot presses his body against mine. When he pushes his erection against my stomach, a shiver travels down my spine. I don't need any kind of measuring instrument to know he's huge. Elliot swallows my moan. He presses even closer, and I feel him with every part of me.
The podium, mounted on wheels, suddenly rolls away. I lose my footing. Elliot catches me by the arm before I fall onto the carpet.
As soon as I'm steady again, I pull free of his grip. His pupils are dilated and his lips swollen as he keeps his eyes on me. My gaze drops to the bulge in his pants, which interested me more than a little only a few seconds ago. Seeing the size of what's hidden underneath with my own eyes nearly makes me stumble again.
I can't believe I behaved like that with my boss. Seriously, what was I thinking?
I wipe my mouth as if I can erase the memory of his kiss, but it's a lost cause. He might as well have branded his initials onto my lips.
"Fuck."
The desire in his gaze suddenly vanishes. His chest rises with every uneven breath.
I come to my senses. I have only one objective: escape. I snatch up my bag and bolt for the exit. Behind me, Elliot remains silent and frozen in place.
I'm not entirely sure what just happened, but I lock our kiss away in the folder labeled "Don't Think About This If You Value Your Life," tucked into the darkest corner of my mind beside the categories "Stupid Things I Did While Drunk" and "Unsolicited Pictures I Received on Tinder."