"Sit." Lucas gestured to the conference table, collecting her tastily prepared sketches. "Explain."
She forced the images onto the table, pitching her concept for breaking summer aesthetic fatigue through vivid narratives or deeper shadows. Professional. Confident. Ignore the stain. Ignore the mind-voice questions clawing at her logic. When she mentioned "Urban Oasis" - derelict rooftops juxtaposed with neon glow -
Interesting concept, weak execution. Lightplay? Henry would call it kindergarten scribbles.
The voice! Razor-sharp, critical, unmistakably his, invading her mind without lip movement. Emma's presentation died mid-sentence, pupils dilating as she stared at Lucas.
He studied the sketch, long fingers absently rubbing his vintage mechanical watch. Lips tight, brow furrowed - no facial change, yet Emma's heart hammered likt it'd been struck. Not hallucination! She'd HEARD him! The precision of that critique proved it!
"Miss Brooks?" His gaze lifted, arctic eyes questioning her sudden silence. "Your presentation seems ... interrupted."
"I ..." Her throat dried. How explain hearing his thoughts? "Just considering ... sharper lines for the lighting?" She blured, channeling his "weak" critique.
Lucas held her gaze two seconds too long. "Concept has potential." He finally said, voice level. "Initial presentation lacks impact. Visual language ambiguous." He tapped the "Urban Oasis" board. "This feels ... lukewarm." Carefully chosen words masking harsher inner thoughts.
Lukewarm. The verbal icepick stung. Emma's familiar frustration flared, now tangled with surreal clarity - she'd heard his unspoken criticism.
"understood. I'll rework it." she gathered sketches mechanically.
"Before EOD." He added, tone brooking no argument. "Send revised direction summary."
"EOD?" The question escaped before caution. Tow final pages and a rewrite awaited.
Silence. Those gray eyes held glaxies of indifference, yet her mind erupted with loder thoughts:
Before Christmas obvisously! Doe she expect me to wait till December? Parisian interns work faster.
Heat flooded her cheeks - half anger, half mind-voice shock. He truly thought her slow?
"Understood." She bit molars together, professional smile strained, exiting swiftly. She needed escape from pine-scented space and his mental "noise".
Back in the hall, door closed behind her, Emma leaned against it, heartbeat racing. The Christmas jab still ringing. Rubbing temples, she barely noticed approaching footsteps until -
"Hey Emma! New director didn't eat you alive?" Josh from IT grinned, messy curls above laptop. "You look pale. Want me checking if his frost breath froze our servers?"
Forced smile. "Still breathing, Josh. Thanks." She noted his three-meter approach.
Josh babbled about server updates or Wi-Fi, but Emma focused elsewhere. Every sense strained toward Luca's closed door, hunting that mental frequency.
Silence.
He stood one meter away now, chatting tech nonsense. She "listened" desperately, but only audible sounds came through. No Lucas thoughts. Not even reactions to Josh's sudden appearance.