Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Sera POV
I woke up with the taste of jasmine on my tongue and the echo of two words ringing in my ears: “Find me” . The dream lingered with unusual clarity, every detail sharp-edged and vivid. The ancient columns, the blue dress that had felt like liquid silk, the shadow in the mist whose voice had resonated through my bones.
My alarm hadn't gone off yet. I checked my phone, it was 5:43am. Another night of fractured sleep, another morning of feeling like I'd lived through something important that I couldn't quite grasp.
I padded to the kitchen and made coffee with hands that were steadier than they should have been. The dream should have left me shaken, but instead I felt oddly energized, like I'd received a message I was supposed to understand.
The walk to work felt different too. Instead of checking for followers, I found myself scanning the crowd with purpose, as if I might actually spot whoever I was supposed to find. Which was ridiculous, since the voice in my dream had been asking me to find them, not the other way around.
Emma was already at her desk when I arrived, clutching a travel mug that smelled like it contained more espresso than coffee.
"You look better today," she announced without looking up from her computer. "Less like the walking dead, more like the walking slightly wounded."
"Thanks for the pep talk."
"I live to serve. How did your meeting with the CEO go yesterday?"
I settled into my chair and booted up my computer. "Fine. He wanted to review my preliminary analysis."
"And?"
"And he seemed pleased with the direction I'm taking."
"That's it? No earth-shattering revelations about your future at the company? No dramatic declarations of your analytical genius?"
"Emma, you've been reading too many romance novels."
"Have not. I've been reading the right amount of romance novels, which is all of them." She spun her chair to face me directly. "But seriously, what did you think of him? Outside the whole CEO intimidation factor?"
I pretended to focus on organizing the files on my desk. "I don't really have an opinion. He's my boss's boss's boss. We don't exactly have casual conversations about his personality."
"Except you did have a conversation with him. Behind closed doors. For over an hour."
"How do you know how long—"
"Rebecca mentioned it to someone who mentioned it to someone else. Corporate gossip travels faster than email." Emma leaned forward conspiratorially. "So? What's he like when he's not being the intimidating captain of industry?"
I thought about Damon's questions about my background, the way his expression had softened when I'd mentioned foster care. The connection I'd felt when we'd talked about self-reliance and not having anyone to depend on.
"He's more perceptive than I expected," I said carefully. "And he actually listens when you're explaining something, instead of just waiting for you to finish talking."
"High praise from someone who's used to professors who think teaching is an interruption to their research."
Before I could respond, my desk phone rang. I recognized Rebecca's voice immediately.
"Good morning, Seraphina. The executive team was very impressed with your preliminary analysis. They'd like you to present your findings to the senior leadership team next Tuesday."
My stomach dropped to somewhere around my knees. "Present? Like, stand up in front of people and talk?"
"A formal presentation, yes. Approximately twenty minutes, with time for questions afterward."
"Who exactly will be in attendance?"
"The senior leadership team consists of department heads, VPs, and Mr. Cross. About twelve people total."
Twelve people. Including Damon. All expecting me to stand up and prove that the intern they'd gambled on was worth the investment.
"I'll email you the details," Rebecca continued. "Conference room A, ten AM sharp. Do you have any questions?"
About a million, but none I could articulate coherently. "No questions. Thank you for letting me know."
After I hung up, I sat staring at my computer screen without seeing it. A presentation. To senior leadership. Including the CEO who'd been appearing in my dreams—or at least, someone who sounded remarkably like him.
"You look like you're about to throw up," Emma observed.
"I might be."
"What's wrong now?"
"They want me to present my analysis to the senior leadership team. Next Tuesday. Twenty minutes, plus questions."
Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Holy shit, Sera. That's huge."
"That's terrifying."
"It's both. Do you know how rare it is for an intern to present to senior leadership? Most people work here for years before they get that kind of opportunity."
"Which is exactly why I'm going to make a fool of myself."
"Or you're going to prove that you belong here and secure your future at the company."
I spent the rest of the morning trying to focus on work, but my mind kept circling back to Tuesday's presentation. Twenty minutes to convince twelve executives that my analysis was worth their time. Twenty minutes to not embarrass myself, the marketing department, or the entire concept of hiring interns.
Twenty minutes in a room with Damon, trying to act professional while my dreams were increasingly populated by mysterious voices telling me to find them.
Around noon, I called Bri.
"Emergency," I said when she answered. "I need help."
"What kind of emergency? Medical, financial, or romantic?"
"Professional. I have to give a presentation to senior executives next week, and I'm about to have a panic attack."
"Okay, first, breathe. Second, this is amazing news. Third, I'm coming over tonight with wine and presentation coaching supplies."
"Presentation coaching supplies?"
"Sticky notes, index cards, and my overwhelming confidence in your abilities. We're going to turn you into a presentation goddess."
That evening, Bri arrived at the condo armed with enough office supplies to stock a small business and a bottle of wine that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget.
"Alright," she announced, spreading materials across the marble kitchen island. "Tell me everything about this presentation. Who's the audience, what's the content, what's your biggest fear?"
"Twelve senior executives, regional consumer analysis, and making a fool of myself in front of the CEO."
"The CEO will be there?" Bri's eyes lit up with interest. "The same CEO you've been having mysterious closed-door meetings with?"
"They weren't mysterious. They were about work."
"Uh-huh. And how do you feel about presenting to him specifically?"
I considered lying, but Bri had known me too long to be fooled by deflection. "Nervous. He makes me feel like he's seeing something I don't understand about myself."
"That could be good or bad."
"I'm not sure which."
"Well, either way, we're going to make sure you're prepared for anything." Bri uncapped a marker and grabbed a legal pad. "Step one: outline your key points. Step two: practice until you could give this presentation in your sleep. Step three: walk into that conference room like you own the place."
We spent the next three hours breaking down my analysis into digestible segments, creating visual aids, and practicing transitions between topics. Bri was relentless in her coaching, making me repeat sections until they flowed naturally, challenging my assumptions until I could defend every conclusion.
"Your content is solid," she said as we wrapped up. "The analysis is sophisticated, your conclusions are well-supported, and your recommendations are actionable. Now we just need to work on your delivery."
"What's wrong with my delivery?"
"You talk like you're apologizing for taking up their time. Stop it. You were invited to give this presentation because you have something valuable to say. Own that."
By the time she left, I felt marginally more confident about the content of my presentation. But as I lay in bed that night, my mind wasn't focused on consumer behavior patterns or regional variance analysis.
Instead, I kept thinking about standing in a conference room, looking directly at Da
mon while explaining my findings. The prospect filled me with something that wasn't quite nervousness and wasn't quite excitement.