Not the time.
Really not the time.
“Bree.” His voice is quiet. “Would you come in please.”
I stare at him.
Excuse me?
I told him I didn’t want to go in. I specifically said I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. And now he wants me to walk into a boardroom full of people who have definitely read every single gossip article about us?
“I...” My voice comes out squeaky. I clear my throat. “Now?”
“Please,” he insists.
His eyes hold mine. Dark. Intense. That look that always makes me feel like I’m the only person in his world.
Damn it.
I remove my headset. Grab my laptop because I genuinely don’t know what else to do with my hands. Stand up on legs that feel distinctly wobbly.
The walk from my chair to the boardroom door takes about seven decades.
Every face turns toward me as I enter. Martin Hale with his perfectly coiffed silver hair and his expression of barely concealed disdain. Helena Vasquez with something that looks almost like anticipation. Elspeth, the COO, looking confused. Twelve board members total, plus lawyers, plus Paloma from communications, all staring at the secretary who definitely shouldn’t be here.
My face is already burning. I can feel the heat flooding my cheeks.
Great.
Fantastic.
Looking super professional right about now.
Nico gestures to an empty chair along the wall. I sit, laptop clutched against my chest like a shield.
He doesn’t sit. Instead, he stands at the head of the table, those broad shoulders squared, and addresses the room.
“Before this board votes on anything,” he says, “I need to set the record straight about something.”
Martin sighs dramatically. “Nico, this is hardly the time for—”
“The foundation restructuring proposal that addressed our donor crisis.” Nico’s voice cuts through like a blade. “The one that bought us time with our major funders. That proposal was written by Bree Dawson.”
Wait.
What?
“The communications strategy that salvaged three major partnerships after the initial scandal broke.” He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the board. “Her work. The operational framework that’s keeping our clinics running during this crisis. She designed it.”
I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“Every good decision I’ve made in the last two months,” Nico continues, and now his voice is quieter, rougher, “came from her. Every mistake was me ignoring her advice.”
The silence in the room is absolute.
Martin’s face has gone an interesting shade of red. “This is irrelevant to the motion at hand. It hardly matters what you’re secretary and lover—”
“It’s entirely relevant.” Nico finallyturns to look at me, and his tender expression makes my heart break. “You want to talk about my character? My judgment? My judgment was keeping the smartest person in this building invisible because I was too busy protecting my own walls to acknowledge her contributions.”
