CHAPTER 8: THE PRESENTATION
1022 Words
CHAPTER 8
THE PRESENTATION
*POV: Grey Sinclair*
Grey had spent the last eleven minutes discovering exactly how poor his self-control actually was.
Inconvenient.
Because d**k Hawthorne stood three feet away in the executive elevator, pretending the office incident hadn’t happened.
The elevator descended smoothly toward the investor level. Neither of them spoke. Outside, the city blurred in streaks of silver and late-afternoon light. Inside, Grey was painfully aware of one fact: d**k hadn’t stopped him.
The tie hadn’t needed adjustment. Grey had known that. It didn’t matter.
Grey kept his eyes on the floor numbers.
Thirty-two.
Thirty-one.
Beside him, d**k reviewed presentation notes with the aggressive focus of a hostage negotiator. His tie stayed perfectly straight.
Grey regretted noticing.
“You’re staring at the wall,” d**k said flatly.
“And you’re attempting to murder a spreadsheet through eye contact,” Grey replied.
Dick didn’t look up. “Focus on the presentation.”
“I am.”
That earned him a sharp glance.
Interesting.
Dick looked away first.
The doors opened into controlled chaos. Investors and board members crowded the hall. Assistants moved between tables adjusting packets, distributing revisions. Expensive, orchestrated noise.
Usually d**k thrived here. Today, Grey saw the fractures: posture too controlled, breathing too measured, tension set sharp across his shoulders.
No one else would notice.
Grey did.
“Mr. Sinclair.”
An investor approached, hand extended. Grey shifted into practiced professionalism while d**k moved toward the screens.
Or tried to.
A junior executive intercepted him halfway, tablet in hand, voice too fast. d**k scanned the screen once. His expression cooled. He interrupted mid-sentence.
Not loud. Worse.
The executive’s face drained.
Ah. So d**k was spiraling.
Grey excused himself and crossed the room. By the time he arrived, the kid looked seconds from quitting.
Dick handed back the tablet without looking up. “Fix the formatting before the board packet updates.”
“Yes, sir.”
The executive vanished.
Dick exhaled through his nose and rubbed his temple.
Headache.
“You’re terrifying the staff again,” Grey said.
“They’re employed to tolerate it.”
“An inspiring leadership philosophy.”
Dick finally looked at him.
There it was again. That strained awareness beneath the composure.
Grey understood, with alarming clarity, that the office had affected d**k more than he’d intended.
That should have meant caution.
It didn’t.
“You seem unusually pleased with yourself,” d**k said.
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
Grey considered honesty. d**k had grabbed his wrist like it mattered. Grey hadn’t stopped thinking about it.
Instead: “You haven’t threatened me in almost seven minutes. I’m adjusting to the peace.”
Dick gave him a look that shouldn’t have been attractive.
Unfortunately, nearly everything he did was now.
“Mr. Hawthorne?”
Investor relations approached. “The board presentation is ready whenever you are.”
Dick nodded. Professional composure slid back into place.
Effortless.
Except Grey knew how fragile it was now.
---
The presentation began smoothly.
Dick stood under the projection light, guiding investors through forecasts with perfect authority. No hesitation. No visible strain. Every person in the room watched him.
Grey understood why.
Dick commanded attention through precision. Controlled. Exact. Sharp enough to cut through distraction.
It was impressive.
It was also becoming impossible to observe objectively.
Particularly because d**k loosened his grip on the remote whenever irritated. A small movement. Barely noticeable.
Grey noticed it every time.
“The Singapore projections remain conservative until the end of the fiscal year stabilization,” d**k said evenly.
“Isn’t that excessively cautious?” an investor asked.
“No,” d**k said calmly. “It’s intelligent.”
Silence.
Then an awkward laugh.
Dick continued without apology.
God help him, Grey enjoyed watching him work. Not just for the brilliance. For the restraint beneath it. The discipline. The exhausting control.
Then d**k loosened his tie mid-sentence.
Grey lost the thread entirely.
For one second, his attention fixed on d**k’s fingers against the dark fabric at his throat.
Jesus Christ.
Grey looked down at his notes.
Composure. Important concept.
Someone asked about logistics. Grey answered without looking up. Voice steady. Small miracle.
When he looked up, d**k was already watching him.
Directly.
That eye contact landed hard. Something shifted. Not subtle. Not deniable.
Dick looked away first.
Grey’s pulse moved, low and heavy.
Well. That seemed significant.
---
The presentation ended to approval forty minutes later. Investors lingered over whiskey and appetizers. Grey escaped under the excuse of reviewing documentation.
He stepped into a quiet side corridor overlooking the skyline and loosened his cuffs.
Behind him, the door opened softly.
He didn’t turn. He already knew.
Dick stopped beside him, close enough to feel warm. Not touching.
“You were distracted during the logistics discussion,” d**k said.
“I recovered.”
Dick’s gaze stayed on the skyline.
Grey studied him in profile. Still tense. Still overcontrolled. Still pretending.
And yet he’d followed Grey out here.
“You loosened your tie on purpose,” Grey said.
Dick turned slowly. “What?”
“You were aware I was watching.”
A pause. Tiny. Critical.
“That’s an arrogant assumption.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s incorrect.”
Dick stared. Irritation gave way to something less stable.
“You think you understand everything suddenly,” d**k said quietly.
“No.” Grey stepped closer. Careful. Measured.
“But I think you understand enough to be nervous.”
Dick’s breathing changed. Barely.
Grey noticed.
The city lights reflected across the glass, softening the silence.
“You don’t stop, do you?” d**k asked.
“Not when something matters.”
The words landed heavy. Too honest.
Dick seemed startled.
Grey let the implication sit.
For one second, neither moved.
Then voices echoed from the reception hall.
Reality returned.
Dick stepped back first. Again.
“We should go back.”
Neither moved immediately.
Then d**k looked at him one last time.
And Grey understood, quietly devastating: d**k wanted this.
That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that wanting it terrified him.
Grey watched him walk back before exhaling slowly into the empty corridor.
His hands were steady.
Barely.
- Writer
