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“It looks great out there,” Owen says. “I can’t believe you guys managed to pull it together. When you sent me the flood photos I thought we were doomed.”
“Charlotte pulled it off,” I tell him. “And Priya. Priya was our brains and hard work on the ground.”
“Honestly, I just did what Charlotte asked,” she says, always self-deprecating.
“Well, it’s great,” Owens says, all casual and relaxed. “Where is she?”
“Had to stay in New York,” Priya replies before I can answer. “Something to do with a demanding boss.”
My stomach twists at the excuse Charlotte’s given to not be here. I mean, it’s never beyond the realm of possibility that Max is being demanding. But since her “I’m not going” text on Saturday night, I haven’t heard a word from her.
I couldn’t bring myself to reply to it. I’d hoped that sending a chatty message, about the first-class flight she’d booked for me, might warm her up, might persuade her to consider forgiving me for interfering and trying to get Max to drop the subclause.
But then came those three little words.
Just thinking about them again brings a hollow ache to my stomach.
They felt like a very definite line drawn in the sand, separating us from everything that’s happened, from how things have shifted in less than two weeks. From how much better we’ve gotten to know each other, how close we’ve become, how good it felt when we touched each other’s skin. It’s all gone. She’s wiped the slate clean.
“Ha. Sounds about right.” Owen chuckles. “Shame, though. Would have been good for her to see all her organizing come to fruition.” He pauses. “Wouldn’t it, El?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He pats me on the back. “Don’t worry, bud. You’ll be great. And you have no idea how grateful I am that you took this on for me. On top of trying to wrap up a bunch of work stuff before the weekend and all the other wedding stress, it would have been one thing too many.”
“Yeah, I know you’re overloaded.” Though right now I’d cheerfully do all his wedding and honeymoon planning in exchange for this one ten-minute presentation.
“You’ve written a great speech, right from the heart.” Owen read through it last night for me. “You almost brought a tear to my eye, so you’re going to knock these guys dead.”
If I don’t hyperventilate myself into unconsciousness.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I tell him. “There’s a reason you do these things, not me.” My final nerve might be about to up and leave the building. “Look. How about you just do it? You’ve already looked over the speech. That’s kind of like a rehearsal. But even if you read it cold, you’d still be better than me with days of practice.”
“Not a chance,” Owen says. “It’s about time you came forward to take some of the credit.”
“But I don’t want credit. I’ve never wanted cre?—”
“You’re up, Owen.” Our PR person sticks her head around the door leading to the walk of doom. The room behind her is abuzz with excited chatter.
Owen leans on my shoulder. “I’ll give you a good intro. And I’ll be right behind you the whole time. You’ll be great.”
And with a final slap on my back, he bounces through the door.
“Come on.” Priya takes my arm. “I thought I was going to puke right before I had to make a presentation for my final master’s project.” She leads me to the door. “But once I got going, I was fine. You’ll be great once you hit your stride.”
“It’s the ‘hitting my stride’ part that worries me. Or rather, the not hitting it.”
I peer through the slightly open door.
Owen beams at his rapt audience, swagger turned up to the max.
“Hi, I’m Owen Dashwood, co-owner of Two Coast Tech. Thank you all for coming. The First Byte project means the world to us. And to tell you why and about the big plans we have to expand it across the country, I’d like to introduce the brainier half of the company. My business partner and my cousin, Elliot Dashwood.”
That’s it. I can’t move. My feet might as well be nailed and superglued to the floor for all I can put one in front of the other.
What I really need right now is a flux capacitor to shoot me forward two hours to when all of this is over.
My mind rewinds to my last public speaking experience. I’m standing in front of the MIT class, listening to the sarcastic titters that run around the room while blood drips from my nose onto my notes.
