Marcus calls an emergency team meeting at nine on Monday morning.
I’m already at my desk, second coffee in hand, trying to focus on campaign drafts that all blur together into meaningless corporate speak. My weekend was consumed by research—pulling everything I could find on Rudenko Industries’ current projects, media coverage, public perception metrics. Trying to build strategy around a client who terrifies me in ways I can’t afford to examine.
“Conference room, now,” Marcus says, passing my desk without slowing. “All hands.”
Diana catches my eye from across the office, eyebrows raised. I shrug and follow.
The team is already assembled when I arrive. Marcus stands at the head of the table, looking simultaneously excited and nervous in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
“Good news,” he announces. “Rudenko Industries wants to move faster than anticipated. They’ve requested an immediate strategy session to align on campaign direction before the official kickoff next week.”
Relief floods through me. Strategy session means the full team, multiple people, professional distance. I can handle that.
“Janice, you’re up.”
The relief evaporates. “I’m sorry?”
“Dimitri Rudenko specifically requested you for this initial meeting. One-on-one, his office, today at two.” Marcus is already moving on, pulling up project timelines on the screen. “It’s unusual, but he’s the client. He wants to discuss strategic vision before we bring in the full team.”
Every eye in the room flicks toward me.
I feel the weight of their attention: curiosity, suspicion, speculation about why the client would single out a mid-level strategist for private meetings. Diana’s expression carries a warning I don’t need translated.
“I—” My throat is dry. “Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for you to attend, as senior partner?”
“He asked for you specifically.” Marcus finally looks at me directly. “Is there a problem?”
Yes. Multiple problems. None I can voice without explaining things that would end my career.
“No. Of course not.”
“Good. His assistant will send over the address. Don’t be late.”
The meeting continues, but I stop hearing it. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out discussion of deliverables and timelines and budget allocation.
One-on-one. This isn’t business.
Diana corners me the second the meeting ends. “You can’t go,” she says, voice low and urgent.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You absolutely have a choice. Tell Marcus you have a conflict, that you can’t work with this client.”
“That what? That I had a relationship with him four years ago and then anonymously published an investigation that nearly destroyed his business? That’ll go over great.”
“Better than whatever he’s planning.”
She’s right. I know she’s right.
“I’ll be fine. It’s his office during business hours. What’s he going to do?”
Diana stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.
“Be careful,” she says finally. “Text me every thirty minutes so I know you’re okay.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“You’re being naive.”
