Every eye in the room shifted, just briefly, toward me, and even that small movement felt amplified, like the air itself had tightened around the moment.
I felt it. Measured it. Filed it away, the way I always did, even as something sharper pressed in beneath the surface.
“Good morning, everyone,” I said, keeping my tone light, just this side of friendly, even though my pulse had started to climb for reasons I couldn’t quite name yet. There was no version of this where I let them see me falter. Not in a room full of people who clearly already knew each other. Not whenI was the only one trying to figure out what I had just walked into.
None of this made sense.
“Sit,” Charlotte replied immediately, already turning back toward the table as if I were no longer something that required her attention. “We’re already behind.”
Behind what?
Stepping fully into the room, I pulled out the nearest chair with careful precision, the metal legs scraping faintly against the floor. The sound cut through the conversation just enough to feel too loud, too noticeable, like I had disrupted something I didn’t understand.
I set my bag down beside me, slid into the seat, and placed it neatly at my feet, every movement deliberate.
My heart rate ticked up, steady but noticeable, a quiet drumbeat under everything else.
Something was very off.
I reached into my bag, fingers finding the smooth edge of my portfolio, the familiar weight of it grounding in my hands. I pulled it out, flipping it open with practiced ease, my resume already clipped neatly inside.
“I appreciate you taking the time to?—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Charlotte didn’t even look at me when she said it.
My words stopped mid-sentence, hanging there for a fraction of a second before disappearing entirely.
She glanced at me then, sharp and brief. “Put it away,” she added. “We don’t have time for that.”
Heat climbed the back of my neck, subtle but undeniable.
I closed the portfolio slowly, hoping the movement itself could buy me a second to recalibrate.
This wasn’t an interview. The realization settled in mychest, heavy and immediate. I slid the portfolio back into my bag.
Around me, the room continued moving like I wasn’t there.
A man to my right—mid-fifties, coffee in hand, eyes tired but alert—leaned forward slightly.
“We’re looking at exposure within the next two hours,” he grumbled, his tone clipped, practical. “Maybe sooner if anyone local picked it up overnight.”
Another voice answered from across the table, calmer, more measured. “Initial reports are already circulating internally. Nothing public-facing yet.”
My gaze moved between them, tracking, listening, absorbing.
No one explained anything. No one paused. Information moved through the room in fragments, incomplete on their own but building something larger, something urgent.
“…statement needs to be drafted before…”
“…we can’t confirm anything until legal clears…”
“…if this hits social before we’re ready?—”
My pulse kicked, faster now, sharper.
This wasn’t an interview.
This was a situation.