THE PITCH
972 Words
Ava Sinclair didn’t have the luxury of mistakes.
Not when her bank account was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, her name still tethered to a scandal she didn’t cause, and her last clean pair of heels had cracked at the toe.
She stood in the polished, soulless lobby of Moreau Global with her spine straighter than steel and her portfolio clasped like a weapon. Her tailored navy suit; bought secondhand, steamed until it obeyed, hugged her like confidence she hadn’t quite earned. This was her shot. Her Hail Mary. And she refused to miss it.
The elevator doors slid open like a judgment.
She stepped in.
As the lift began to ascend, Ava glanced at her reflection in the mirrored walls; wide hazel eyes, skin too pale from late nights and caffeine, jaw tight with resolve. She didn’t look like a girl on the brink. She looked like a woman ready to conquer.
But inside, her pulse was frantic.
Five years of clawing her way up the marketing world’s food chain had led to this moment: a face-to-face pitch with Damien Moreau. Billionaire tech mogul. CEO of Moreau Global. The man who could resurrect her shattered career or destroy it completely.
If he said yes, her boutique firm could land its biggest client yet. If he said no…
There wouldn’t be a later.
The elevator chimed. Top floor.
She exhaled once. Twice.
Then stepped into the lion’s den.
Damien’s office was a cathedral of glass and steel, bathed in cold light and sharper silence. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the New York skyline behind him, but Ava’s eyes went straight to the man himself.
He was standing behind a minimalist desk, all power and stillness.
Dark tailored suit. Broader shoulders than any boardroom deserved. Face cut from marble and shadows; high cheekbones, clean-shaven jaw and eyes like winter.
Eyes that pinned her the moment she entered.
“You’re early,” he said, voice low and dispassionate.
“I believe in being prepared,” Ava replied evenly, stepping forward.
“You believe in control.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze trailing her with unsettling precision. “I admire that.”
The door clicked shut behind her. She didn’t flinch.
Instead, she held out her hand. “Ava Sinclair. Founder of Sinclair Creative.”
His handshake was firm. Unreadable.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, returning to his seat with the command of someone used to obedience.
Ava launched into her pitch, each slide on the tablet unfolding a calculated vision: an immersive digital rebranding campaign tailored for Moreau’s upcoming platform launch “Velvet”.
“We’re proposing a multi-platform strategy that leverages augmented reality, targeted influencers and legacy data profiling. Velvet isn’t just another luxury tech product. It’s an identity experience. And we can make it unforgettable.”
Damien watched her the entire time; not the slides. Not the tablet.
Just her.
She felt every second of it.
His silence stretched like tension wire.
When she finally finished, she stood still. Shoulders back. Chin high.
Waiting.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.
“You’ve done your homework,” he said finally. “Most pitches bore me. Yours didn’t.”
Ava’s breath caught, but just for a second.
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, though her stomach hadn’t unclenched.
“But you made a mistake.”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“You came to sell me a campaign,” he said, rising slowly. “When what you should have sold… was yourself.”
He came around the desk, closing the space between them. Ava didn’t step back.
“I’m not interested in hiring a firm,” he said, his voice velvet and danger. “I’m interested in you.”
Her heart slammed once, hard.
“I don’t mix business with”
“Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about sex.”
His eyes flashed. “Yet.”
Ava’s throat tightened. “Then what is it about?”
Damien circled her like a predator circling prey or a king considering a pawn that might be worth the throne.
“Velvet is more than a product,” he said. “It’s a movement. And I need someone with your instincts on the inside. Not from a distance.”
“You want to hire me personally?”
“I want to test you. See if you survive my world. Then decide if you’re worth keeping.”
“And if I say no?”
He smiled, slow and cold. “You won’t.”
Ava bristled. “You think you know me that well?”
“I know desperation when I see it. And ambition.”
The worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
Her pride screamed, but her logic whispered: You need this.
“Fine,” she said. “Then consider this my first test. What do you want me to do?”
Damien stepped closer. “There’s an event tonight. Velvet’s preliminary showcase. You’ll be there. Alone. No plus-one, no firm. Just you, Ava Sinclair.”
She hesitated. “What kind of event?”
His lips curved. “The kind where masks are required.”
She blinked. “A masquerade?”
“No. A reveal. For the right eyes.”
He handed her a slim envelope. Black wax seal. No label.
She didn’t open it.
He leaned in. “Be careful, Ava. My world doesn’t play fair.”
“And I don’t scare easily,” she replied.
“I hope not.” His eyes lingered. “Because this is just the beginning.”
She left the office with her pulse thrumming, the envelope clutched like a secret.
Only when the elevator doors closed again did she allow herself to breathe and realize she’d just stepped into something far more dangerous than a pitch meeting.
Something seductive.
Something… irreversible.
- Writer
