The disappointment is immediate, a ripple that passes through the room. A few people exchange glances, their expressions ranging from subtle irritation to barely masked frustration.
“Not ideal,” someone murmurs under their breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
My cheeks burn, but I refuse to let it show. Straightening in my seat, I force a smile, plastering on the kind of fake confidence that’s gotten me through countless red carpets and press interviews.
“Don’t worry,” I say, my tone breezy, as if this was all part of the plan. “We’ve got this. The deal’s as good as sealed.”
There’s a pause, the room teetering between disbelief and begrudging acceptance. A few nods follow, hesitant but hopeful, and I latch onto them like a lifeline.
“Let’s pivot,” I add quickly, gesturing toward t
