“I have work to do.”
“Bailey—”
“I said I have work to do, Mr. Williams.” She straightens her shoulders stubbornly. “Unless you’re firing me?”
“Of course I’m not firing you.”
“Then I’ll be at my desk.”
She walks past me without looking back, heels clicking against marble.
I stand frozen, watching her go, every instinct screaming at me to follow her.
Instead, I turn and head to my office. The moment my door closes behind me, my phone starts buzzing again. It’s Lottie.
“Tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did,” she says the second I answer.
“What are you talking about?”
“The video! Daniel, you assaulting a reporter is already trending. ‘#WilliamsLosesControl’ is the number two topic worldwide.”
My stomach drops. “I didn’t assault anyone. He grabbed Bailey.”
“That’s not what it looks like in the footage!”
I sink into my chair. “He hurt her.”
“I know, and I understand why you reacted. But Daniel—” She sighs heavily. “This makes everything worse. Larsson just called. He is officially pulling out of the deal.”
“He grabbed her arm. I saw the mark—”
“It doesn’t matter what actually happened. It matters what it looks like. And right now, it looks like you’re spiraling.”
“What do I do?” I ask quietly.
“Honestly, you might just need to end everything with Bailey once and for all. Make it clear you’re choosing the company first. It’s not pretty, but it might be the only way to get the investors back on your side.”
“You want me to throw Bailey under the bus.”
“I want you to save your company. And if you care about her at all, you’ll also protect her reputation. The longer you’re connected in the public eye, the worse this gets for both of you.”
She’s right. I know she’s right, but the thought of publicly distancing myself from Bailey makes me physically ill.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
“Don’t think. Act. The board meets in three hours. If you don’t have a plan by then, they’ll decide foryou.”
She hangs up.
I stare at my desk, at the files I’m supposed to be reviewing, at the presentation I’m supposed to be giving tomorrow. None of it matters. All I can see is Bailey’s face. I should go to her and apologize.
Instead, I sit here like a coward, calculating risk versus reward as if she were a business problem to be solved.
An hour later, there’s a sharp knock on my door.
“Come in.”
Bailey enters, and my heart lurches. She’s changed clothes, probably had spare ones in her desk. Her makeup is fixed, her hair pulled back, but I can still see the red mark on her arm.
