Instead, I let him stay, and for the next two hours we sat side by side, going over every detail of my presentation. He caught things I missed, made me rephrase points, and even played devil’s advocate, forcing me to sharpen my arguments.
It was annoying.
And frustrating.
And exactly what I needed.
Then it was time.
Ronan leaned back as I stood, smoothing down my blazer. “Go, kill it.”
I exhaled. “I hope so.”
He shook his head, something certain and unshakable in his expression. “You’re Nina Morretti.You’re magic.”
That stuck with me long after I walked out the door.
The presentation was for the Couture Visionary Initiative, a panel of ten industry leaders searching for the next brand to invest in. We already had partnerships, but this was the step into serious funding.
They were designers, investors, and marketing executives—people who had built empires and now had the power to open even more doors for mine.
I stood there, in my element, delivering every word with the precision Ronan helped me fine-tune. The nerves were there, but so was the confidence. By the time I finished, I knew I had them.
And I was right.
When it was all said and done, when the questions were answered, and the handshakes were exchanged, I walked out of there with the opportunity of a lifetime.
By the time I returned to my office, the sky was pitch black.
I pushed open the door, heading toward my desk to grab my purse—only to freeze.
Ronan was still there.
Asleep.
He sat in the same spot I left him, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he’d been waiting and dozed off. I gazed, stunned.He stayed?
Slowly, I walked over, crouching beside him. I hesitated, then reached out, gently shaking his shoulder.
His eyes snapped open instantly, alert even through the sleep haze. “How was it?”
I pulled back, still processing. “You stayed.”
He shrugged like it was obvious. “Yeah.”
I gave him a pointed look. “I was gone for like six hours.”
He stretched, barely hiding a yawn. “Felt like five minutes.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Then, before I could gather my thoughts, he said, “There’s dinner for you. Pasta.”
I blinked. “You—” I exhaled. “Thanks.”
He shrugged again. “No problem.”
I set my purse down, glancing toward the door. “I should checkon—”
