Chapter 18
Anthony
April is never late. That’s the first thing I notice when I walk into my office and see her desk unattended through our joint door. Her screen is dark, the chair pushed in, that neat little stack of folders absent. The empty seat pulls my attention like a hook. I check my watch. Eight forty-two.
She should be here.
The fact that she isn’t feels wrong, like a sentence missing punctuation.
I set my briefcase down harder than I intend to.
The day is already scheduled to be a headache.
Board meeting at nine. Press pre-brief at eleven.
A donor dinner next week in preparation for the charity gala in a few weeks.
A market analyst call I’d rather swallow glass than sit through, and all of it anchored by the knowledge that Karen has been prowling for weeks, waiting for an opening.
I glance at my phone. No messages. No missed calls. April isn’t the type to vanish without a word.
For a moment, I consider calling her, but I don’t.
I don’t chase. I don’t reveal concern. I don’t give anyone leverage, not even her.
Especially not her. But the thought lands anyway, unwanted and persistent.
I want to see her. Not for efficiency, not because she keeps the day moving, not because she’s the only person in this building who can look me in the eye and tell me I’m being an asshole.
But because I just want to see her. I swear under my breath and head toward the boardroom.
The table is already full when I arrive.
Face’s turn, and polite smiles sharpen into professional neutrality.
The atmosphere in here always has the same feeling: money and control, disguised as “fiduciary responsibility.” Karen sits two seats down from Joseph Brant, spine straight, hair immaculate, expression serene in the way only dangerous people can be serene. She’s dressed for war.
I take my seat at the head of the table and open my folder. “Let’s begin.”
The first fifteen minutes are routine. Numbers, projections, supply chain updates, and a brief argument about international expansion that makes me want to throw my pen through the window. I handle it all with my usual calm. I’m a controlled, unreadable, man made of steel.
Then Karen clears her throat. “I’d like to raise a matter of conduct.
” There it is. I don’t look at her right away, just focus on my papers and listen as if she’s discussing changing our stationery provider.
“The company’s reputation is not separate from its leadership,” she continues with a smooth voice that’s deceptively reasonable.
“Lately, there have been concerns. Concerns that our CEO is engaging in an inappropriate relationship with an employee.” A couple of board members shift.
One looks down at the table. Another glances at me and then away, pretending he isn’t interested.
Karen’s eyes stay on me, bright and certain, and thoroughly enjoying this.
“It creates liability,” she continues. “It invites scandal. It compromises the integrity of our reputation and exposes us to claims of coercion, favoritism, and abuse of power. In light of this, I think it is appropriate to discuss whether Anthony Voss should step down as CEO before we are forced into a crisis that damages the company.”
The room goes quiet. I let the silence linger long enough that it turns uncomfortable, long enough that everyone remembers who’s actually in charge. Then I set my folder down with a sigh and look at her.
“You’re making a serious accusation,” I say evenly. “Do you have proof of wrongdoing?”
Karen’s lips curve faintly. “Do you deny that the relationship exists?” I could deny it.
I could lie. I could bury it with words of confidentiality and power, but lying implies guilt.
“No,” I say. A couple of men inhale sharply.
One woman’s eyes narrow. Joseph Brant doesn’t move at all.
He just watches me with that old, heavy patience of his, like he’s seen this exact maneuver fifty times in fifty different boardrooms. “I don’t deny it,” I continue, keeping my voice casual.
“But I reject the implication that it makes me unfit to lead.”
“It’s an employee,” Karen says, pressing. “A younger employee. Someone vulnerable.”
I let my gaze drift around the table. “She’s twenty-eight, Karen. This isn’t uncommon.”
Karen recoils slightly. “So that makes it acceptable?”
“It makes it a reality,” I reply. “And if we’re suddenly holding the CEO to a moral standard none of you have ever applied to yourselves, then we’re going to be having much more interesting discussions. Joseph.”
Joseph Brant lifts a brow. “Hm?”
“You slept with your assistant in the early 2000s,” I say, because I’m done being polite.
“You married her. She’s currently your wife of twenty years.
” I turn back to Karen. “Shall we pretend that never happened for the sake of your faux outrage?” A ripple courses through the room, creating discomfort, reluctant amusement, and a few stiff expressions that scream he’s right.
Joseph sets his glass down with deliberate calm and leans back. “For the record, Karen,” he says, voice dry, “Anthony’s not wrong. She chased me like a damn bloodhound.”
Karen’s expression tightens. “That is hardly—”
“It’s exactly relevant,” Joseph cuts in. “Because what you’re doing is not about ethics. It’s about control.”
Karen’s gaze snaps to him. “You’re defending him?”
“I’m defending the company,” Joseph says. “Which is what you claim you’re doing, although you’re not very convincing.”
My lips quirk up at the edges. Karen looks back at me, jaw clenched now. “Even if you survive this, Anthony, people will talk.”
“Then let them talk,” I say, voice flat.
“We will keep it quiet. There will be no press exposure, no public spectacle, and no damage to the brand. Let me remind the rest of you that I have led this company through a scandal you all benefited from without letting it collapse.” I don’t say Natalie’s name.
I don’t need to, but the ghost of it hangs in the air, regardless.
Joseph nods once. Most of the others follow, eyes cautious but sensible.
They want stability and they want money.
They want the stock to hold. They do not want to gamble on Karen’s power grab dressed up as moral concern.
I watch the realization dawn on Karen in real time.
“This is not over,” she says quietly, for me alone.
“No,” I sigh. “It isn’t, is it?” The meeting ends without a vote, which is its own kind of victory.
I walk out with my head held high, expression unchanged, but inside I’m already tallying the damage.
Karen planted a seed. Even if it didn’t bloom today, it’s in the soil now, and some of these people, the cowards, opportunists, and parasites, will water it if they think it’ll benefit them.
Back in my office, I shut the door and stand still for a moment, letting the quiet settle.
Then I pull my phone out and call my head of security.
“Run a full background sweep on Aidan Snow,” I say.
I’d already floated the idea when I saw her with Aidan at lunch.
Now it’s on. “Financial connections, legal teams, intermediaries—anything that links him to our board members.”
A pause. “Specifically, Ms. Bartley?”
“Specifically, Ms. Bartley.”
“Understood.”
I end the call and open my laptop, pulling up communication logs and recent event reports.
Karen was overconfident today. Too composed.
She’s not bluffing. She’s building something that will make her accusation stick even if it’s nonsense.
But when my eyes look over the data, my attention keeps slipping, dragging back toward the empty space in that chair in April’s office.
She’s still not here. She’s two hours late.
Normally, I’d be furious. Now, I’m just worried.
I shouldn’t care, I know that; she’s allowed to be late.
She’s human. She has a life outside of this building.
But I don’t know where she is or where she could possibly be.
She hasn’t called or tried to notify me, and she’s supposed to be here.
I need to find her, so I pull out my phone and text her.
Me:
You’re late.
The reply comes a minute later.
April:
I’m running an errand. I’ll be in soon.
Me:
I didn’t send you on an errand.
April:
It’s personal
It’s a normal answer, a simple one even. But something about it feels clipped, like she’s holding something back.
Me:
There was a board meeting this morning. Karen brought up what she saw. They know.
It takes her two minutes to reply this time.
April:
Oh
Just that. One word. No questions, no worry, not even her usual sarcastic remarks. Just “oh.” My jaw tightens. That’s not normal.
Me:
I handled it; Brant backed me. We’re fine. But we can’t be careless.
Another pause.
April:
Okay
Something is off. I don’t like it. I don’t like that I can’t see her face to read what’s between those texts. I make a decision on instinct more than logic.
Me:
Dinner tonight. Seven. Meet me here:
[link]
Three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again like she’s weighing it.
April:
Sure
Sure? Sure? Not yes, not okay, not fine, but I’m ordering dessert on your card. Just sure.
My chest tightens with something I absolutely refuse to name.
Me:
Wear something warm. It’ll be cold tonight.
April:
Okay
I set the phone down and stare at the skyline through the glass window, my jaw working.
It feels wrong in a way I can’t figure out and can’t probe without looking more and more like…
Like what? Like I care? Am I running from that?
I sigh and lean back in my chair, scrubbing a hand down my face.
Karen tried to take a swing at me today, and now April is slipping out of alignment, just enough for me to notice and want to reach out and force her back into place.
God dammit.