The folder opened in Elliot’s hands.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
I was still sitting on the leather couch in his office, holding a glass of water with both hands because they had started trembling again.
Elliot stood beside his desk with my rejected proposal spread open in front of him.
There were notes everywhere.
Blue ink filled the margins.
Entire paragraphs were underlined.
Figures had been circled.
Three pages had colored tabs sticking from their edges.
I stared at them.
That was not the work of a man who had glanced at my proposal and dismissed it with four careless words.
“What is that?” I asked.
Elliot looked down at the pages as if the answer should have been obvious.
“Your proposal.”
“I know it’s my proposal.” My embarrassment was rapidly transforming back into anger, which was honestly much easier to survive.
“Why does it look like you’ve been studying it for an exam?”
His gaze returned to me.
“Because I read it.”
“You said no.”
“I did.”
“In front of twelve people.”
“Yes.”
“With no explanation.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“Yes.”
I set the water on the table before I threw it.
“Then maybe instead of discussing my temporary psychotic relationship with your Forbes cover, we should discuss why you apparently spent enough time reading my work to annotate half of it and still decided the only feedback I deserved was ‘Interesting, Miss Summers, but no.’”
For once, Elliot Hawkins did not have an immediate reply.
That silence felt extraordinary.
I stood slowly.
The dizziness had passed.
The humiliation had not, but I could work with humiliation.
I had spent a year working for Elliot.
I knew how to keep functioning while furious.
He closed the folder.
“I handled the meeting badly.”
I blinked.
I had imagined Elliot admitting many things during my year as his assistant.
Defeat had never made the list.
“That sounded dangerously close to an apology.”
“It was one.”
I folded my arms.
“Could you repeat it? I may still have concussion symptoms from fainting.”
His mouth moved at one corner.
“I’m sorry, Alexia.”
There was my first name again.
No Miss Summers.
No cool executive distance.
Just Alexia.
I hated how much I noticed.
He tapped the folder with one finger.
“Your proposal is good.
Very good.
There are two assumptions I don’t trust yet, and one cost projection I think is too optimistic.
I should have said that in the meeting.”
“So why didn’t you?”
