Page 86 of Wicked Surrender

“No,” I said, too quiet for anyone but her to hear as I skidded against the podium. Pushing aside her papers, I sought the computer that would power the presentations. The monitor showed the file name in a dialog box, but no amount of typing on the keyboard would halt it from running. Inappropriate images—all doctored or made up—rolled one after the other on the enormous screen.

“Stop,” I growled, as if the computer would hear my command and obey.

I had to prevent this from continuing.

I had to end this torture.

Frustrated that I couldn’t find a button to override the autoplay, I gripped the device on the lower part of the shelving unit and yanked it hard. It was wedged in there, secured with bolts. I couldn’t toss it aside and break it, but I loosened something to the point that the screen behind me went blank. A huge sheet of black showed now, with a singly blinking command line of a device no longer connected.

Heaving deep breaths from the adrenaline rush of sprinting to her rescue, I jerked my head around to face her.

She deprived me of doing that. With her head still hung low, her long, black hair curtained her face.

Shame.

Humiliation.

Hurt.

So much sorrow.

All of them radiated from her, and I cleared my throat to fix this, to repair all this damage that she never deserved in the first place.

I couldn’t give up. Not on her. Not on my fervent wish to make her happy again.

Narrowing my eyes under the spotlights, I scanned the crowd and tugged the microphone toward me. It screeched and squealed from my rough movement, but I didn’t pause to care. All I cared about was changing the trajectory of what just happened.

“What you just saw…” I shook my head, seeing Dennis and Rory walking out of the room, their hands on their faces. “Is my fault.”

Taking blame for this prank wouldn’t fix anything, but if I could avert the attention from Laura to me, I would do it. I would step up each and every time to do right by her. I was far too late to start that, but from here on out, I had to make amends.

“That slideshow didn’t belong up there. And it is my fault that it was made. But it was not supposed to be something for you to view.”

I licked my lips, seeking out the rows where the judges sat. Their eyes were all on me, open wide with a mixture of shock, alarm, and anger.

“This incident is not what Laura Chen wanted to have happen up here. It was not her intention to sway the purpose of her presentation. This is not her fault, and it is a shame that this incident can precede the work of an intelligent and brave woman. I request—I beg of you—to give her another chance to share her hard work.”

I dragged in short, rapid breaths, unable to tamp down this beast of anxiety and anguish. “Give her another chance,” I instructed.

A second chance was all that could start to make this right.

She needed to have the stage to present what mattered to her.

Because that was the only second chance that would be happening. Hers.

Not one she’d give me. She’d made it clear all week long that she was done with me. Laura had zero intent to listen to me or forgive me, and I knew that asking for either wasn’t fair after all I’d done to her.

I wouldn’t get a second chance with her, but even though I blew it, I wanted to fight for her, to insist that she wouldn’t suffer from me and my cruel temptations ever again.

“Let her start over,” I told the judges before taking a big step back, almost stumbling away from the podium.

Dizzy and clumsy, I staggered back again until I reached for Laura’s hand.

I tried.

I stepped up.

And I wanted to take her aside somewhere private to tell her why. I braced myself for a moment of her time to plead with her once more to hear me out.

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