Page 41 of Ruthless Serenade

As the day goes by and the clock ticks closer to the appointed time, I head to the restroom to make sure I look presentable. I fix my makeup and smooth out the wrinkles on my shirt that formed from sitting at my desk all day. Taking one last look at my reflection in the mirror, I give myself a little pep talk before finally heading to the boardroom to meet the company owners.

You can do this, girl.

Rock their socks off and make this worthwhile.

For Sharon.

Once I’m feeling composed and collected, I exit the bathroom and make my way to the conference room, striding over the polished floor. The flash drive containing my carefully crafted presentation is clutched tightly in my hand.

I glance at the time: I have exactly two minutes and thirty-six seconds before I start.

I enter the boardroom and quietly take a seat at the back, patiently waiting for my turn. By the time my name is called and I move to the front, I'm battling a surge of anxiety. Every key decision-maker in the company is present. Christine sits in the front row, her eyes sharp and assessing. To her right is Albert; to her left are Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, the owners ofthe company, who watch me with an air of regal detachment. They’re a middle-aged couple, embodying polished corporate professionalism. Mr. Thompson, with salt-and-pepper hair and a crisp navy suit, radiates quiet authority, while Mrs. Thompson, elegant in a tailored charcoal dress, her blonde hair pulled back in a sleek chignon, regards me with cool, appraising eyes.

I swallow hard, trying to quell my nerves. I connect my laptop to the projector, inserting the pen drive into the USB slot with a confidence I don’t quite feel. Then, I flash my widest smile, the one I’ve perfected for moments like these.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," I begin, my voice ringing out clear and strong. "Thank you all for being here today. I’d like to extend a special welcome to Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, our esteemed owners, who came all the way from London to meet with us. It is a pleasure to have you here."

I pause, feeling the energy of the room shift ever so slightly in my favor.

"Today, I will be presenting an overview of our current financial standing, highlighting key metrics, recent trends, and projections for the foreseeable future. Our goal is to ensure we have a clear understanding of our financial health and to identify opportunities for growth and improvement."

So far, so good, Mindy.

I take a deep breath, my mind already thinking about the graphs I’ve so carefully crafted.

"I’d like to begin with a review of our recent financial performance, followed by an analysis of our expenses and revenue streams. After that, I’ll present our financial forecastsand strategic recommendations. Finally, we’ll open the floor for any questions or discussions."

I scan the room, making eye contact with the owners and the Solomons.

"Before I dive into the details, I’d like to point out that your insights and feedback are invaluable. Please feel free to jot down any questions or thoughts you have so that we can address them during the Q&A session at the end."

With a sense of accomplishment, I press 'Enter' to pull up the contents of the flash drive. My anxiety eases, and the tension in my shoulders finally loosens.

"Let’s start with an overview of our recent financial performance. The first graph provides a general view of the company’s progress."

I double-click the file and brace myself, hoping I've done a good enough job that they won’t see through my financial wizardry. But the moment the image appears on the projector screen, my blood runs cold - cold enough to freeze over hell itself. Staring back at me is not the carefully doctored chart I’d prepared. It’s a selfie I took in the mirror years ago.

Shit!

What’s this picture doing on this drive?

Panicked, I click on something else, but it only makes matters worse. I’m met with a picture of myself… naked.

I am sure all color fades from my face as the realization sets in: this is the wrong flash drive. This is not the one with the presentation I prepared for this meeting. This flash drive is the one I used a long time ago, the one I saved my naked pictureson. The same naked pictures I accidentally sent to Maron seven years ago.

Oh, dear God!

Panic is a mild term for what I’m experiencing right now. I’m pretty sure my face looks as pale as humanly possible. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out. My feet feel heavy, like they grew roots. The people in the boardroom stare back at me in utter shock, their expressions shifting between confusion and disbelief. My heart pounds in my chest like it’s trying to escape my ribcage. Every second stretches into eternity as I try to comprehend the gravity of my mistake, wondering how on Earth I can undo this catastrophe.

"Um… sorry," I finally stammer, desperately clicking to find something, anything I can use to dig myself out of this unfolding catastrophe. But the next image only reveals another private photo from my past: me pouting in front of the mirror without my panties on.

This is surely the end of me.

No presentation.

No slides to support my numbers.

Nothing except old memories.

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