11. Marcus #2
Sloane goes still, while Graham looks at me. Declan’s eyes narrow slightly, which is the closest he comes to saying don’t without actually speaking.
I continue anyway. “If the goal is to make the relationship look manufactured after the original leak, then we need to make it established enough that one awkward hallway clip doesn’t matter.”
Sloane’s expression doesn’t change, but the room around her seems to sharpen.
“What are you suggesting?” Graham asks.
“A more visible public commitment.”
Sloane gives a humorous laugh.
“No.”
“You haven’t heard the proposal.”
“I heard enough.”
“It would give investors a cleaner story.”
“It would give the public a better show,” she says, voice cooling. “Those are not the same thing.”
The board member near Graham leans forward. “What kind of commitment?”
Sloane looks at him, then back to me. “Do not answer that.”
I answer anyway.
“A joint interview with a controlled personal angle. Not a morning-show segment. Not gossip. Something business-facing but human enough to close the authenticity gap.”
“That is not deeper commitment,” she says. “That is deeper exposure.”
“It’s temporary.”
“That word is starting to do a lot of work.”
I meet her gaze. “The strategy is temporary.”
“And what happens when the next clip leaks? The next photo? The next manufactured contradiction?” Sloane’s hand tightens slightly around the edge of the conference table. “Do we keep escalating the performance every time someone decides to push the story harder?”
“If escalation protects the company, yes.”
Her expression stills completely, and I know immediately it was the wrong answer. Maybe I know it before I even finish saying it.
Sloane looks at me like something has just clicked into place, and I hate the fact that I know it’s not in my favor.
“There it is,” she says.
“Sloane—”
“No. That’s the part I needed to hear.”
Her voice is calm.
“You are still treating this like something you can scale. Adjust. Increase. Deploy when needed.”
“That is not what I’m doing.”
“It is exactly what you’re doing.” She turns toward Graham and the board, posture straight, expression polished enough to look controlled and sharp enough to draw blood.
“My recommendation is a limited statement addressing the footage, no personal escalation, and immediate source tracing with legal involvement.”
“And Marcus’s recommendation?” the board member asks.
“My recommendation,” I say, before she can stop me, “is that we pair the statement with a more visible appearance tonight.”
Sloane turns back to me. “No.”
“One appearance.”
“Marcus—no.”
“Controlled environment.”
“You said that about every step before this.”
“And every step before this worked.”
Her eyes flash. “Because I made them work.”
“Yes,” I say evenly. “You did.”
The room goes quiet for a second after that.
I didn’t intend the admission as a concession, but the moment shifts anyway.
Sloane doesn’t soften as she looks back at me. “Then trust my recommendation.”
I trust her instincts. Her judgment. The way she reads a media cycle faster than anyone else in the company.
But I also see the larger pattern forming around us: the investors, the escalation, the leak itself.
The fact that every time we leave space between the story and what people want to believe, someone else fills it first.
“I trust the recommendation,” I say. “I just don’t think it’s enough.”
The phrasing sounds harsher out loud than it did in my head.
Sloane’s expression closes.
The board member at the far end shifts. “I want both options modeled within the hour.”
Graham looks at Sloane. “Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation.
Then she looks at me. “I’ll prepare both.”
The emphasis is clean and hard, a reminder that she’s making this choice herself, not because I pushed her into it.
She gathers her tablet, nods once to Graham, and walks toward the door. I follow because the conversation isn’t finished.
Sloane knows I’m behind her, but her pace never changes.
The hallway outside the boardroom is empty except for Dana standing near the far wall with a phone to her ear and a laptop balanced against one hip. She looks up the second Sloane exits, takes in her expression, then looks at me behind her.
Smartly, she lowers the phone. “I’ll send the source map to your office.”
“Thank you,” Sloane says.
Dana leaves fast.
Sloane turns on me before the boardroom door has fully closed.
“No.”
The word is immediate.
“What exactly are you refusing?”
“All of it.”
“You don’t know what tonight’s appearance would be.”
“I know exactly what it would be. Another public performance. Another version of stand closer, look warmer, give them more until they stop asking whether it’s real.”
“That’s the strategy.”
“That’s the trap.”
I look at her. Really look.
The anger is there, yes, but beneath it is something else. Not fear, exactly. More like recognition happening too early, like she has already followed the path to its logical end and hates where it leads.
“You think I’m manipulating you,” I say.
“I think you’re very good at convincing yourself that control and manipulation are different things when the outcome benefits you.”
That stings because she says it like she has been waiting for me to give her a reason to confirm it.
“I didn’t know the clip was coming,” I say.
She lifts her chin slightly. “Maybe not.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you believe yourself.”
The sentence digs deeper than a direct accusation would.
“Sloane.”
“No.” She cuts in so quickly that the word almost overlaps my name. “Don’t soften your voice now. Don’t make this sound like I’m misunderstanding something you can explain if I just let you finish.”
I stop. Because that is exactly what I was about to do.And because if I keep talking, I might say something designed to win instead of something designed to be true.
Sloane’s breathing is controlled, but her fingers are tight around the tablet.
That’s the tell. Not enough to make her look shaken, but enough to make me want to take the tablet from her hand before she cracks the casing.
“This isn’t about making decisions for you,” I say carefully.
“Then stop doing it.”
“I’m trying to protect the company.”
“And I am part of the company. Not a tool you use to protect it.”
The words silence me. Not because I disagree, but because I don’t.
Because somewhere between the first leak, the hallway, and too many moments lately that came dangerously close to becoming something else, I started treating the strategy like it belonged to both of us while still making decisions like the risk was mine alone to manage.
“You’re right,” I say.
Her expression doesn’t change. If anything, she looks more suspicious.
“You’re agreeing too quickly.”
“I’m not agreeing to the strategy. I agree that I handled the board wrong.”
That gives her a small pause.
“I should have let you answer,” I say.
“Yes,” she says immediately.
“You still think it’s the wrong move.”
“It is the wrong move.”
I hold her gaze. “I don’t think so.”
“Then we’re at an impasse.”
“Not yet.”
Her eyes narrow. “Marcus.”
“The board asked for both options. We prepare both. Graham decides.”
“And if Graham sides with you?”
The question hangs between us. There are several honest answers, but none of them are safe, so I choose the one that matters most.
“Then I won’t let them put you in a position you don’t agree to.”
Sloane laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “You keep saying things like that as if they don’t prove my point.”
“It means I won’t force you.”
“It means you still think the decision comes through you.”
I don’t answer, mostly because this time I’m not completely certain how to prove her wrong.
A phone rings somewhere behind us, and Dana’s voice drifts faintly from the next hallway, sharp with urgency. Sloane looks toward the sound, then back at me.
Work interrupting the moment before either of us can make it worse.
Thank God for work.
“We have less than an hour,” she says. “I’ll model the limited statement. You can model whatever performance you think fixes this.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” she says, turning away. “But it is accurate.”
She walks toward her office without waiting for me.
This time, I let her go, because following would only prove every point she just made. The worst part is not that she’s resisting. The worst part is that she might be right to.
I stand in the hallway long after she disappears, the leaked clip still open on my phone, paused on the frame where distance looks like proof and restraint looks like a lie.
The board wants commitment. Some unknown party wants a fracture, and Sloane wants control over her own part in this mess.
And me?
I want all three impossible things at once: to protect the company, protect her, and keep her from looking at me like I’m just another man trying to decide what she can survive.
The phone buzzes again. Another upload. Another angle. The narrative spreads faster every time the screen refreshes.
This one has a caption beneath it.
IF IT’S REAL, WHY DO THEY KEEP LOOKING LIKE THEY’RE FIGHTING?
I close my hand around the phone.
The answer is simple.
Because we are.