I don't know what kind of executive karma I stepped into, but ever since Ryan Santillan took over, my blood pressure has been in a committed relationship with his existence.
We're prepping for a huge client presentation—biggest one this quarter. The Pineda Group wants rebranding, restructuring, and a total market pivot. Basically, they want magic.
And somehow, the company decided we're the magicians.
"Your data sets are misaligned," Ryan says flatly, walking past my desk like some walking human audit.
I don't even look up. "They're not. They're layered by trend categories."
"Still messy."
"I'd rather be messy than soulless."
He pauses. I can feel the smirk even if I don't see it.
"So you admit it's messy?"
I clench my jaw. "I admit you're annoying."
Stacy leans in from the next cubicle and mutters, "Will you two just make out and save the company already?"
"Shut up, Stacy," I hiss without looking at her.
Thirty minutes later, we're in the war room with the full team.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4544nkZGMr
The PowerPoint is up. The projector is blinking. The client liaison is five minutes away.
And then—of course—the file crashes.
"Oh my God," someone gasps. "It's corrupted—everything's gone."
Cue chaos. Cue panic. Cue sweat in weird places.
Everyone starts scrambling, offering USBs, checking email attachments.
Ryan stays eerily calm.
"Magtalas," he says, nodding toward me. "Do you have a hard copy backup?"
I glare at him. "Do I look like I trust anyone here to not accidentally delete it?"
"That's a yes," he says, eyes gleaming.
I pull a flash drive from my coat pocket and toss it across the table. He catches it like he does this daily.
He plugs it in. I walk up beside him. We both start navigating the recovery like it's choreographed—he handles the tech, I polish the pitch decks. No extra words. No instructions. Just this weird, seamless coordination that shouldn't exist between two people who annoy the hell out of each other.
Presentation starts. We crush it.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqZGSNRWrn0
The clients nod, ask follow-ups, laugh at the exact spots we calculated they would.
We finish. They leave.
The team cheers, clapping and exhaling in collective relief.
Ryan and I stay behind, standing in the silence of the empty room.
"You handled the visual flow well," he says quietly, almost like he doesn't want me to hear the compliment.
"You didn't screw up the data links," I reply, just as softly. "That's rare."
He turns slightly, and for a moment—just a heartbeat too long—our eyes meet.
It's the kind of look I can't decode.
Like he wants to say something but doesn't.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyfXAY1ucQe
Like he's hiding in plain sight.
He nods once. "Nice work."
"You too," I say. And I mean it.
But of course, he ruins it two seconds later.
"Still messy, though," he adds, walking out first.
I throw a pen at the door he disappears behind.
"Jackass," I mutter. But I'm smiling.
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcAkqfLOC76
