April walked through the glass doors of Gorbachev Enterprises, the polished floors reflecting the light from the chandeliers above. Eleanor, her assistant, trailed behind her, holding a tablet and a stack of documents. As they made their way to the conference room, employees greeted them with polite smiles and nods. April returned the gestures with a slight nod of her own, her mind elsewhere.
The conference room loomed ahead, its doors closed, but April could feel the weight of the media presence behind them. Cameras, microphones, reporters- all waiting for her. The thought of her face being plastered across every screen, every newspaper, made her stomach churn. She paused for a moment outside the doors, her hand gripping the polished handle.
Eleanor, noticing her hesitation, leane
