“Hiding your hand defeats the intended purpose of such a gesture.”
Why does he talk like he was born drinking breast milk out of a porcelain teacup? And even weirder, why do I enjoy it?
“My dad taught me that if I don’t have anything nice to say, then I shouldn’t say anything at all.”
“Shouldn’t that rule extend to offensive gestures?”
I raise a brow in his direction. “Because you’re the kind of person who gets offended now?”
His grimace doesn’t match his lit-up eyes. “Your file never mentioned an issue with talking back to authority figures.”
I perk up. “You’ve been reading up on me.”
“I tend to research my investments.”
I know his intention wasn’t to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside but my heart leaps in my chest anyway.
We aren’t an investment, my feminist brain calls out.
But the big grumpy man spends his time researching me, the hopeless romantic calls out in rebuttal.
I grin to myself. When I look up, I find Rowan staring at me with a pinched expression. “What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.” He turns and exits my shower-sized cubicle, leaving me with a weird feeling that sticks with me for the rest of the day.
I add the drawing Rowan dropped off yesterday to the last slide of my presentation. He captured everything I dreamed of showing but lacked the talent in executing.
Today I feel way more nervous about presenting. Despite the amazing mandap drawing Scott did, I’m still unsure about showing off my first idea that doesn’t have Brady Kane’s approval. I could have chosen one of the ideas we brainstormed together but I wanted to test myself.
Now I’m not too sure if it was the best idea. What if people hate it?
But Rowan said it was great.
I roll my shoulders back as I shut my laptop. There’s a reason Rowan sees me as an investment, so maybe it’s time I start acting like one. The worst thing that can happen is Jenny telling me no or Rowan deciding the idea isn’t as good as he originally thought.
So I walk into the conference room with my head held high.
Rowan’s chair remains empty despite the room filling up with Creators. I take my usual seat at the back of the table where I write notes away from any prying eyes.
Jenny calls the meeting to a start despite Rowan being absent. I keep checking the time on my phone as the presenters go up one by one to discuss their idea of the week. When Jenny calls my name, I stand and walk up to the podium.
I pull up my PowerPoint and ignore the weird feeling in my chest when my eyes land on Rowan’s empty chair. Why isn’t he here? It’s not like he mentioned anything when he stopped by my cubicle.
I shake my head and turn on my presenter mode. The excited energy in the room balances the nerves inside of me, and my confidence grows into something stronger. I’m winded by the time I finish. My skin is flushed and the erratic rhythm of my heart has yet to lessen.
One person clapping turns into the entire room smiling and congratulating me on a job well done.
All I can do is grin. If this is what believing in myself feels like, I wish I had done it a bit sooner. Before my ideas were stolen and my spirit was crushed.
I’m done being that woman. From now on, I refuse to let self-doubt get in my way. I’m now Zahra 2.0. The woman who doesn’t give much thought to the past because I’m only facing my future.
Lance might have stolen my first idea but it’s most certainly not my last, and everyone’s response tells me that the only one I need to prove something to is myself.