"Go be terrifying," I whisper, my voice barely audible above the ambient sound of the video still playing on the massive screens.
His mouth quirks upward, not quite a smile, but close enough. "Yes, ma'am." There's dark amusement threading through those two simple words, and I feel my cheeks warm at the familiarity of it.
The intro video reaches its climax, the dramatic score swelling to its crescendo before fading to black. The ballroom plunges into darkness for a suspended moment, the kind of pregnant silence that theater directors live for, and then the lights come up in a dramatic spotlight, washing the stage in brilliant white.
The announcer's voice booms through the speakers, rich and authoritative: "Please welcome to the stage the visionaryleader behind one of the world's most innovative technology companies, CEO of Horde Tech, Thrall Orkenshade."
And then he walks onto that stage, his massive frame filling the space as though he was always meant to own it. His movements are fluid, controlled, utterly commanding, and I'm holding my breath.
The keynote is flawless.
I watch from the wings, tablet forgotten in my hands, as Thrall commands the room with the same ruthless efficiency he brings to board meetings. His voice carries perfectly, deep, measured, absolutely confident, and every single person in that ballroom is leaning forward, hanging on his words.
He talks about innovation, about disrupting outdated systems, about building technology that serves people instead of controlling them. He's funny, which surprises some of the investors who only know his reputation for blunt intensity. He's charming, which surprises absolutely no one who's ever seen him negotiate a contract.
And every so often, his eyes flick to the wings. To me.
It's brief, barely noticeable, but I catch it every single time. A momentary check-in, a grounding glance, like he needs to confirm I'm still here watching him.
My chest tightens with something dangerously close to overwhelming affection.
The Q&A session runs smoothly, Thrall fielding questions about market expansion and ethical AI development with the kind of thoughtful precision that makes him so devastatingly good at his job. He goes slightly over his allotted time by two minutes, but I don't cut his mic because the last question is from a young Orc entrepreneur asking for advice on startinga business, and Thrall's answer is generous and unexpectedly vulnerable.
"Build something you believe in," he says, his voice carrying clearly through the ballroom. "Don't chase trends or investors or approval. Build something that matters to you, and find people who believe in it as fiercely as you do. Everything else is negotiable."
The applause is thunderous.
He exits the stage smoothly, and the moment he's in the wings, his entire posture shifts. The commanding CEO melts away, replaced by something softer, more open. He walks directly to me, ignoring Kiera and the AV tech and the assistant coordinator hovering nearby with his water bottle.
"You went over time," I inform him, crossing my arms even as my mouth threatens to betray me with a smile.
"By two minutes."
"Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds."
"Are you going to punish me?"
"Later." I hand him the water bottle, which he accepts without breaking eye contact. "You were brilliant. The investors are going to be fighting each other to throw money at you."
"I don't care about the investors." He takes a long drink, then sets the bottle aside and steps closer, crowding into my space in a way that's becoming deliciously familiar. "I care about what you thought."
"I thought you were professional, articulate, and devastatingly competent."
"High praise from CEO Lin."
"Don't let it go to your head." I reach up, adjusting his tie again even though it doesn't need it, just because I like the excuse to touch him. "You have the VIP investor reception in thirty minutes. I need you to circulate, shake hands, and be charming."
"I'm always charming," he says, and there's that infuriating confidence again, the kind that comes from someone who's never been told no in his entire life.
"You're intimidating," I counter, pulling my hand back so I can gesture at him properly. "There's a significant difference. Charm is disarming. Charm makes people want to be around you. What you do is make people nervous. You walk into a room and everyone suddenly remembers they have somewhere else to be."
"And yet you're still standing here."
"Because someone has to keep you from saying something that'll tank the company's valuation." I narrow my eyes at him, but I can feel the corner of my mouth twitching upward traitorously. "You find me charming. That's what matters."
"I find you tolerable," I say firmly, crossing my arms again as a defensive measure. But even as the words leave my mouth, I know he can read the lie written all over my face, in the way my eyes soften when they land on his, in the way I haven't actually moved away from him. "Barely."
"Tolerable," he repeats, as he glints with amusement. "Is that what we're calling it?"
