"When did you do this?"
"Last night. Couldn't sleep." He leans back in his chair. "The direct-to-consumer retail company is most interesting. They're using AI to predict consumer behavior and optimize inventory. Completely disrupting traditional retail strategy."
"It's also the riskiest. They're only three years old. What if they fail mid-semester?"
"Then we analyze why. Failure is just as strategic as success."
I study his research, looking for flaws. Finding none.
"This is good work." I admit and hate that I have to admit it.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. You were always smart. That was never the problem." The words hang between us, heavy with implication.
"What was the problem then?" he asks quietly.
"Are we really doing this? Here?" I look around making sure no one is around to hear this conversation.
"Doing what?"
"Talking about it. About what happened."
"You brought it up."
"I made an observation. That's different."
He's quiet for a moment, studying me with those dark eyes that see too much. "You're right. Let's focus on the project. We'll go with the retail company, what was it called? NovaShop?"
"NovaShop," I confirm, relieved to be back on safe ground. "I'll start the preliminary market analysis. You take the competitive landscape?"
"Works for me." He starts typing on his laptop. "We should set up regular meetings. Hendricks wants documentation of collaboration."
"Wednesdays. Same time. This study room."
"What if Wednesday doesn't work?"
"Then you make it work. I'm not flexible on this."
"Control freak." I hear the words even though he whispered them to himself.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You need to control every variable. Every detail. Schedule everything down to the minute." He closes his laptop. "Some things can't be controlled, Ivy."
"I'm not a control freak. I'm organized."
"You're terrified of anything uncertain. Anything that might surprise you or require trust." He leans forward. "That's not organization. That's a trauma response."
The observation is too accurate. Too close to therapy sessions I've had. Too much proof that he still knows how to see through me.
"Don't psychoanalyze me."
"I'm not. I'm just observing that the girl who used to be spontaneous and adventurous now schedules fun in fifty-seven-minute increments."
"People change," I snap at him.
"People grow. But this?" He gestures at my color-coded timeline. "This is hiding."