skin of one’s teeth
"They might not recognize me.” The mirth in her voice is almost palpable as her eyes scan down the screen of her work phone. Nowadays she’s mostly in her office, signing off on papers without reading them (she’s got assistants for that), and attending meetings where her employees rattle off numbers that she has no interest in. At this point Hybrid Solutions practically runs itself with all the layers of delegation. She had worked her ass off when it first started off, and now it’s simply time to reap the benefits.
Success is an impenetrable shield she wears with pride.
Legs crossed, she leans back into the plush cushioning of the rounded sofa. Sometimes she makes her own visits to the Lounge just to see the fruits of her efforts. If people realized that the CEO of HySol happened to be among them, let them come and try to suck up. If the hybrids recognized her? Well, she’s interested to see which one of them is feeling particularly brave. And -- there’s always the off chance that no one would notice, and treat her as another potential adopter.
Her escort, aka security, that sits next to her laughs quietly into his drink. “I guess we’ll see. Eleven o’clock, someone heading your way.”
