Chapter 8 #2
By the time we broke, the room had shifted from alarm to motion. They left in clusters, already making calls, arguing in lower voices, turning poison into process.
Benjamin closed the conference room door after the last person left and looked at me over his tablet. “Well.”
“That’s rarely a complete thought with you.”
“It was a respectful pause before I say something irritating.”
“Proceed.”
“You are very good at the building part.”
“I know.”
“You are less good at the public relations,” he continued. “Feelings. Optics. Narrative. The great swamp of human impression.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you? Because your natural instinct when someone lies about you is to gather evidence, arrange it alphabetically, and wait for reality to experience shame.”
“That has worked for me in the past.”
“In courtrooms and engineering reviews. It won’t in politics.”
I leaned against the table. “What do you suggest?”
His eyes narrowed with focus. This was why I kept him close. Beneath the theatrics, Benjamin’s instincts were excellent and usually faster than mine in the places where mine were weakest. He was an effective counterpart.
“We need a clean statement by noon,” he said. “It needs to be boringly confident. We welcome questions. Safety and integrity are foundational. Prior concerns were fully reviewed and closed. Hartwell deserves facts, not anonymous speculation or insinuation. That sort of thing.”
“I hate it already.”
“Good. That means it sounds like PR.”
“What else?”
“Get a third-party engineer ready to speak if needed. Someone credible and aggressively unsexy.”
“Engineers are generally good at the aggressively unsexy.”
“I know. It’s your industry’s primary public offering.”
I gave him a look.
He continued, unmoved. “Also, you do not personally go on camera unless necessary.”
“Why?”
“Because you have two modes with fools: glacial contempt and courtroom murder. Neither says community partnership.”
“I can be diplomatic.”
“You can imitate diplomacy for roughly six minutes before your face start drafting indictments.”
He was not wrong, which irritated me more than if he had been.
My phone buzzed on the table. For one stupid second, my pulse changed because some part of me thought of Avery. It was not Avery. It was Dana, already sending a list of staff who needed briefing.
Benjamin saw my face anyway and the corner of his mouth lifted in the shape of a smirk.
“Don’t,” I warned.
“I said nothing.”
“You breathed judgment.”
“Whoopsies.” Another smirk.
I picked up my phone. “Avery starts in twenty minutes. Make sure someone meets her by the elevators if you’re busy.”
“I am never too busy to manage a sentimental variable.”
“Benjamin.”
“Fine. Avery. I will meet Avery.” He tucked the tablet under his arm. “But you need to understand something. Today cannot become about her.”
“It won’t,” I lied.
He held my gaze for a beat. “Good.”
Then he opened the conference room door, stepped halfway out, and paused. “For the record, I do think she’ll show up on time.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“No. Observant. She wants to prove herself.” His mouth twitched. “Which, regrettably, is one of my preferred personality defects.”
I almost smiled.
“Be fair,” I said again.
Benjamin sighed. “You’ve given me a crisis, a new hire, a mayor’s office, Dana in hunting mode, and no scones.”
“You were allowed a scone.”
“I wanted institutional scones.”
“Go.”
“I go because I must. Not because you command it.”
“Ben-ja-min.”
He disappeared through the door.
I stayed in the conference room for a moment after he left, looking through the glass wall toward the office beyond.
The company had fully awakened now. People moved between desks, gathered near screens, carried plans, and answered calls.
Somewhere below, Avery would soon be walking through security with her visitor badge replaced by an official one, her nerves tucked under that brave chin, her first day already swallowed by a crisis she did not yet understand.
I wanted to see her.
I wanted to see whether she looked rested, whether she wore the same lipstick from dinner or whether she would search the floor for me and try not to seem disappointed if I was not there.
I wanted to tell her she would be fine, that Benjamin’s bite was mostly ceremonial and Dana only drew blood for sport on Tuesdays.
What unsettled me was that I did not only want her.
I cared whether she was frightened, whether she believed she deserved to be there, whether the people I trusted treated her fairly.
I wanted her trust, and I wanted to deserve it.
The night before, listening to her speak about her parents, her failures, and the life she was trying to rebuild, I had wanted a place in that life—not only as Robert’s friend or the man who had given her a job, but as myself.
That feeling carried more danger than lust. If I acted on it, I could damage her career, expose her to judgment, and make the safety she felt with me conditional on what I wanted.
I knew all of that. I also knew that walking away before anything began already felt less like restraint than loss.
With a sigh, I picked up the tablet with the article and read the headline again.
I had a company to protect, a project to hold onto, and employees whose livelihoods depended on my ability to care more about the fight in front of me than the woman who had kept me awake the night before.
So, when my phone buzzed again and Benjamin’s message appeared, I did not go see her.
Benjamin: The variable has arrived. Early. Slightly terrified.
I stared at it longer than I should have. Then another message followed.
Benjamin: I was civil. Put it in my file.
I set the phone down, turned toward the waiting crisis, and told myself distance was not avoidance if it was necessary.
Today, it was necessary.
Today, it had to be.