Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Ben
“You were born for PR,” Charles says as he leans forward, offering his hand. We shake once, firmly.
“I was just ensuring all sides of the story were aired.”
Antonia is nowhere to be seen. I’d assumed she’d appear mid-interview once she knew it was happening. Opengate is her life, and even though Julian was given some reins, she’ll be watching.
I take another sweep of the room, on alert for the blazing ponytail. Nope. Her absence can’t be a good thing. There’s no chance she doesn’t know by now. I just wonder how angry she will be, or worse, disappointed in my performance.
“Not many TV virgins could handle an interview like that,” Charles continues.
For a person who makes a living from interviewing others, he has no concept of body language. I have no interest in speaking to him. My job is done. I want to forget I ever let the cameras roll.
Julian holds court in one corner of the room, Opengate employees flanking him. He beams. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I’m sure he’s congratulating himself. He disappeared for a few minutes as the interview wrapped, but appeared back, spine even straighter.
The TV set collapses around me as I sit in the same chair, considering whether this was a smart move. I pull my cell from my inside pocket. The screen is littered with messages, and I scroll through—only looking for one name. Antonia. It’s not there. I check my email. Nothing.
“You were exceptional,” Julian’s voice cuts through the noise. I stuff the phone back in my pocket. “Positivity skyrocketed while you were on air.”
He offers me his hand. I rise and take it.
“Have we achieved what you wanted?” I ask.
“We’ve had a local MP tweet support. And an endorsement for Opengate from three industry leaders.” His cheeks puff out.
I just want to go home.
But not before clearing the air with Antonia. Ensuring that I haven’t ruined the relationship we had. Working relationship. I correct myself mentally. Not sure if it’s really what I meant, but it feels like it should be.
“That’s great,” I say, but Julian has already skipped off to be praised by someone else. I turn to see Clara walking toward me, one hand fixing a stray hair at her temple.
“Antonia wants to see everyone in the boardroom in ten minutes.” Her eyes slide to Julian, who’s not listening, then return to me. “Well handled,” she adds before leaving.
The atmosphere in the boardroom is less celebratory than in the conference room.
The board files in. Antonia is already sitting at the top of the table, nose in her phone.
Clara shuffles beside her. I sit a seat further down than usual, so I can look her easily in the eye.
Today, we don’t feel the same team as before. The shift worries me.
Julian walks in last. He’s barely sat down when he starts spewing numbers.
“Five endorsements. Sentiment has flipped.” He bangs the table with his fists. “Engagement is through the roof.”
Antonia looks up then. Composed, but frosty. Her eyes almost blank.
“We need to capitalize,” Julian continues. His grin gets bigger with each word.
“This isn’t a campaign,” I say once he finishes. “This was one interview.”
“Yes, but…”
I hold up my hand. This train needs to be derailed before he’s signing me up for breakfast television. He bristles.
“I said one interview,” I repeat. “For the retreat. For Opengate.”
Antonia taps a long sharp fingernail on the table. All eyes move to her, while she stares at me. I shift in my seat; her focus makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Scrutiny in a single long glance.
“You handled yourself well,” she says.
Handled. The same word Clara used; I feel discussed. As if my performance was measured before they stepped foot in here. I wonder if the points I earned outweigh the ones I lost by going ahead with the interview she told me she didn’t want to watch.
“I should have spoken to you first,” I say. She blinks, surprise touching her eyes for a second.
“I authorized Julian to do what he thought was best. He is head of our PR department.”
Julian visibly wilts after being reminded that the PR stunt only took place as he had permission for it, albeit reluctantly. Control that had slipped to Julian amongst his theatrics slides directly back to her. And once again, I’m awestruck by her ability to control a room full of men.
“Yes,” I agree. “But I should have confirmed with you directly, considering your concerns. It was instinct rather than thought.”
She nods, her eyes softening from CEO to human for a second. “Next time, we decide together.”
Julian looks uncomfortable. Antonia ignores him beyond a simple, well done. She dismisses the meeting, and people start to filter out. Julian hangs back, but leaves when she doesn’t look up from her paperwork. I’m making for the door when she speaks.
“Ben.” I turn back. “You didn’t have to defend me. I don’t need defending.”
“I know. It wasn’t defense, it was recalibration.”
“I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.”
“I know,” I say again. Her strength isn’t something I doubt. It’s mesmerizing. “But not every fight needs to be a solo one.”
Her lips thin, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Careful, Ben,” she says sharply. “I don’t need a hero.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
Her nose lifts. I don’t look away. It’s her turn to feel watched.
“I said,” my voice drops just so both of us can hear, “you shouldn’t have to carry everything alone.”
For a split second, something flickers behind her eyes. Not anger. Understanding, perhaps. Then it disappears.
“Supporting doesn’t mean standing in front,” I suggest.
“Perhaps,” she mutters. Not so much to me but to herself.
Clara, who I’ve forgotten is even in the room, drops a pile of notes. I move to help pick them up. As I’m crouched low, Antonia leaves the room. I wish she’d seen that this wasn’t me standing in front of her. This was me standing by her side. There’s a difference.
I know what it’s like to walk alone. The only person to make the decisions. It’s exhausting. If I can remove some of the pressure from her, I will. She’s steel, but even steel can melt if pushed to a high enough heat.
“She’ll thaw,” Clara whispers as we rise to our feet. “She’s not used to someone…”
“Someone what?”
Silence echoes again. “Someone standing up for her,” Clara says. “She’s used to fighting in her own corner. Not letting someone else do it.”
She smiles then. Warm. Human. More girl next door than assistant to the CEO.
“She didn’t let me. I didn’t ask.”
“No, but trust me, she’d have stopped that interview if she really wanted to.” Clara exhales. “But for what it’s worth, I think you were right. She can’t fight every battle alone; she just needs to let someone in who can help.”
***
My drive home is quiet. The last few hours play over in my mind. I’d answered as a doctor, not a widower. Or at least tried to. But Charles wasn’t going to let me dodge the personal details entirely.
I gave him what I was comfortable with. No more.
It seemed to satisfy him until it came to Antonia. The ice-cold CEO that she’s been drawn to be. Deep down, I don’t think that could be further from the truth.
Guarded? Sure.
Cold? I’d never believe that.
Cold people don’t camp in doorways to fight someone else’s battle. They don’t donate thousands and refuse credit. They don’t let pain flicker when they think nobody sees.
Outside the house, I cut the engine. The lights are on, curtains wide open. Liam and Ollie stand in the front window, peering out as if waiting for me. That’s unusual. As I move to open the door, my cell buzzes: Savannah.
Dad, Why is a reporter messaging me? What’s going on?
Before I can reply, my phone vibrates again. Rose this time with the same question. Hell, they’re approaching my kids. Even when I said on camera, they were off-limits.
I message both of them.
Family call. Now.
Within minutes, I’m sitting at my kitchen table with both my sons. Savannah and Rose are on the screen.
“You didn’t tell us this was happening,” Savannah says accusatory. Her partner, Frankie, wanders around behind her, collecting dishes and placing them in the sink.
“Well, I’m sure Dad wasn’t expecting anyone to contact us.” Rose rolls her eyes at her sister. The waves lap on the beach behind her, wherever she is. Somewhere in the Caribbean, I think. The yacht she’s working on is based there. “You looked good on camera.”
I smile. Rose always lightens the mood.
“Have either of you spoken to the reporters?” I ask. They both shake their heads. “Good. Keep it that way.”
Liam and Ollie glance at one another. Ollie nudges his brother’s elbow. “Tell him.”
Instead, Liam slides his phone across the table. It’s open in a social media chat.
How do you feel about your mum being used as PR?
A single sentence. Not replied to. From a private account.
I stare at the screen, dumbfounded.
“I don’t know what to say,” Liam whispers. “You didn’t mention Mum much.”
His voice cracks. I reach for his hands as his siblings listen quietly. No one shouts opinions or demands to be heard. They sit with their brother, even though they’re scattered across the world.
“I didn’t need to,” I say. “It wasn’t a marketing campaign. It was telling the truth.”
“What do we say?” Savannah asks, quieter now, less severe.
“You say nothing. Block them and move on. None of us owes anyone commentary on our lives.”
My children all nod, and Ollie wraps his arm around his younger brother’s shoulders.
“We all miss her,” he whispers. “But she’s still here.”
Ollie points to the family photo on the wall. It was near the end of her life. Bex in a wheelchair, the rest of us surrounding her. It’s sad and happy in equal measure, a memory frozen in time showing what we all lost.
Rose’s connection drops. Within minutes, she’s calling back in. I move the tablet to a better angle so all three of us can see the girls. Rose squints through the screen.
“Do you need your eyes tested?” I ask, and she glares.
“No, I’m just noticing the change.”
I tuck my hands beneath the table, knowing she’s noticed the ring. “It was time,” I say. “Time to move forward.”
***
Later that night, I’m sitting alone on my sofa, glass of wine in hand, watching nothing on the TV. My phone lights up. A message from Antonia.
Thank you.
That’s it. Two words. They sit on my notifications as if unread. I consider replying, but place the phone face down, not wanting to overstep again. She’s reached out and said what she needed to say.
Gratitude from her means more than any stranger’s praise. But a reply can wait until morning.