Lena's POV
I am late.
Not fashionably late not even traffic late. No, I was "my alarm didn't go off because I spilled coffee on my phone- late".
And today of all days is the day I was pitching my memory art installation to Voss Industries, the biggest corporate client my tiny business has ever garnered.
Deep breaths, lena. I sprinted through the sleek, glass and steel lobby, my oversized bag smacking into at least three bewildered employees. My portfolio- a jumble of holographic emotion maps and VR memoryscapes threatened to spill everywhere.
The elevator doors slid open and I collided with a wall. A warm wall.
Confused, I looked up.
Big Mistake.
The massive man in front of me was obscenely handsome- sharp jawline, icy blue eyes and a suit that probably cost more than my rent. And he was staring at me like I committed treason.
"Are you lost?" His voice was smooth, detached and way too calm for someone who'd just been assaulted by a sleep deprived artist.
"Uh. No! I mean yes? I'm here for the Voss creative Pitch? Which is definitely not starting right now, because that'll mean I'm late, and I'm never late—"
He blinked. "It started 11 minutes ago."
Oh,crap.
I groaned, taking a hand through my disastrous curls. "Look just point me to the conference room before they fire me."
A flicker of something crossed his face- amusement? Annoyance? I couldn't tell before it vanished. "Follow me."
He turned on his heel and I scrambled after him, nearly tripping over my own boots.
Elias POV
The woman was a disaster.
Her hair was a tangled mess, the coat she was wearing was inside out and she smelled like citrus and burned toast. And yet she's surpassed security, crashed into me and now expected me- the CEO- to excort her to her own meeting.
I should have had her removed from the building, but she'd said something interesting.
" I'm here for the Voss Creative Pitch."
The memory artist . The one my team hired to design an immersive experience for our anniversary gala. The work whose supposedly recreated emotions tied to specific moments.
A concept I found… perplexing.
Because I didn't remember emotions. Not my first board meeting. Not my graduation. Not even my mother's funeral.
I remembered facts, dates, times and outcomes.
But feelings?
Gone.
And now this chaotic woman claimed she could rebuild them for others.
Fascinating.
THE PITCH GONE (wrong).
The conference room fell silent when I walked in- firsr because of me, then because of the disheveled woman trailing behind me.
The creative director, Miranda , paled.
" Mr Voss! We weren't expecting you—"
" I'm observing ." I took a seat at the back.
Lena- ah that was her name- fumbled with her equipment, nearly dropping a holographic projector.
" Right! So! Memory art!" She grinned clearly faking confidence. "I don't just show people what happened- I make them relive how it felt."
She activated the demo.
The room filled with swirling colors, the scent of rain, the sound of laughter, a birthday party—a child's joy, the sugar rush of cake, the warmth of being surrounded by love.
My chest tightened.
I knew this memory. It was mine. My eighth birthday.
But I didn't remember the happiness. Until now.
Then-disaster.
The holographic glitched.The cake on screen exploded in a pixelated mess, the laughter turned into demonic screeching , and the entire system short-circuited with a pop.
Silence.
Lena stared at the dead projector.
"…..okay that usually doesn't happen."
Miranda looked ready to faint.
I stood.
Everyone held their breath.
Then I said the two words no one expected:
" Hire her."
As the team gaped, Lena turned to me, bewildered. " Wait…you're the CEO?"
I almost smiled.
Almost.
"Unfortunately for you, yes."