She was certain.
2
Chapter 2: Astoria
Ten faces stared at her, and not one of them knew she hadn’t slept in three days. Astoria stood at the head of the boardroom’s polished mahogany table, the presentation remote steady in her hand, and she waited for the last board member to settle into her leather chair.
She’d hand-chosen these ten people over the years, people whose respect she’d earned through results, not charm. Astoria Shepry didn’t do charm.
“We exceeded our quarter one projections by fourteen percent,” she said, clicking to the first slide with a color-coded line graph. “Revenue is up twelve percent year-over-year. The Cascadia project broke ground last month, ahead of schedule. And our sustainability certifications are tracking six months early.”
The numbers were good; they were always good. She’d made certain of that, even while her personal life had been splashed across every business journal from here to San Francisco.
Especially then.
Thomas Brennan shifted in his seat, three chairs down on the left. She’d been waiting for it. Thomas came from old money and was old-fashioned in ways he thought he hid better than he did. He’d been skeptical when she’d first joined the Phoenix Ridge business community seventeen years ago: a woman, a lesbian no less, building a company from nothing. He’d come around eventually, but his doubt always resurfaced when he smelled blood.
“The divorce coverage,” he said, right on cue. “We’ve had inquiries from two institutional investors. They’re concerned about stability.”
“Then reassure them.” Astoria clicked to the next slide showing a prominent chart of their stock-equivalent value over the past five years climbing steadily upward. “Our performance speaks for itself. My personal life has no bearing on the company’s fundamentals.”
“With all due respect, Astoria, perception matters. When the CEO’s marriage becomes fodder on the front-page news?—”
“Then the CEO handles it professionally.” She met his gaze and held it. “As I have been and will continue to do so.”
Jennifer Wu, her new COO, leaned forward slightly. She was a decade younger than Astoria but no less sharp and capable, and she’d stepped into Valerie’s former position without missing a beat. “The numbers support that. We’ve seen no measurable impact on client acquisition or retention. If anything, the publicity has increased brand awareness.”
Thomas’s mouth thinned, but he nodded, recognizing he was outnumbered.
Astoria moved through the rest of the agenda with the same precision she brought to everything else, covering the Portland expansion, new sustainability partnerships, and quarter two projections. She answered questions without hesitation orgetting defensive, commanding the room with her presence, not voice volume.
This was what she was good at, what she could control.
When the meeting adjourned, she shook hands and exchanged brief pleasantries, her smile calibrated to exactly the right degree of warmth. Board members filtered out of the room in twos and threes, already checking their phones and thinking about their next meetings.
And then they were gone, and she was alone.
Astoria exhaled fully, the sound echoing in the empty boardroom. She stood motionless at the head of the table, her hand still resting on the back of her chair, and let herself feel everything just for a moment, the weight of the past six months pressing down on her shoulders like a physical thing.
Her distorted reflection stared back at her from the polished table, and she looked exactly what she was supposed to look like, like the leader who was supposed to be composed and impenetrable.
The door opened behind her.
“Your eleven o’clock is here.” Gloria’s voice was warm but professional, the same tone she’d been using for ten years. “Gerald Bracks. I put him in your office.”
Astoria straightened, rolling her shoulders back and settling the mask into place where it belonged. “Thank you, Gloria. I’ll be right there.”
Gloria lingered in the doorway, her salt-and-pepper hair neat in its usual bun and her glasses catching the light. “I brought you a protein bar. It’s on your desk next to the coffee you haven’t touched.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not eating breakfast. Again.”
“Gloria.”
“Just observing.” Gloria’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes were knowing. Ten years was long enough to see through walls, however tall they were, even Astoria’s. “I’ll tell Mr. Bracks you’re on your way.”
She left, and Astoria was alone again. But only for a moment this time, long enough to smooth down her black blazer, check her reflection in the window glass, and morph into the woman everyone expected her to be.
