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I click to the next slide, picking up his thread seamlessly. “Brighton’s AI is impressive, but it’s generic. Our system learns from twenty years of relationship history. Your specific needs drive the development of every efficiency algorithm and environmental checkpoint.”

As we present, I feel the rhythm we always had, the natural give-and-take that made our college study sessions so effective. I’d start an idea; he’d expand it. He’d identify a problem; I’d find the solution. Separate, we were good. Together, we were unstoppable.

“The custom dashboard,” Lucas continues, leaning closer to point out key features, “integrates your historical data with real-time analytics. Something Brighton can’t match because they don’t have your institutional knowledge.”

Mr. Johnson drums his fingers on the table. “And you do?”

“Better.” I pull up the implementation timeline, proud that my hands don’t shake despite Lucas’s warmth at my side. “We understand it. Your night shift supervisor who developed that brilliant shorthand for tracking materials efficiency? We’ve built that into the system. The way your loading dock team coordinates green energy initiatives? It’s part of our automated protocols.”

“What Emma means,” Lucas interjects smoothly, “is that we’re not just selling you technology. We’re offering a partnership that honors your company’s legacy while revolutionizing its future.”

I risk a glance at him, finding his eyes already on me. For a moment, I forget we’re in the middle of the most important presentation of our careers. All I can think about is how he still finishes my sentences, knows exactly when to step in, and still makes me feel like I could conquer the world just by believing in me.

Mrs. Johnson clears her throat, her gaze moving between us with shrewd assessment. “This is all very impressive, but Brighton’s offering guaranteed board seats. What can Walker Enterprises offer to match that level of commitment?”

“Something better.” The words come out before I can second-guess them. “We’re offering you the chance to shape the future of sustainable technology. Not just as board members, but as true innovation partners.”

Lucas’s hand finds the small of my back, steadying me as I lean forward to pull up our final projections. The touch is barely there, probably unconscious on his part, but it sends a wave of warmth up my spine. I’m instantly transported back to all the times he’d steadied me the same way – when I’d tripped at his sister’s graduation party, when I’d wobbled after too many celebratory drinks at the company Christmas party, when I’d nearly fallen from the stage after winning an industry award.

“Every major advancement in sustainable energy analytics,” I continue, grateful my voice stays steady, “has come from companies willing to take risks on innovation. Brighton’s playing it safe with generic AI. We’re betting on something bigger.” I turn to face the Johnsons directly. “We’re betting on you.”

The room falls silent except for the hum of the projector. Lucas’s hand is still at my back, burning through my blazer. Mr. Johnson studies us both for a long moment.

“You really believe in this, don’t you?” he asks finally, his expression softening slightly.

“With everything I am,” I say softly, and I’m not sure if I’m talking about the project, the man beside me, or both.

“Jeremy.” Mrs. Johnson touches her husband’s arm, her polished demeanor revealing a glimpse of genuine interest. “Remember what your father used to say about Walker Enterprises? That they were the only ones who saw past quarterly profits to what mattered?”

“The people behind the numbers,” Mr. Johnson murmurs. His eyes move between Lucas and me, something knowing in his expression. “Well, Ms. Hastings, Mr. Walker. You’ve certainly given us something to think about.”

“We’ll need to review the technical specifications,” Mrs. Johnson adds, straightening her elegant silk scarf, “but I must say, your passion for sustainable innovation is compelling.”

As they gather their things, my legs start to shake from the combination of adrenaline crash and relief. Lucas’s hand slides from my back to my elbow, supporting me under the guise of helping gather presentation materials.

“Breathe,” he whispers, his lips nearly brushing my ear. “You were incredible.”

I turn to face him, forgetting about professional distance and appropriate workplace behavior. “We were incredible. The way you knew exactly when to—”

“Ms. Hastings.” Garrett’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade. “A word about those implementation timelines?”

Lucas’s hand drops from my elbow. The mask of professional detachment slides back over his features, but not before I catch something that looks like regret in his eyes.

“We should...” I gesture vaguely at the scattered presentation materials.

“Right.” He steps back, putting appropriate distance between us. “A well-prepared presentation, Ms. Hastings. The board will be impressed.”

The board. Right. Because tomorrow, they vote on Project Phoenix’s future. On our future, in more ways than one.

I gather my papers, my elbow still warm where his hand had been. We might have just saved the company’s biggest account, proved our innovation strategy works, and showed everyone that we make an unstoppable team.

So why does it feel like we just lost something crucial in the process?

“Emma?” Lucas pauses at the door, his expression unreadable. “Thank you. For believing in this. In us—in the company, I mean.”

He’s gone before I can respond, leaving me with scattered papers, racing thoughts, and the lingering warmth of his hand on my back.

Professional. We need to stay professional.