Page 6 of True Colors

There’s a softness to her….

A weakness?

I noticed her almost instantly.

A lot of people in that conference room wore suits today because they were meeting with the new CEO… but not her.

Most of them will not dress so formally tomorrow onward because I showed up to the meeting in a pair of jeans and a dress shirt. Suits are pretentious, and I fucking hate a tie. I put on the C-suite uniform only when I have no choice.

She was in what one would call business casual. A-line navy-blue skirt paired with a beige silk blouse that had ruffles and shit. Her whole outfit was pulled together with a silk scarf around her neck. Her beige shoes were sensible…but not ugly, as sometimes comfortable can be. Her feet are small. Dainty. As is she.

The truth is, she snagged my attention—no small accomplishment, given how many conference rooms I pass through and how many people I meet without ever really seeing them.

My reaction to her irked me a little, and maybe I was too hard on her because of it. Not that she didn’t give me cause.

Dot sighs loudly, and I turn to face her. “You want to impress your father? You want to prove you’re ready? That starts with you recognizing real talent instead of dismissing anything that doesn’t look like or talk like you.”

Dot can proselytize with the best of them, and before I can respond, she presses on.

“And since your father trusts me to guide you during this rotation, here’s my guidance—put Anouk Starling on the Novagene Global Optimization Project.”

I stare at her like she just asked me to wear a pink tutu to the next board meeting.

Is she out of her fucking mind?

My father is using that project to evaluate whether I can handle grant-level operations. He’s going to audit every decision I make on it.

“That’s a multimillion-dollar engagement and absolutely crucial for our business.”

Dot folds her arms. “Anouk is the only person in this company who can build a forecasting model accurate enough to stand up to Jacob Grant’s scrutiny.”

I stare at her like she’s grown two horns, because believing that would be easier. My father is notoriously hard to please—he can tear apart a model that’s ninety-nine percent right with surgical precision, all for the missing one percent.

“You…uh…you want me to involve her in the project where nearly thirty percent of our next year’s revenue hinges on?”

Dot meets my gaze head-on. “I want you to stop making assumptions about people who don’t think like you do. That includes neurodivergent people. Some minds see patterns and solutions your father’s analysts at corporate HQ wouldn’t dream of finding.”

Fucking hell, Dot, you do lay it on thick, don’t you?

My mouth presses into a hard line as I clamp my teeth together to prevent myself from saying something I will regret.

“What?” Dot prompts impatiently. “Just spit it out.”

“She can’t present. Or talk clearly.”

Dot levels me with a stare that feels like a scolding. “Diversity isn’t just about skin tone or nationality, Luther. It’s about how people think and how they process. It’s about how they communicate. You want innovation? Hire people who don’t speak the way your prep-school friends do.”

I look away, something uncomfortable stirring in my gut, something I’d like to ignore.

“You’re overestimating her,” I mutter.

“No.” Dot smiles smugly at me. “You’re underestimating her.”

“Jesus, Dot⁠—”

“Fine, just let her build the base model, okay? Work with her. See the work. Not the panic.” She shakes her head as if she’s disappointed in me. “And then you can decide if you want her to present to your father and the board or not.”

“Let me think about it.”