Chapter 11 Nico
Nico
Ican’t stop thinking about it.
Gabriella’s face when I shut her down.
The way Bree looked at me after. That brief flash of something in those amber-brown eyes before she turned back to her laptop.
Why the hell did I do that?
It’s the next day now, 7:45 AM, and I’m standing at my office windows pretending to review the latest projections on my tablet. But my brain keeps circling back to that moment.
Gabriella was being a bitch. That’s the simple explanation. She insulted my employee. I corrected the situation. End of story.
Except it’s not the end of the fucking story, is it?
I didn’t defend Paloma when Martin called her media strategy “amateur hour” at last month’s board meeting. Didn’t say a word when Dashiell got dressed down by that investor for the Q2 numbers. Hell, I’ve publicly eviscerated people on my own team for less than what Gabriella said.
But Bree? One condescending comment about her filing skills and I went nuclear.
I rub the scar at my jaw. Bad habit.
Through the glass wall, I can see her at her desk.
Bree is in a navy blazer that hugs her curves in ways I’m definitely not supposed to notice.
She’s typing something, those slender fingers moving across the keyboard, and I remember how they felt cleaning the cut on my hand.
I remember how they felt when we I fucked her on—
Enough.
I have bigger problems than my inappropriate fixation on my secretary. Martin Hale is three votes away from restructuring my board. And in fifteen minutes, I have an executive team meeting where Elspeth is presenting her operational efficiency proposal.
A proposal that’s going to be a disaster.
I already know because I skimmed her draft last night.
She wants to onboard three new clinic partnerships at the same time while maintaining current R&D commitments.
It’s mathematically impossible. Dr. Yael Okonkwo’s team is already stretched thin.
Adding three more clinics would be like trying to graft new tissue onto a rejection site. The body just can’t handle it.
But I’m curious to see if anyone else notices.
Specifically, if Bree notices.
The thought pisses me off.
Since when do I care whether my secretary has strategic opinions about operational proposals?
Since when do I hope she’ll speak up in meetings?
I shove the thought aside and head for the conference room.
The executive team is already assembled when I walk in. Elspeth at the head of the presentation screen. Dashiell reviewing his tablet. Yael staring at the ceiling. Paloma looking exhausted and wary. She hasn’t quite recovered from my evisceration last week. Fair enough.
I was an asshole.
And Bree. Corner seat. Laptop open. Ready to take notes like the good little secretary I’ve demanded she be.
She doesn’t look up when I enter.
Why does that gut me?
“Let’s get started,” I say, dropping into my chair. “Elspeth, you’re up.”
My COO launches into her presentation. Slides appear. Efficiency metrics. Partnership projections. Revenue forecasts that look impressive if you don’t think too hard about the underlying assumptions.
I watch Bree instead of the screen.
She’s taking notes. Fingers moving steadily. Face neutral. But I’ve learned her tells over these past weeks. The way her fingers pause at problematic sections. The slight furrow between her brows when something doesn’t add up.
There. Right there. Her typing slows as Elspeth explains the clinic onboarding timeline.
She sees it. The flaw that Elspeth’s glossing over. The impossible demand on R&D resources that would break Yael’s team within three months.
Say something, Bree!
I don’t know why I want her to. Maybe because I’m tired of being the only one who calls out the bullshit. Maybe because I want to see if she’s as sharp in public as she is on her sticky notes.
Maybe because I want her to prove she’s more than what I’ve made her.
Elspeth finishes her presentation. “Questions?”
I wait.
Bree’s fingers have stopped moving entirely. She’s looking at her screen, but I can tell she’s thinking. Processing. Probably composing the exact objection I would raise if I weren’t testing her.
“This looks solid,” Dashiell says. Because of course he does.
Yael shifts in her seat. The CTO knows her team can’t handle this. But she’s not the type to push back publicly. Too much of a lab rat. Hates boardroom politics.
Paloma says nothing. Still gun-shy from last week.
And Bree. My secretary who pretends she’s nothing more.
She says nothing.
Disappointment comes over me. Which is insane. I told her not to overstep. I’ve spent weeks treating her like garbage. What exactly did I expect?
“Approved,” I hear myself say. “Implement the timeline as proposed.”
Elspeth beams. The meeting adjourns. People scatter.
Bree starts packing up her laptop.
“Ms. Dawson.” My voice comes out sharp. “A moment.”
She freezes. Then carefully closes her laptop and waits while the others file out. Paloma gives her a sympathetic look on the way past.
Great.
Now everyone thinks I’m about to tear into my secretary again.
The door closes.
“You saw the flaw in Elspeth’s proposal.”
Not a question. We both know it.
Her chin lifts. “Yes.”
I frown. “And you said nothing.”
“You hired me to take notes, Mr. Rossi.” Her voice is perfectly even. “Not to contribute strategy. Don’t overstep, remember?”
Yep.
There it is.
My own fucking words.
I was right. She’s holding back.
Because of me.
I want to grab her. Shake her. Tell her she’s too smart to hide behind the rules I made. That I need her brain in these meetings, not just her typing. To ignore my bullshit.
Instead I say, “That will be all.”
She turns and walks out.
The door clicks shut.
I sink into a chair and press my palms against my eyes.
Fucking idiot.
I turned her into this.
She’s doing exactly what I told her to do.
The afternoon doesn’t improve.
At 2 PM, I have a meeting with Harrison Wade from the Pemberton Clinic group. He’s the donor representative who’s been asking pointed questions about our charity program sustainability since the leak. Martin’s been in his ear. I can smell it.
Bree is present to take notes. Because that’s her job. That’s all I’ve let her be.
She sits in her corner seat, laptop open, her face carefully neutral.
Harrison launches into his concerns immediately. They sound like Martin Hale’s talking points. “The leaked documents suggest the reconstructive program operates at a loss. How does Rossi Industries intend to maintain sustainability?”
It’s a fair question dressed up as an attack. Martin’s fingerprints are all over it.
I start my response. The one Bree helped me draft last week. The framework she built on that stickied document that was better than what Paloma’s team produced.
“The grant program represents a strategic investment,” I explain.
“While the direct revenue is minimal, the partnerships we’ve built have led to three of our top five licensing contracts.
The ‘loss leader’ characterization in the leaked document was an internal shorthand that failed to capture the full picture. ”
Harrison nods slowly. Not convinced, but listening. He asks about the timeline for the transparency review, and whether Martin Hale’s concerns have merit.
I handle it. Barely.
Then Harrison throws a curveball. “What percentage of your licensing revenue can be directly attributed to relationships built through the grant program?”
Fuck.
I know this number.
Bree put it in the prep notes she sent me this morning. But my brain is fried and the figure won’t surface.
“Thirty-seven percent,” Bree says quietly from her corner. “Over the last fiscal year. Up from twenty-two percent the year prior.”
Harrison’s eyebrows rise. He turns to look at her properly for the first time.
“And the projected growth for next fiscal?” he asks her directly.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Conservative estimate is forty-four percent, assuming we maintain current partnership momentum. The leaked document’s ‘loss leader’ framing failed to account for downstream revenue attribution.”
I stare at her. She’s not even looking at her on-screen notes. She just knows this.
Harrison turns back to me with something new in his expression. Respect, maybe. Or recalculation.
The meeting ends shortly after. Bree packs up her laptop and excuses herself. When she’s gone, Harrison shakes my hand.
“That one’s wasted on note-taking,” he says softly, glancing at her through the windows as she retreats. “She understood the strategic implications faster than half the executives I meet with. You should have her in more meetings. Not just taking notes.”
I blink at him.
“Just an observation.” He smiles. “Good help is hard to find. Especially help that actually understands what they’re hearing.”
He leaves.
I stand there like an idiot, staring at the door.
Even a hostile donor that Martin’s been cultivating can see what I’ve been willfully ignoring.
Bree is brilliant. She sees angles I miss.
And I’ve been treating her like trash because it’s easier than admitting I can’t stop thinking about the way she tasted that night in Tribeca.
I’ve been handicapping myself to maintain emotional distance.
She was hired to be a secretary, though.
But that doesn’t mean a secretary can’t be more than just a secretary.
I just have to be open to it.
“Open to it.”
What does that even mean?
Maybe that’s just my dick doing the talking again.
I don’t know anymore.
Through the conference room windows, I can see her back at her desk. Typing something. Probably emailing out the meeting notes. Notes that I’ll review later and find inadequate, even though we both know they’ll be flawless.
She deserves better than this.
And I have no fucking idea how to give her that without destroying both of us.