I showed up twenty minutes early.
Not because I was nervous—just because I hate the unknown.
They'd shared access to the project files that morning. I read every brief, every timeline, every vendor report. Flagged messages. Cross-checked contracts. Twice.
It helped. At least I wouldn't be walking into the fire blind.
Just underdressed for the heat.
By the time the team began filtering in—coffee in hand, yawns barely stifled—I was already seated in the conference room, notes open in front of me. Neutral. Present. A piece of the furniture.
A few glances landed on me. Curious. Measuring.
One belonged to a woman I vaguely recognized from quarterly wrap-ups. Dark curls, sharper nails. Her heels clicked like punctuation as she slid into the chair beside me.
"You're with us now?" she asked, pleasant but edged.
"That's the word."
"We've been hearing rumors. Thought you'd stay tucked under Imran's wing forever."
I offered the kind of smile I didn't mean. "Guess not."
"Well." She arched a brow. "Welcome to the lion's den. Lamija won't bite. Unless provoked."
"Appreciate the warning."
She talked about approval flows, vendor chatter, the coffee situation. I engaged, just enough to be polite. Not enough to invite more.
Because then she walked in.
Lamija.
She didn't just enter—she arrived. Like tension was a coat she wore better than most people wore silk.
She moved with the kind of ease that only came from absolute certainty—of herself, her authority, and the fact that this room belonged to her.
She gave the team a crisp nod and launched into the meeting without preamble.
Didn't even glance at me.
Which should've been a relief.
It wasn't.
She drove the meeting like a precision engine. Her tone brisk, transitions surgical. Analysts fell into pace. Emir—charming, comfortable—jumped in to clarify a few metrics. Lamija corrected him with one sentence and no smile.
When one of the designers stammered through a product slide, she cut in. "You're quoting last month's data. Recheck your dashboard sync. If it's accurate, escalate to Dev. If not, fix it and update the deck."
The designer flushed. "I thought Dev was waiting on confirmation from—"
"They're waiting because you haven't confirmed. Don't stall. Own it."
Not cruel.
Just clean.
She moved on before he could fumble again.
They listened to her differently. Straighter backs. Tighter answers. Like everyone in the room wanted to be better—because she wouldn't accept anything less.
She tapped through a rollout projection and spoke without looking.
"Ayub. Based on your backend access—what's your read on the shipment overlap for phase two?"
The room shifted. Heads turned.
I didn't blink.
"We're at risk of doubling transport along the southern corridor. If it's not corrected, we lose efficiency by week three."
She paused. "Proposed correction?"
"Reroute to east intake. And sync invoice triggers to reduce turnaround delays. We gain three days. Maybe four."
A beat.
"Do it. Coordinate with Jasmina. I want the revised sequence live by Friday."
She paused. "And build a backup schedule. If east intake clogs, we lose the whole window. I want that by Thursday."
That was it.
No acknowledgment. No thanks.
Just an order.
And yet—it hit harder than praise.
Because it meant she'd expected me to see the problem. And more than that—she'd trusted I had a solution.
She moved on without missing a beat.
"Jasmina, stop duplicating the impact reports. Clean the input fields."
"Emir, client onboarding starts Monday. Walk me through your prep."
Jasmina fumbled with her files. Emir talked too long.
Lamija waited. Silent. Measuring.
Then she doubled back.
"Ayub. If we reroute those shipments, how tight is our disruption margin?"
"Three days. Four, max. If Support gives us a buffer, we're covered."
She looked at me directly this time. No expression. Just... weight.
Then the faintest nod.
Not warmth. Not encouragement.
Just: Noted.
I should've felt satisfied.
I didn't.
Because she didn't stop.
Not with me. Not with anyone.
She pushed Jasmina to rewrite an entire deck slide mid-meeting. Pressed Emir for a second version of his projections. Held up a vendor quote and asked three escalating questions until the coordinator blinked.
It wasn't hostility. It was intent. Purpose.
Pressure.
Like she was testing steel.
She calibrated that pressure to each person—except me.
Me, she gave nothing extra.
She didn't even offer the illusion of mentorship.
She expected I'd keep up.
"Ayub," she said, nearing the end, "you'll start by shadowing Jasmina this week. Operational handoff. Vendor threads. Emir will cover cross-division alignment."
My brows twitched.
Not her. Not even the assignment I'd anticipated.
Emir—broad smile, polished shoes—got that.
Got her.
But I nodded. Kept my mouth shut.
And that?
That was the moment her eyes cut back to mine.
And I saw it.
Not disappointment.
Worse.
Disinterest.
Like I'd already confirmed I was safe. Predictable. No threat at all.
The meeting wrapped. Laptops clicked shut. Jasmina chirped something about shared files—I didn't hear it. Emir lingered.
I stood, slow on purpose. Deliberate. Gathering my notes like I wasn't hoping for anything.
I didn't expect her to say a word.
But she did.
"Ayub."
I paused.
So did Emir.
She didn't look up from her tablet.
"Next time," she said, tapping once on the screen, "if you want the position—fight for it."
The words landed like an elbow to the ribs.
Emir's eyes flicked between us, curious. Calculating.
I waited for her to meet my eyes—she didn't even look.
My jaw clenched. "Is that all?"
She finally glanced up.
"No. Sit."
It wasn't a request.
I sat.
Emir moved toward the whiteboard, giving us just enough space to pretend this wasn't personal.
Lamija turned her screen toward me, cool and surgical. "This vendor bid—what's your read?"
I scanned the figures. Familiar logos. Familiar mistakes.
"They're inflating for speed. Banking on the urgency of phase two."
"Banking on the fact I won't look."
"But you always do."
Her eyes met mine. A small smile.
I should've left it there.
But I didn't.
"Why didn't you let me lead the phase rollout?" I asked.
Emir turned, subtly. He wasn't pretending not to listen anymore.
Lamija didn't blink. "Because you didn't ask."
I frowned. "I didn't know it was up for grabs."
"That's the problem."
There was steel behind her voice. No edge. No cruelty.
Just force.
"You're used to being chosen," she said. "Shielded. Elevated. Told when it's your turn."
She stood, sharp as glass. "But I don't give turns, Ayub. I don't hand things out. You take what you want. Or someone else will."
I didn't respond. Couldn't.
"Prepare a counter-vendor analysis," she continued, moving already. "Top three options. I want a clean comparison. Prior performance, price variances, and contact history."
I blinked. "By when?"
She looked over her shoulder. "Before noon."
"It's already—" I checked the time. "Ten thirty."
"Imran told me you read fast."
Emir bit his lip, barely hiding the grin.
I stared at her.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Just turned back to Emir, already pointing to something on the whiteboard.
Dismissed.
Like I was the one wasting time.
I stood slowly, jaw tight, heat creeping down my spine. Gathered my things without a word.
Emir gave me a quick smile. Half-sympathy, half-satisfaction.
Lamija didn't look at me again.
She didn't need to.
I walked out like it didn't matter.
It mattered.
Because she was testing me.
And I hadn't even swung.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGrJRE6MoPm
Ayub read every document, calculated every risk, breathed in through his nose for composure—and still flopped the moment Lamija looked disappointed.
To be fair, he's been in love with her since he was sixteen, so let's all pretend we're surprised.
Poor guy thought surviving the meeting was the test.
It wasn't.
-Ash&Olive
18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAM1ugMbYSI
and then Add to home screen.