Page 55 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
I glanced sideways at my team walking with me. Ava’s lips were pressed into a nervous line as she adjusted the hem of her blazer; Leo’s eyes locked on the iPad he cradled like a life raft;and Kelsey was clutching her water bottle with the quiet fury of a woman reciting bullet points in her head.
I might have laughed. We looked like soldiers walking toward a battlefield lined with espresso machines and Italian leather chairs.
“Remember,” I said, trying to steady my voice more for their sake than mine, “focus on the feeling. The campaign isn’t just luxury; it’s belonging. It’s that moment someone steps through their door and thinks, ‘This is mine. This is me.’”
Leo nodded, still scrolling. “Got it. Highlight the personalization angle, skip the stats slide if they’re engaged.”
Kelsey spoke up, her voice tight. “You think they’ll ask about the delivery hiccups in Q1?”
“We hope to God they don’t,” I said. “But if they do, we’ll own it. Then we’ll show them what we did to make it right. Resilience is also luxury.”
Ava smiled faintly. “You always know what to say, Elena.”
I didn’t answer right away. My hand brushed the cool brass handle of the conference room door as I exhaled slowly. The knot in my stomach pulled tighter, but I didn’t let it show.
“You guys ready?” I asked, looking at each of them.
They nodded a little too quickly.
So, I smiled. “Then let’s remind them why Luxe Nest doesn’t follow trends. We set them.”
And with that, I pushed the door open.
The moment we stepped into the conference room, the soft click of my heels echoed off the polished glass walls. The scent of espresso and citrus cleaner hung in the air, crisp and clean, like everything else at Luxe Nest.
I didn’t talk about it a lot, but I was proud of where I worked. Sleek lines. Subtle lighting. Minimalist luxury. Everything about the place made me comfortable.
My team flanked me, and I was confident in their practiced and collected expressions. We’d rehearsed every word, every slide, every answer.
I adjusted the cuff of my fitted black dress, a small gesture to remind myself I owned this pitch. My strategy was simple: Luxe Nest was beyond just home luxuries. We were about aspiration, about the quiet power of indulgence.
And today, we were about to convince a room full of investors why we were worth every cent.
At the head of the table, Robert gave me a thumbs up, and I smiled in appreciation.
I flipped open my laptop, ready to start.
And that was when I saw Damien.
What the heck?
He sat among the investors, casually poised in that way only he could manage, like the room answered to him even though he said nothing. His eyes met mine across the table, and the intensity there gave me a punch to my stomach.
I suddenly remembered his seed lying cozily in my womb, and my best friend in the hospital.
For half a second, my breath caught, and the ripple of panic tried to rise in my chest.
Get it together, Elena. He’s only a human being.
Robert’s eyes asked if something was wrong, and my team waited expectantly, but I could see the line of worry forming on their faces.
I gave a small nod to the room and moved forward.
I could feel his gaze following me like a ghost, trailing down my back, reading every micro-expression I hadn’t meant to show.
As I started the presentation, my voice came out even and clear, thankfully. I wasn’t about to make a fool of myself and my career because of aman.
“Good morning. Luxe Nest isn’t just about products; it’s about presence. We redefine home luxury for those who demand more from the spaces they live in.”
