"That's helpful," she said.
Leonard leaned back, clearly trying to regain control. "If this is some kind of test," he said, "you're not exactly being subtle."
Naomi met his eyes. "Neither are you."
Silence settled in. Outside the glass wall, the private jet's engines powered down. A delay. Leonard checked his watch again, irritation flashing across his face.
"What's going on?" he muttered.
An assistant hurried over, whispering something in his ear. Naomi caught fragments. *Air traffic hold. Unexpected.*
Leonard exhaled sharply. "Of course." He turned back to Naomi. "Looks like we're stuck here a little longer."
Naomi nodded. "That works."
Leonard studied her, suspicion growing. "You still haven't told me who you are."
Naomi folded her hands on the table. "That's true." She paused, letting the moment stretch. Then she said calmly, "But you've already shown me exactly who you are."
Leonard frowned. "Excuse me?"
Naomi's voice stayed even. "You assumed my value before you knew my name. You decided how much respect I deserved based on how I looked and where you thought I fit."
Leonard scoffed. "You're reading too much into—"
"Maybe," Naomi said. "Or maybe you're just not used to being observed by someone who isn't impressed."
Leonard opened his mouth to respond, and then his phone buzzed again. This time he answered. "Yeah," he snapped.
His face changed as he listened. Not panic. Not yet. But concern. He glanced at Naomi once while the person on the other end kept talking. Naomi sat quietly, watching the man who thought he owned every room begin to realize that something—something he couldn't see—was already moving around him. And for the first time since she'd walked into the terminal, she felt it shift. Not satisfaction, not victory, just the familiar weight of knowing what came next. Because when men like Leonard finally realized they might be wrong, they didn't apologize. They lashed out. And Naomi was ready for that, too.
***
Leonard still thought he was in control, but his phone told a different story. A single alert changed his expression. Then the room's energy shifted. Naomi didn't react. Didn't explain. She just watched, knowing the real consequences hadn't arrived yet, and they were already in motion.
The delay stretched on. What had started as a brief pause turned into forty minutes of restless movement and quiet irritation. The private terminal at Teterboro no longer felt relaxed. Phones came out. Conversations lowered. The illusion of control began to fray.