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“Except I don’t want my work rearranged around a trip I never agreed to take,” she says.

The irritation that has been sitting under my skin all day sharpens. “I’m not asking you to abandon your work,” I say.

“You’re still deciding which part of it matters,” she replies.

“I’m deciding what’s efficient,” I say.

“For you,” she says.

“For everyone,” I reply.

Blaire gives a short shake of her head.

“That’s the problem, Ross,” she says.

“What problem?” I ask.

“You think because you’re competent, and because people listen when you make a decision, that you automatically get to decide what’s best for everyone around you,” she says.

My jaw tightens.

“People expect me to make decisions,” I reply.

“At work,” she says.

“This is work,” I say.

“No,” she says. “Your meeting is work. My schedule is mine.”

I stare at her.

Blaire steps closer to the desk.

“Leadership means making decisions when they’re yours to make,” she says.

“It doesn’t mean taking control of someone else’s choices because you think your solution is better.”

“I wasn’t taking control of anything,” I reply.

“You booked a flight, a hotel room and rearranged my week without asking me,” she says.

“When you say it like that—” I begin.

“I’m saying exactly what you did,” she cuts in.

I turn away for a moment and drag a hand over the back of my neck.

“I don’t have time to turn this into some philosophical argument about control,” I say.

“I’ve got a Brussels problem that landed on my desk this morning, three people waiting for answers in London, and I thought spending a few days away together might actually be something you’d want.”

Blaire’s voice softens, but only slightly.

“I probably would’ve wanted it,” she says.

I look back at her.

“Then what are we fighting about?” I ask.