“Approved,” I hear myself say. “Implement the timeline as proposed.”
Elspeth beams. The meeting adjourns. People scatter.
Bree starts packing up her laptop.
“Ms. Dawson.” My voice comes out sharp. “A moment.”
She freezes. Then carefully closes her laptop and waits while the others file out. Paloma gives her a sympathetic look on the way past.
Great.
Now everyone thinks I’m about to tear into my secretary again.
The door closes.
“You saw the flaw in Elspeth’s proposal.”
Not a question. We both know it.
Her chin lifts. “Yes.”
I frown. “And you said nothing.”
“You hired me to take notes, Mr. Rossi.” Her voice is perfectly even. “Not to contribute strategy. Don’t overstep, remember?”
Yep.
There it is.
My own fucking words.
I was right. She’s holding back.
Because of me.
I want to grab her. Shake her. Tell her she’s too smart to hide behind the rules I made. That I need her brain in these meetings, not just her typing. To ignore my bullshit.
Instead I say, “That will be all.”
She turns and walks out.
The door clicks shut.
I sink into a chair and press my palms against my eyes.
Fucking idiot.
I turned her into this.
She’s doing exactly what I told her to do.
The afternoon doesn’t improve.
At 2 PM, I have a meeting with Harrison Wade from the Pemberton Clinic group. He’s the donor representative who’s been asking pointed questions about our charity program sustainability since the leak. Martin’s been in his ear. I can smell it.
Bree is present to take notes. Because that’s her job. That’s all I’ve let her be.
She sits in her corner seat, laptop open, her face carefully neutral.
