Page 26 of Mistlefoe
“The five bunnies are very good at manipulating the robot.” I lean back against the chair and fold my arms, not caring if it wrinkles my red blouse. My logic wasn’t too far from Conor’s, except I figured if I looked festive I’d be able to more cheerfully deliver this pitch. “I think… I think I’m going to let you in on something about me.”
His eyebrows rise. In a second, he’s closing the lid of his laptop and pushing it aside.
“Never mind, I changed my mind.”
Conor groans. “Oh, c’mon. I was excited to be part of the exclusive circle of trust.”
I bite my lip, completely thrown by that groan. Does he know how he sounds when he does it?
More importantly, that old woman at the fair was right. Conor’s eyes may not seem special at a glance. Light brown and deep set, framed by unfairly long eyelashes. But they have a light in them that I haven’t been able to face in the past. They’re searching, which I took to mean he wanted to dig deep into my soul and carve out all my secrets. Now that I’m not running away from them, I wonder if he’s just a naturally observant and curious person instead.
“I have this like, core hurt that I carry like a chip on my shoulder everywhere I go,” I start saying, wringing the hem of my blouse under the table. “I mentioned I used to get bullied as a kid, remember?”
“Apology, hot chocolate.” He smacks his forehead and squirms. “Wow, I’m absolute garbage. How did I gloss over that fact?”
“You didn’t,Idid—on purpose. I didn’t want to dwell.” I glance out the window at the gloomy landscape. The sky is grey with charged clouds that refuse to break apart, even though the bare tree branches below are rising up to embrace the onslaught. “But kids were pretty brutal about the fact that my dad was the school janitor, my mom a nail tech, and that I had an accent. So I made proving I was smarter than them my whole personality. It’s why the concept of failing at the smallest thing turns me into an insufferable jerk.”
His brow crashes like thunder and he starts cracking his knuckles. “Who hurt you? Just say the names and I’ll drop by.”
I yelp a quick laugh that devolves into blowing a raspberry. “Well… thanks. But I bet I’m the only one who has to work through this stuff.”
“They should work through my fists.” Conor sighs and drops his hands on the table. “But, Sierra, failure isn’t so terrible. Trust me, I would know.”
For the first time, I note the self-deprecation in his expression and something in my chest twists painfully enough to make me gasp.
“Conor, you’re not a?—”
Of course, that’s when the door to the conference room opens. Richard strides in, whistling Deck the Halls in an extra jolly way.
“Alright, folks. Let’s get the ball rolling, I only have fifteen minutes today.” He takes a seat at the head of the table.
Conor tears his attention away from me and grabs his laptop again. This time he’s the one hooked up to the system and he pulls up the new and updated presentation.SPORTYChristmas Olympics is no more, and is instead replaced bySPORTYChristmas Fair.
This time we give the presentation together. It was a natural byproduct of having spent all Wednesday together at the fair downtown, and then yesterday working on the package. Am I nervous that I’m not getting the full marks on my own? Yes. But I truly didn’t do this by myself.
Besides, a single presentation won’t make or break my case for the promotion. I suspect that the day of the event will be the decisive factor.
Whenever it’s Conor’s turn to talk, I observe Richard for any negative signs, but the man is a vault. It works great when he’s faced with customers or suppliers, but it’s driving me up the wall right now. My voice wavers a bit when I mention words likenostalgiaandcompetitive spiritas I deliver the closer for the pitch.
“And that’s it. What do you think?” I stretch my lips into what I hope is a happy smile, and not an I’m-barely-containing-my-barf cringe.
“Hmm.” Richard swivels in his chair to face away from the screen and back to Conor and I, sitting side by side across from him. “I’m a bit disappointed?—”
I’m dying. This is what dying feels like.
“—That the Olympics theme isn’t there, but this does sound fun.” Slowly, Richard’s mask cracks to let excitement through. “Oh, man. It’s almost a shame it’s only going to be for adults. My kids wouldlovethis idea.”
I’m alive again. I can breathe.
Conor leans forward. “So we’re a go?”
“Well, almost. There’s just one thing I wasn’t clear about.” I grip the edge of the table as Richard makes a pause. “What about the venue?”
“Right.” My coworker taps his fingertips against the table surface. “There’s a bit of a problem about that.”
“Money’s not an issue.” Richard shrugs.
I bite back what I really want to say, which is that maybe he shouldn’t have tasked us with this so late in the year. I keep quiet because the actual problem isn’t even that.
