She nods once and presses the “hang up” button on her speakerphone, and returns her attention to her computer.
I’ve been watching her too much lately. Noticing things I have no business noticing. The way she bites the inside of her cheek when she disagrees with something but doesn’t want to say it. The way her pen pauses over her notebook during meetings, right at the moments when someone says something stupid.
She sees everything. Processes it. Files it away in that system of hers.
And I keep pushing her away because the alternative is admitting that the one night we had wasn’t enough. Admitting that watching her across this glass divide is slowly driving me insane.
Fuck.
I have bigger problems right now. Martin Hale is trying to steal my company while I’m distracted by my secretary.
Get it together.
The 8 AM meeting is with Pemberton Clinic group. They’re threatening to break our licensing contract. Martin’s private equity partners have been courting them for months, promising better margins if they switch.
I spend the hour convincing them to stay. It works, barely, but I can tell they’re hedging. Everyone’s hedging. The whole industry can smell blood in the water, and they’re all circling to see which way I fall.
By the time afternoon hits, my jaw aches from clenching it. My hand still has that faintscar from the mug incident last week, a reminder of my own stupidity.
The executive team meeting starts at 2 PM. We have the full war room going on today. Elspeth, Dashiell, Yael, Larissa, Paloma. COO. CFO. CTO. General Counsel. VP Communications.
And Bree.
Sitting in the corner with her laptop, taking notes.
Paloma stands to present the updated media strategy. She’s been working on it for a week. She looks exhausted.
Join the club.
“We’ve drafted a proactive narrative,” she says, pulling up slides. “Emphasizing the reconstructive mission, featuring patient testimonials. The goal is to reframe the conversation before the magazine profile drops.”
I scan the slides. It’s generic, defensive posturing dressed up in pretty graphics.
“This is reactive,” I say.
Paloma blinks. “I’m sorry?”
“You said it was aproactivenarrative. This is reactive. You’re responding to their narrative instead of creating our own.”
She seems flustered. “We’re trying to redirect the conversation toward our strengths and away from the leaked document.”
“By retreating.” I stand up, start pacing. “This entire strategy is based on the assumption that we’re guilty of something.We’re not.”
“Nico, the optics of the leaked slide deck are problematic,” Paloma stresses. “We can’t just ignore that.”
“I’m not saying ignore it. I’m saying stop acting like we have something to hide.” My voice is rising. Ican’t stop it. “Every sentence in this strategy sounds like an apology. For what, exactly? For building a profitable company that also happens to help people? For making money while doinggood?”
Paloma’s face has gone pale. “I thought we discussed approaching this with humility and transparency...”
“Humility is fine. Groveling is not.” I gesture at the screen. “This makes us look pathetic. Like we’re one hundred percent guilty of profiting from other people’s misfortune, and begging for forgiveness.”
The room has gone quiet. Dashiell is studying his hands. Elspeth’s jaw is tight. Yael is staring at the ceiling like she’s counting the tiles.
And Bree. Bree is looking directly at me. Her fingers have stopped moving. Those amber-brown eyes are steady, and I can see exactly what she’s thinking.
She thinks I’m wrong.
She thinks I’m being an asshole.
