Page 14 of Cava with My Colleague

“You do have a lot of practice with that.”

“Hush,” I chastise her.

“Why did you say no anyway?”

“Does it matter? Clearly it was the smart thing to do.”

“Smart for your heart but not for your stomach,” Fernando says with a grin. “So you’re traveling with this lunch stealer for two months? Look, there are worse things than lunch stealing. Maybe you’ll start to like her.”

I might be able to get over someone stealing my lunch. But based on the conversation I overheard recently—Jade bragging to her colleague about her latest hookup and making inappropriate jokes—she has serious boundary issues.

It’s just a matter of time before drama starts. I just hope it won’t be while we’re touring together.

Two months. Twelve presentations. Hundreds of industry professionals and patients watching us represent the company.

Rebecca assured me Jade could handle it, but I have my doubts. The woman is obviously smart, but she can barely get through a staff meeting without her phone buzzing with personal messages. And now she’ll be on stage, representing years of research to people who actually need our products to work?

I rub my hand over my face. Maybe I should have pushed back harder when Rebecca suggested her.

But Rebecca’s right about one thing—Jade is extremely passionate about her job.

If only she could keep things professional.

6

Jade

“Stop.”

Carlos’s voice cuts through my presentation mid-sentence, and I freeze with my hand still pointing at the projected slide behind me. We’re in Conference Room B, the small one with the flickering overhead light. I’ve been practicing my presentation for fifteen minutes. This is the third time he’s interrupted.

“What now?” I ask, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

Carlos leans back in his chair, arms crossed. He’s wearing all black again—black button-down, black slacks, black mood. “You’re putting the audience to sleep.”

“I’m explaining the clinical trial methodology⁠—”

“With seventeen slides of data tables.” He gestures at the screen. “This is slide nine. We’re not even to the actual results yet.”

My chest tightens. “The methodology is important. These are scientists and pharmaceutical reps. They need to understand our process.”

“They need to stay awake long enough to hear about the results.” Carlos sits forward. “I’ve done this tour five times, Jade. This doesn’t work.”

I know he’s right. Facts don’t require me to be charming or engaging. Facts just . . . are.

In my head, I do what I always do when I need a moment—I imagine a tiny version of myself throwing the most spectacular tantrum. Tiny Jade is on the floor, pounding her fists, kicking her feet, screaming IT’S ONLY SLIDE NINE into the flickering fluorescent light. It’s very cathartic. Tiny Jade has a great set of lungs.

Real Jade takes a breath.

“What would you suggest?” I ask, hating how defeated I sound.

Carlos pulls out his laptop and turns it to face me. On the screen is a presentation—cleaner, simpler. Fewer slides. More images. One particularly striking photo of a woman running her hands through her hair, joy on her face.

“Start with a story,” he says. “Show them why this matters before you show them how it works. Then give them the data, but only the highlights.”

I study his version. It’s good. Professionally good.

He’s leaned forward slightly to point something out on the screen, close enough that I can smell his cologne—that clean, woodsy blend—and I make myself focus on the slides instead of the line of his jaw.