Naomi paused just long enough to make the silence uncomfortable. "Just one thing," she said evenly. "I'd like to observe how your leadership operates under pressure."
Leonard frowned. "Pressure?"
Naomi's phone vibrated once in her palm. She didn't check it. Not yet. Outside, a private jet began to taxi toward the runway, its engines whining louder, as if something big was about to lift off. Leonard smirked again, unaware that the first crack in his world had already formed and that it started the moment he decided not to shake her hand.
Naomi didn't argue. She didn't raise her voice. She simply stayed long enough for the billionaire to reveal exactly who he was and unknowingly trigger a chain reaction that would cost him everything he thought was untouchable.
***
Naomi stayed seated, hands folded in her lap, eyes forward. From the outside, she probably looked calm, almost passive. Inside, she was doing what she'd done her entire adult life: measuring the room, reading the temperature, tracking every shift in tone, like data points in a long-running study she never volunteered for.
Leonard Whitmore's confidence filled the terminal. It always did. Men like him didn't need to raise their voices. The space bent around them naturally. People adjusted, apologized, moved. Naomi had learned early that this kind of power didn't come from intelligence alone. It came from repetition, from a lifetime of being believed before you even opened your mouth.
Leonard stood and stretched, checking his watch. "We've got about twenty minutes before wheels up," he said. "So, if there's nothing urgent—"
"There is," Naomi said gently. The word cut him off mid-sentence.
Leonard turned, clearly annoyed. "I thought you said you were here to observe."
"I am," Naomi replied. "And observation takes time."
One of the executives, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, shifted uncomfortably. "Leonard," he said, "maybe we should—"
Leonard waved him off. "Relax. This won't take long." He looked back at Naomi. "Go ahead."
Naomi nodded once. "I'd like to sit at the table."
The request hung there. Not dramatic, not loud, just unexpected. Leonard glanced at the table, then at Naomi, then back at the table like he was deciding whether a rule had been broken. Finally, he shrugged.
"Sure, if that makes you more comfortable."
*More comfortable.*
Naomi stood and moved toward the table. No one pulled out a chair for her. She took one anyway, sliding it back with a soft scrape against the floor. She could feel eyes on her now. Not dismissive anymore. Curious.
Leonard leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "So," he said, voice light, "what exactly are you evaluating?"
Naomi met his gaze. "Decision-making under pressure. Respect for people without obvious leverage. How leadership behaves when they think no one important is watching."