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“Is untested. And about placing such a crucial account in the hands of someone so...”

“Qualified?” I supply. “Innovative? The analyst who predicted the renewable energy market shift six months before our competitors?”

“Inexperienced.” He taps his tablet. “Her methods are unorthodox, her approach is overly familiar, and her tendency toward...” he pauses delicately, “physical mishaps are well-documented. The Johnsons are traditional energy sector leaders. They expect a certain level of gravitas.”

The coffee cup creaks in my grip as my fingers tighten involuntarily. I force myself to set it down before I do something unprofessional, like throw it at Garrett’s perfectly knotted tie. The way he’s talking about Emma—dismissing her brilliance because she occasionally trips over her own enthusiasm—makes me seethe in a way that has nothing to do with professional concerns.

“Ms. Hastings has my complete confidence,” I say evenly. “As does her strategy. The Johnsons don’t want another traditional analytics provider—they want a partner who understands where the industry is headed.”

“The board may not share your confidence.” His eyes flick to the family photos, lingering on my father’s image. “Your father always said personal feelings shouldn’t influence business decisions. Brighton’s offer includes guaranteed board positions for the Johnsons. Our counteroffer is feelings about sustainability.”

The implication hangs in the air between us, bitter and accusatory. That my judgment is compromised where Emma is concerned. That I’m letting personal history cloud my professional assessment. That I’m not my father.

I stand slowly, using my height advantage to full effect as I move around the desk. I don’t tower over him—Garrett’s tall himself—but it shifts the dynamic just enough.

“My father also said innovation requires risk,” I counter. “And that the difference between good companies and great ones is whether they recognize talent or just credentials. Emma’s strategy combines practical experience with our Project Phoenix innovations—something Brighton can’t match.”

“About that.” Garrett’s thin smile suggests I’m not going to like what comes next. “Brighton’s offering expires at the end of the week. By moving the presentation to this afternoon, we at least have a chance to counter before they sign.”

“This afternoon?” The words come out sharp. “That’s impossible. We need time to—“

“To what? Perfect Ms. Hastings’ unconventional approach? The Johnsons are being courted by Brighton as we speak. We need to show them concrete solutions, not experimental strategies.”

“Emma’s strategy is exactly what they need. Her approach could save them millions in implementation costs. She just needs time to—“

“Time is the one thing we don’t have, Mr. Walker.” He starts to leave, then pauses, one hand on the doorframe. “The board will be watching this presentation very carefully. I suggest you consider whether your attachment to certain personnel is clouding your judgment. Brighton’s offer includes a 10% premium on their stock value. Your father would never have let sentiment override shareholder interests.”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me with the weight of his words and my father’s stern gaze from the wall.

For a moment, I just stand there, the quiet hum of the early morning office the only sound. There’s truth in what Garrett said, and that’s what makes it cut so deep. Dad would havemade the practical choice. The numbers-driven choice. That was always the difference between us – I saw people where he saw profit margins.

I reach for my phone, pulling up Emma’s contact. My finger hovers over the call button as I remember her confidence in yesterday’s board meeting, the way she lit up explaining her ideas. She found an elegant solution to the Johnsons’ sustainability concerns. The way she naturally built on my comments, anticipating what I would say almost before I thought of it. Now I have to tell her we’re presenting in... I check my watch and swear under my breath. Six hours.

The board is testing me.

Testing us both. They’ve orchestrated this impossible deadline to prove their point—that I’m not ready for this responsibility, that Emma’s not capable of handling major accounts, that we’re both just playing at being professionals while Brighton closes in for the kill.

I hit dial before I can second-guess myself. Emma picks up on the first ring.

“Please tell me you’re calling to say you found my lucky presentation pen,” she says instead of hello. “I can’t face the Johnsons tomorrow without it. It’s gotten me through six board presentations, and that time I had to explain to your father why the R&D budget suddenly included a line item for ‘gravity-resistant office supplies.’”

The memory catches me off guard – Dad calling me into his office, trying to maintain his serious expression while showing me the budget item. “Your friend Miss Hastings has quite the creative accounting methods,” he’d said, the corner of his mouth twitching. Later, I’d learned Emma had accidentally knocked over an entire shelf of supplies during her pitch for new software, and Dad had been so impressed with her quick recovery that he’d approved the purchase on the spot.

My chest tightens. “About the presentation...”

There’s a pause, then: “Why do I hear impending disaster in your voice? And not the usual kind that involves me knocking things over?”

“Garrett moved the meeting.” I force the words out. “To this afternoon.”

The sound of something crashing comes through the phone, followed by muffled cursing. “Please tell me this is revenge for that time I accidentally signed you up for the senior center newsletter.”

“Emma...”

“No, wait, it’s karma for—“

“Em.” The nickname slips out before I can catch it, familiar and comforting. “I’m sorry. I tried to—“

“Stop.” Her voice steadies, that backbone of steel I’ve always admired emerging. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault. The board is testing us, right? Trying to prove their point about the reformed party boy and the klutzy analyst? Well, they haven’t read my latest market projection models. Or seen how many sustainability awards the Johnson family has won in the last year.”