Come home, baby. You don't have to do this alone.
If you don’t get home in ten minutes, that scar over your eyebrow will pale in comparison to what happens to your face next. Come. Home. Now.
"Blaire." Camille's voice is soft as it pulls me back from the onslaught of emotions.
"Let’s get back to work," I say. My voice comes out even. I've had a lot of practice at that. "Get me the Sullivan files so I can confirm who we’re sending to LA."
She nods with an empathetic smile that I don't need to see right now. She senses it and doesn't push. She just walks out quietly to get me what I asked for.
I look at the dark screen on the wall for a moment longer.
Then I open my laptop and get ready for my morning meeting.
I have work to do.
***
I'm the proud owner of Monroe Communications, and on paper, that sounds like everything. Fortune 500 clients, political campaigns, high level corporate messaging — the kind of work that gets you quoted in industry publications and invited to speak at conferences where everyone in the room is pretending they're not exhausted.
It wasn't what I set out to do with my life, but somewhere between the girl I was and the woman I became, it turned into the thing I was best at. Funny how that happens.
This morning I took a detour to the restroom before heading to the boardroom. Stood at the sink for longer than I'd like to admit, running cold water over my wrists, doing the breathing exercise my therapist taught me that I use more than I'd ever tell her. Colt's face on every screen in the building since six AM will do that to a person.
The red suit was a deliberate choice. Tailored within an inch of its life, the kind of fit that requires Spanx and confidence in equal measure. White blouse, white stilettos, hair up, red lip— the full armor. I looked at myself in the mirror for a long moment before I left and thought that I looked exactly like a woman who has her life together, which is the whole point, and the only thing I can control today.
I finished the breakdown with a cool napkin to the back of my neck, put my face back where it needed to be, and walked to the conference room like I was walking into any other Monday.
"Good morning, team."
The voices drop the second I push through the door. That particular hush — the one where a room full of people who were just talking suddenly find very interesting things to look at on the table in front of them — tells me everything. They've all seen it. Of course they've seen it. Colt made sure there wasn't a person in Houston who couldn't find it if they tried.
I set my coffee down at the head of the table and don't acknowledge the quiet. Acknowledging it gives it power, and I don't have any to spare today.
"Camille, can you pull up the Sullivan call on the screen, please?"
She moves to the laptop without a word, the model of professionalism. I take my seat and open my notebook, looking around the table at the twelve people I have built this firm with, all of them watching me with varying degrees of concern they're trying to hide behind neutral expressions.
"I know you've all seen the interview," I say. "I'm not going to address it beyond this; I amfine, the work continues, and nobody in this room owes me their pity. What you owe me is your focus, because we have a significant new engagement to discuss. I need every brain at this table sharp. Do I make myself clear?”
Varying sounds of agreement echo around the table.
I nod to Camille, and she connects the Zoom call. The screen populates with five faces arranged in a grid, and the man in the center leans forward slightly.
"Mrs. Monroe, pleasure to officially meet you. I'm Frank, Chairperson of the Board." He gestures to his right. "Vice Chair Alexander. And our directors, Joseph, Mark, and Leslie."
"Thank you for making the time, Frank." I stand and move toward the screen, falling into the rhythm of a first meeting the way I always do — reading faces, cataloguing energy, identifying who defers to whom. Frank is composed, but urgent underneath it. Alexander is watching me carefully. Joseph and Mark are waiting to take their cues from Frank. Leslie looks like someone who has been trying to solve this problem for a long time and is hoping I'm the solution.
"I've reviewed the Sullivan file thoroughly," I say, "and I'd like to share some initial thoughts before we discuss strategy and next steps." I open my portfolio. "But first, I have one question before we go any further."
Frank nods. "Go ahead."
"Does Mr. Sullivan know we're having this conversation today?"
The pause that follows tells me everything I need to know about how this engagement is going to start.
CHAPTER TWO
BENNET
