A seat on the table

Tari stood outside the glass doors of the conference room, adjusting the cuffs of her blazer. Inside, a dozen men sat around a long, polished table, their voices low, their movements precise. They belonged there. They knew it.

The question was—did she?

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside.

The moment she entered, the room changed—subtly, but noticeably. A few conversations halted mid-sentence. Some of the men barely acknowledged her, while others gave her quick, dismissive glances. It was always the same in rooms like this. Tari had spent her career proving that she wasn’t there by accident, that her seat at the table wasn’t a favor.

“Miss Adetokunbo,” Mr. Lawson, the head of the company, said without looking up from his papers. “You’re late.”

She wasn’t. She had arrived ten minutes early. She had watched them walk in, one by one, exchanging handshakes and quiet laughter. She had waited, knowing full well that if she walked in too soon, she would seem overeager, and if she waited too long, she would be “unprofessional.”

“I apologize,” she said, her voice steady. She took her seat at the far end of the table, the place where she was always expected to sit.

The meeting began, the usual talk of projections, budgets, and expansion plans filling the air. Tari listened intently, fingers resting lightly on the folder she had prepared. She knew these numbers better than anyone. She had spent weeks running analytics, researching market trends, and cross-checking data.

But in meetings like these, her role had always been the same—to listen, to nod, and to wait until she was called upon.

Not today.

When the discussion shifted to strategy, she cleared her throat. “Actually, I have a proposal.”

Silence.

Several of the men exchanged glances. Mr. Lawson sighed. “We’ll take questions at the end, Miss Adetokunbo.”

Tari didn’t flinch. “This isn’t a question.”

She pushed her folder forward, sliding it into the center of the table. “We’ve been targeting large corporations for too long. If we shift our expansion efforts toward emerging tech firms, we can increase our profit margins by 17% in the next quarter.”

A pause. The room wasn’t silent this time because they were ignoring her. They were considering her.

One of the senior executives leaned forward, flipping through the pages. Tari watched as his expression shifted from skepticism to intrigue.

Mr. Lawson, however, remained unreadable. “And what makes you think this approach will work?”

Tari had expected this. She tapped the second page of her report. “Because the market is changing. The companies we’ve relied on are plateauing. Smaller, innovative firms are scaling faster than ever. If we invest in them now, we secure long-term partnerships before our competitors do.”

More silence. The kind that weighed heavy in the air.

Then, one of the older executives cleared his throat. “These numbers… they check out.”

Another man nodded. “She’s right. If we move quickly, we’ll have a first-mover advantage.”

Tari’s heart pounded, but she kept her face calm.

Mr. Lawson leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “We’ll consider it.”

Tari met his gaze, unblinking. “I expect a response by the end of the week.”

The silence that followed wasn’t the usual dismissal. It was respect—reluctant, perhaps, but real.

As the meeting ended, the men stood, shaking hands and murmuring amongst themselves. One of the younger executives approached her, amusement flickering in his eyes. “That was bold,” he said.

Tari smiled, gathering her things. “Bold would have been waiting for permission.”

She walked out of the room, her steps firm, her head high.

She had fought for her seat at the table.

And now, she was staying in it.