Wilson Carter had faced plenty of pitch meetings in his life. He'd walked in late, half-prepared, half-hungover, and still left with the client eating out of his hand. Charm was his shield. Confidence, his secret weapon.
But today, walking into the sleek glass conference room of Marston & Co., his so-called weapon felt more like a loaded gun pointed straight at his head.
He could hear everything. Every whisper of thought from every woman at that long table.
There were seven people waiting. Three women from the Wexler account — smart suits, expensive hair, sharp eyes that flicked to him as he stepped in behind Mia and Luna.
The moment they saw him, it started.
Oh, he's cuter in person.
Another smooth talker. Watch him promise the moon.
I bet he's one of those guys who forgets your name after the first drink.
Wilson fought the urge to rub his temples. Beside him, Mia was spreading her files on the table, calm as ever. Her mind wasn't. She hadn't looked at him yet, but he could hear her clearly.
Focus on the pitch. Don't look at him. He probably thinks he's going to wing it again. Not today. Not with me here.
Luna sat down across from him, folding her legs with practiced grace. Her mind was warm poison.
Sit pretty, smile sweet, let him fail. Then I'll pick up the pieces. He always breaks. They all do.
Wilson sat too. He flashed a grin at the clients. "Good morning, everyone. Hope you didn't mind the rain."
The lead client, a woman named Evelyn with a diamond watch and a stare that could freeze the sun, tapped her pen once.
"Cut the warm-up, Carter. Show us what you've got."
In his head, Evelyn was less polite.
Another ad man who thinks a grin sells a million-dollar campaign. Better be worth my time.
Wilson's stomach flipped. He opened the folder in front of him blank. He'd forgotten his notes at the café. Of course he had.
He looked at Mia. She raised an eyebrow, slid a copy of the deck across the table without a word. But in her head, she was biting back an explosion.
I knew it. God, you're lucky I'm here. Don't screw this up.
Wilson cleared his throat. "Right. Let's begin."
He flicked through the first slide. His mouth started moving on autopilot the branding buzzwords, the marketing spin, the big promise. His voice was calm, steady. But inside, he could hear every judgment, every private thought echoing in the back of his skull.
Evelyn leaned back, bored.
Does he really think a tagline sells this?
One of Evelyn's assistants peeked at her phone.
He's hot. But I bet he knows it. Shame.
Mia's mind was a storm beside him.
Stick the landing. Don't improvise. Don't flirt. For once, just be brilliant.
Wilson's eyes drifted to Mia her hair pulled tight, the tiny line between her brows. She wanted this account. She'd fought for it. She'd covered his slip before he even asked. And here he was, hearing her mind betray that thin wall of ice she wore like armor.
He turned to Evelyn, voice shifting low, controlled.
"So here's what makes this different. You're not selling a product. You're selling trust. A story that sticks in someone's head long after the ad is gone. We make that story simple clean visuals, raw emotion. No nonsense."
For a moment, Evelyn's thoughts flickered.
Interesting. Better than I expected.
Wilson felt his chest loosen. He pressed on. Next slide. Cleaner. Sharper. He let the noise fade and found his old rhythm.
When he finally clicked the last slide, silence followed the good kind, heavy with possibility.
Evelyn tapped her pen twice. "You're better than you look, Carter."
In her head: Might give this boy a shot.
Beside him, Mia let out a breath. He heard her mind sigh with relief.
Don't smile at him. Don't damn it.
Wilson closed his laptop. For once, he didn't grin at her. He just looked at Mia, really looked, wondering how many of her secrets he was ready to hear.
Outside, the rain hit the glass like a warning. This power might save him. Or it might ruin everything.
One thing was certain he was already addicted.