Page 74 of Saved By the CEO

I pick up my notebook and stand. “Of course, Mr. Bennett.”

He turns toward the corridor, and I follow beside him, my notebook pressed to my chest. We walk close enough that I can smell his cologne, close enough that our hands almost brush near the elevator.

By the time we reach the conference room, my face is calm, my pen is ready, and I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I hate it.

The meeting is with Communications,Legal, and Development, which is a fun little corporate cocktail of people who all think they’re the most important person in the room.

Andrew takes a seat at the head of the table, and I take the chair to his right. It’s my chair at every meeting. My spot. My assigned little corner of competence, where I take notes,remember action items, and subtly stop everyone from agreeing to deadlines that will make their lives worse later. Usually, I like that part of my job. Not the chair itself, necessarily, but the knowing. The being useful.

Today, the chair feels like a cage.

I open my notebook anyway.

Marissa from Communications is already standing by the screen, clicking through the Westbrook press package. She looks sharp as usual, wearing a crisp black blouse and red lipstick, without a single hair brave enough to be out of place.

“Thanks for making time,” she says, glancing around the table. “This should be quick. We’ve updated the package to reflect the latest renderings and the revised access plan, but there are a few lines I want to make sure we’re aligned on before this goes out.”

Andrew sits back, hands folded on the table, expression unreadable as Marissa clicks to the next slide.

Oh, would you look at that.

There, on the screen, is one of the lines I wrote. Not word for word, but close enough that I recognize the bones of it immediately.

I look down at my notebook.

I am a cool little cucumber who does not react to tiny things like these.

“We softened the language around construction access,” Marissa says. “The first draft was too focused on efficiency from our side. This version acknowledges the disruption more directly before moving into mitigation.”

Daniel from Development frowns. “I still think ‘disruption’ sounds negative.”

“But it is a disruption,” Marissa says.

Daniel looks offended by this deeply controversial statement.

“We’re closing two side streets and rerouting a bus stop for eight months,” she continues. “People will notice.”

A truly wild concept. People noticing the physical world around them. What’s next? Women having brains?

Legal Guy taps his pen against the table. “The concern is that acknowledging disruption too clearly could make it sound like we’re accepting liability for inconvenience.”

Marissa looks at him. “We are causing inconvenience.”

“Yes, but we don’t have to phrase it like that.”

“It’s—” She stops, then turns to me. “Actually, Carly, this came from your notes. Can you walk us through the angle?”

For half a second, I think I must have misheard her.

Everyone looks at me. Andrew included.

I clear my throat. “We shouldn’t be afraid of saying there will be disruption. Everyone already knows there will be. If we avoid it completely, it sounds like we’re hoping the neighborhood won’t notice the road closures, which makes us look either dishonest or stupid.”

Daniel’s frown deepens.

I probably should have phrased that differently.