Chapter 21 Nico #2
“You’re such a control freak,” she says, watching me create backup folders on her laptop.
“I prefer comprehensive risk mitigation,” I reply.
“You prefer controlling everything because you’re terrified of uncertainty,” she counters.
She’s not wrong. But she says it without judgment. Like it’s just a fact about me she’s accepted, just like the way I’ve accepted that she stress-eats Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and cries at animal rescue videos.
Sunday night, I lie in her bed watching her sleep, and I think about the board meeting tomorrow. About Martin Hale’s smug face when I present a proposal that will cut his entire strategy off at the knees.
About how Bree won’t get credit. Not yet. Not publicly.
It sits in my gut like a poorly fitted prosthetic. Something that needs adjustment but requires time and care to fix properly.
I’ll make it right.
I have to.
I just hope she gives me enough time.
Monday morning, I arrive at the office at seven.
Bree arrives at eight thirty, back in professional mode. Structure navy blazer. That cream blouse I can’t stop staring at.
“I want you in the board meeting,” I tell her when she brings my morning coffee. “To take notes.”
Her eyebrows rise. “I’ve never taken notes in any of the board meetings before.”
True enough. So far, her note-taking skills have always been reserved for “normal” company meetings. I’ve kept her out of the boardroom because that’s what you do with “secretaries.” Board meetings are for executives, for people with titles that command respect.
Secretaries sit outside and manage logistics. They don’t sit at the table.
Except Bree isn’t just managing my calendar and screening calls.
She’s rewriting donor correspondence that salvages relationships I would’ve torched.
She’s drafting foundation restructuring proposals that could save the entire company.
She’s the only person in this building who tells me the truth instead of what I want to hear.
“You do now,” I reply.
The conference room is your typical sleek and corporate affair. High-backed leather chairs around a polished table.
Martin Hale already seated, looking smug in his thousand-dollar suit. Helena Vasquez is next to him, her expression carefully neutral. The other board members filter in, all of them tense, all of them aware that this meeting could determine the company’s future.
Bree slips in last, laptop open, taking a seat along the wall. I catch her eye briefly. She gives me a tiny nod.
I close the door.
“Let’s get started,” Martin says, clearly eager to take control. “I think we all know why we’re here. The recent press coverage has raised serious concerns about governance and operational direction. I’ve prepared a proposal for an independent review that would—”
“I have a counterproposal,” I interrupt.
Martin’s smile falters. “I beg your pardon?”
I distribute the bound documents Bree prepared. One to each board member.
“The Rossi Foundation Restructuring Proposal,” I say. “A complete framework for separating our charitable work from our for-profit operations.”
Helena is already reading, her eyes moving quickly across the pages. “This is comprehensive.”
“This is desperate,” Martin counters. “A last-minute attempt to distract from the real issues.”
“The real issues are donor confidence and operational transparency,” I reply. “This proposal addresses both. Permanently. Unlike your independent review, which would tie us up in consulting fees and bureaucratic limbo for months while our competitors eat our market share.”
Martin’s jaw tightens. “You can’t possibly implement something like this in a reasonable timeframe.”
“I can with board support.” I look around the table. “Read the proposal. All of it. Then vote.”
The next hour is tense. Board members asking questions. Martin poking holes, or trying to. Helena defending certain sections, her surgical precision making her arguments impossible to dismiss.
I answer what I can. Deflect what I can’t. Keep my eyes off Bree, who is typing notes with the same focused intensity she brings to everything.
When the vote finally comes, it’s six to four in favor of implementing the restructuring plan.
Martin’s face goes flat, but I can see the rage underneath.
“This isn’t over,” he says quietly as the meeting adjourns.
“It never is with you,” I retort.
I find Bree in the hallway afterward.
“That was good work,” I tell her.
She nods, but I can see the disappointment in her eyes. “You said ‘the team’ when Helena asked who developed the proposal.”
I sigh. “I know.”
She continues. “You said ‘my strategic advisors.’ You said ‘comprehensive internal review.’ You never said Ms. Dawson. Not once.”
“I know.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I’m going to fix it. I just need—”
“More time.” Her voice is emotionless. “Right.”
“Bree—”
“It’s fine.” She presses her laptop against her side. “I knew what I was signing up for when I left that document on your desk. I guess I’d hoped...” She shakes her head and walks back toward her desk.
I watch her retreat. The rigid set of her shoulders. The way she doesn’t look back.
I’ll make it right.
Because she just saved my company, and all I’ve given her in return is more invisibility.
That’s going to change.
Soon.
I just hope it’s soon enough.