No matter what happens, no matter what Chaz decides, that’s my truth.
I fall asleep cradling that thought and wake up holding it close.
Fortunately, I’m not hung over. I’d paced myself, knowing today would be an important one. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and take my thyroid pills. I’ll drop off my resignation letter first thing, meet with my team on a transition plan, and by four o’clock, be on the road to Bayside.
While I get ready, I crank up my Fuck-It playlist. Sometimes, emotions are too big to hold in—you need music to let them out. My singing talent is lacking, but my commitment isn’t. I’m belting out “Control” with Janet Jackson when the song cuts off and my phone rings.
It’s Francis Dunne, my PR director. He’s never called this early with good news.
“Hi, Frank,” I answer, a sinking feeling in my gut. “What’s hit the fan?”
“It’s one hell of a welcome back,” he says dryly. “HR received a complaint last night. It’s about Drew Marshall, and it’s . . . bad, Alexandra.”
“Okay.” I take a breath, bracing myself. “What kind of bad?”
“Drew was a keynote at the AdVantage Summit, and on Sunday evening, he allegedly hosted a party at a hotel. A private event in a penthouse suite. Drinking, drugs, young women—you know how these things can go.”
“How do they go, Frank?” My grip tightens on the phone. Just the thought of Sophia ever being at a party like that makes me sick.
“There are allegations of quid pro quo sex for jobs.”
My God. I knew those rumors about Drew were more than smoke, but this?—
“Your father’s already involved,” Frank adds. “He wants me, HR, and Drew to meet this morning to get ahead of it.”
“To quash it, you mean?”
“He didn’t use those words,” Frank replies, his tone careful. “But this could be a huge scandal.”
If it’s true, itshouldbe. I’m not going to doctor the truth or paint a pretty face on this. I’m not letting Drew or my father sweep it under the rug like some kind of nuisance. But I don’t tell Frank any of that. Even though he works for me, I can’t be sure his loyalty doesn’t lie with my father.
“What time’s the meeting?”
“Ten o’clock. Ignite conference room.”
“I’ll be there. Email me the complaint. I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“Already done.”
I hang up the phone and finish getting ready.
Until I get to the bottom of this, my resignation will have to wait.
At ten sharp, I take my seat at the boardroom table, along with Frank and Don, the human resources VP. I’ve dressed the part—navy power suit and sleek French knot. The casual look of Bayside is gone. Here, I’m all business.
Drew Marshall saunters in ten minutes late. He’s in his mid-forties with wheat-blonde hair, wearing a tailored Armani suit. He carries himself with the air of an entitled blueblood, who’snever faced real consequences. My father tends to hire in his image.
“Sorry, folks,” he says with mock sincerity as he grabs a bottle of water from the credenza. A spread of coffee, muffins, and drinks sits untouched on the conference table—a thin veneer of civility masking the tension in the room. He flashes a too-bright smile. “It’s a damn shame our morning has been hijacked by baseless claims. But here we are.” His gaze turns to me. “Nice to have you back, Alexandra.”
I nod curtly, keeping my expression neutral.
Once Drew is seated at the head of the table next to me, Don begins, “I’m assuming you read through the complaint?”
“It’s a joke,” he says smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate nonchalance. “Some disgruntled employee. Completely fabricated. Anonymous says it all. We shouldn’t be giving any credence to this. You know how it is in the current climate—guilty until proven innocent.”
Don nods, overly sympathetic. “I hear you, but we’re obligated to investigate any complaints, anonymous or not.”
“There’s nothing to investigate,” Drew snaps, his eyes darting to me. “We should be strategizing damage control to ensure this stays contained, not entertaining fairy tales. Theodore assured me I had his complete support.”
