“Who am I? I’m Henley Evans. And don’t you forget it.”

For a heart-stopping moment, I think James is going to slap me. The muscles in his neck spasm and Graeme tenses, ready to intervene.

But instead, with a sneer, James turns on his heel and marches out of the lobby. It looks like he’ll be getting severance after all. As soon as the elevator doors close with a ding, a knot of anxiety loosens in my chest and floats away. I feel lighter than I have in three years. I’m almost giddy.

Marlen pokes his head out of the conference room. “Miss Evans, if you will?”

Tucking my laptop against my chest, I square my shoulders and step through the door into a future full of possibility.

31

I’ve invited Miss Evans here this afternoon to share the real conservation proposal. What you heard from James only covered the Galápagos, and was a poor imitation of the real thing. Henley’s idea would be implemented company-wide and involve a top-to-bottom rebranding effort. It aligns with the direction I’ve been thinking we should take for quite a while. Whenever you’re ready, Henley.” Settling into the chair at the head of the table, Marlen motions for me to join the executives.

Swallowing hard, I cross the room on quivering legs to the conference table. One of my rubber soles catches on the tile and a deafening squeal fills the silent room. I wince.

Calm. I need to be calm.

Six pairs of eyes stare at me as I open my laptop and cast my PowerPoint to the large screen on the opposite wall. It’s not pretty or my best work—there are only photos on the first couple of slides, and the graphs I included later on are sadly basic—but at least I had some time to clean it up after I left Marlen’s office. It’ll have to do.

Meeting each executive’s gaze in turn, I begin. The words flow, and after a minute, I begin to relax. I have no idea what time it is when I finish, but I’m greeted with nods of approval.

“Excellent,” murmurs Renata.

Marlen raps his knuckles against the table. “Brilliant.”

The chief financial officer, a white-haired man named Mark, leans forward. “I’m not convinced.”

He pelts me with questions, which I answer haltingly at first, but with each follow-up, my confidence grows. Renata pitches a new angle I hadn’t considered. The executives discuss it. And I’m part of the discussion. Me. They look to me for additional information, for ideas. Marlen specifically asks for my input more than once.

My stomach growls, thankfully quiet enough so I don’t think anyone can hear it. I check the time on my laptop and my eyes bug. I’ve been in the meeting for nearly two hours.