Page 24 of Our Radiant Embers

“That’s their problem, not mine.”

He seemed about to disagree, then smiled with a small shake of his head. “All right—if you say so. But more importantly…On a scale of one to, say, calling your date by your ex’s name, how nervous are you about the presentation?”

“About a fourteen?” I spread my arms. “It’s 10 fucking Downing Street, man. Maybe Adam is used to rubbing elbows with the Prime Minister, but I’m sure not. Plus, if this goes through, we’re…We’ll be busy for a year on just the pilot areas. If it gets expanded beyond that…”

“You’d be set for life,” George finished.

I drew a breath, filling my lungs with warm, humid air. “Yeah. And no selling weapons.”

He reached out to squeeze my shoulder, the corners of his lips lifting in a small but genuine smile. “You’ve got this, mate.”

I could only hope he was right.

* * *

George was wrong—I was out of my depth.

An hour ago, I’d arrived at the Harringtons’ manor so that Adam and I could finalise our presentation. We’d started off civil, even pleasant, and had agreed on the general concept over exceptionally good coffee. Only once we’d turned to the actual slides did I realise that he wanted things his way. In his not-so-humble view, I didn’t measure up.

“No,” he cut in, slicing right into the middle of my sentence. “You’re doing that thing again.”

He was right—I’d been about to spiral into another rabbit hole of minutiae, this time about the sourcing of certain materials. That didn’t mean I appreciated his tone.

I set the printed notes down and crossed my arms. “Look, man. I know you were raised surrounded by servants, but here’s the thing—I’m not one of them.”

He grumbled something I didn’t catch.

“What was that?”

“Clearly not, yeah.” He stopped pacing the polished floor of his office long enough to shoot me a derisive look. The sunny brightness that flooded through the windows couldn’t fully outshine the orange glare of his magic. “Our servants know how to take constructive criticism into account, or they’re gone.”

Bloody hell.

I let my mouth curl into a smile that dripped with sarcasm. “Sorry, you can’t fire me.”

His chest rose on a deliberate breath, and I absently noted how nicely his shirt clung to his torso. The jeans did wonders for his arse too. Might be tailor-made because yes, he really was just that posh.

“Just…try, please.” His tone implied the effort it took to be patient and reasonable. “Skip the details. They won’t care about how exactly we transform magic energy into electricity, or where our steel comes from to minimise its carbon footprint. This isn’t your first presentation. Act like it.”

About to offer a biting response, I noticed how tension pinched the corners of his hazel eyes, his spine stiff. We’d encountered his father on the way in, and Benedict Harrington was the human equivalent of a frosty winter morning. Adam must have grown up with a checklist of unattainable standards.

I paused for a second to study him, exhaling through my exasperation. “I’m more used to an engineering student audience at uni, that’s all. They didn’t need me to dumb it down.”

Adam shook his head. “Tailoring your message to your audience is not dumbing it down—it’s about making it resonate.”

“Resonate with people who don’t have a fucking clue, yeah.” I set my jaw. “They’re prepared to throw some sixty million in taxpayer money at us. Shouldn’t they care about the details?”

“These are people who decide whether the UK buys fighter jets worth twenty-five billion, builds a high-speed rail for fifty billion, and increases NHS funding by twelve billion a year. You and I are peanuts.” Adam halted an arm’s length away to level me with a withering glare. “The only reason we’re getting a full hour of their time for what’s essentially an urban development project? Is because of the new link to magic and how it could be scaled up beyond London.”

Again, he had a point. He’d better change his tone, though.

“Cut the patronising crap, will you? Some of us haven’t been trained for this since we were old enough to hold our own pee.”

“You did fine with your original pitch.” He made it sound like an accusation.

“I had weeks to prepare and practise.”

“Well, I fucking need you to shape up.” His gaze hardened. “I’m not going down because you can’t stick to the big picture.”

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