Page 24 of Tough Luck

“It’s the truth. And I intend to prove it to you,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “But I’m not going to ask you to make a million dollar decision based on a he-said, she-said dispute in a boardroom today. Gold Standard Media has built its reputation on integrity and unmatched execution.”

Marcus looked around at his executive board, a silent conversation passing between them. He tapped his fingers on the pine table for a long moment before looking back up at me.

“All right,” Marcus said, his voice softening slightly with old family loyalty. “I’ve known your father and you for a long time, and I know you don’t throw around desperate claims. We’ll hold off on signing anything with the other agency for a while. I’ll give you exactly one week to sort this mess out and bring us something that clears the air. But Rick? Next Thursday, I need absolute clarity. We need to know who we’re actually getting into bed with.”

“You’ll have it, Marcus. You have my word,” I replied, shaking his hand across the table.

The meeting dismantled quickly after that. The executives offered polite, tight smiles as they filed out of the room, leaving the heavy timber doors to click shut behind them.

The room fell into a deafening silence as I thought of calling our lawyers and having them sue Leonard Whistler and take everything the man had.

Sofia hadn’t moved an inch from her spot at the last easel. Her stare was fixed on the floor. I could see the devastation rolling off her in waves.

I walked over to her, the protective anger inside me burning red-hot, but my voice was completely gentle when I spoke. “Sofia.”

Chapter 9

Sofia

My lungs stopped working. The air in the boardroom turned to absolute ice, freezing my lungs and the breath right in my throat.

“We saw this exact same presentation yesterday afternoon.”

Marcus’s words replayed in my head like a cruel, looping nightmare. I stood there, my hand still lightly hovering near the edge of the easel, my body entirely numb. For a terrifying second, I thought I might actually pass out. The vibrant digital mock-ups, the topographic can designs that I had poured my heart and soul into, the financial metrics I’d scoured over all felt like they were mocking me now.

I looked at the brewery executives, desperately searching their faces for a sign that this was some kind of sick joke. But there was no punchline. The CFO was looking at me with a mix of pity and corporate skepticism, his eyes dropping to the printed briefs in front of him.

Leonard had stolen… everything. He hadn’t just taken standard agency files—he had taken my life raft. He had memorized my layouts, copied my distribution numbers, and walked into this exact room twenty-four hours ago to parade my brainwork around as his own genius.

A heavy, hot wave of humiliation rushed up my neck, turning my cheeks a brilliant, burning crimson. I felt exposed. Naked. Like a kid caught copying someone else’s test, even though I was the one who had written every single answer.

I couldn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, I was terrified my voice would break, and I refused to let these people see me cry. I forced my eyes down, staring intently at the grain of the reclaimed pine table, my knuckles locking onto the side of the easel so hard the plastic bit into my skin.

Then Rick stood up.

His massive frame instantly drew the attention of the entire room, absorbing the suffocating pressure that had been flattening me into the floorboards. His voice broke through the roaring static in my ears—calm, steady, and dangerously cold.

“Marcus, gentlemen, I understand how this looks,” Rick said. His tone carried so much absolute, unyielding authority that the room seemed to realign itself around him. “But I can assure you, with absolute certainty, that what you are looking at right now is the original, authentic pitch…”

I listened in a daze as Rick fiercely defended my honor, laying out the timeline of Leonard’s swift termination and explicitly stating that every piece of copy belonged to me. He didn’t sound desperate. He sounded like a man commanding a battlefield.

When Marcus agreed to give us exactly one week to sort out the mess, a tiny, trembling breath finally escaped my lips. One week. We weren’t completely dead in the water, but the hill we had to climb had just become a freaking mountain.

The executives filed out of the room, offering tight, polite nods. I didn’t look at them. I kept my eyes glued to the floor, listening to the rhythmic click-clack of their footsteps fading down the hallway until the heavy timber doors finally shut with a definitive thud.

The silence that followed was deafening. The room felt entirely too small.

I heard new footsteps crushing softly on the rug in front of me. I didn’t look up, I was too buried in my own shame and anger, until a shadow fell over me.

“Sofia.” Rick’s voice was completely gentle, devoid of the corporate armor he’d just used to fight off the board members.

I finally lifted my chin, my throat tight as I looked up at him. “He took everything,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash. “Every single thing I had.” I was seconds away from cracking.

He reached up and took my shoulders in his hands, firm but soft. “Then we create something new. Together.”

His hands were warm through the fabric of my blouse, their steady pressure anchoring me to the floorboards just as the room felt like it was spinning out of orbit. I looked up into his deep blue eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or frustration, but there was nothing there except a fierce, unyielding determination.

“Together,” I whispered with a slight nod. I was not going to break. Not in front of Rick. Not because of Leonard.