Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Dax
The conference room fills with the core media relations team. Karen, Daniel, Brad, Melanie, John, Mike. Scarlett sits near the middle, notebook open, professional and focused. I stand at the head of the table.
"Before we dive into today's agenda, I want to clarify the reporting structure for this crisis. Moving forward, Scarlett is the main point of contact for all PR strategy related to the MediaLink situation. Everything goes through her first, then to me."
Eyes shift to Scarlett. She doesn't flinch, just nods once.
"Any questions about messaging, media outreach, timeline—Scarlett coordinates," I continue.
"She reports directly to me. This ensures we're moving quickly and staying aligned."
Karen speaks up.
"Makes sense. Keeps the chain clear."
"Exactly." I glance at Scarlett.
"I'll need daily check-ins. End of day briefings on progress and next steps."
Her eyes meet mine, and I see the flicker of understanding there. She knows this isn't just about efficiency. This is about keeping her close, accessible, within my reach.
"Understood," she says evenly.
The meeting continues—strategy updates, media coverage analysis, timeline adjustments.
Scarlett participates with the same polished professionalism she showed in our first meeting.
Smart, direct, unafraid to challenge assumptions.
When the meeting wraps, everyone files out.
Scarlett gathers her things, but I catch her before she reaches the door.
"Scarlett."
She turns. "Yes?"
"I meant what I said. I need you accessible for this."
Her chin lifts slightly. "For work."
"Of course." I hold her gaze.
"For work."
She doesn't look away.
"Then I'll make sure I'm available."
The double meaning hangs between us. Then she turns and walks out, leaving me alone in the conference room.
DAY 15
It's past eight when I walk by Scarlett's office and see her still at her desk, laptop open, papers spread around her.
I knock on the doorframe. "You're still here."
She looks up, surprised. "So are you."
"I need to go over the media outreach plan. Do you have a few minutes?"
"Of course." She gathers the papers.
"Your office or here?"
"Mine. I have the full file there."
We walk down the corridor to my office. I close the door behind us—habit, not intention—and move to my desk where the crisis binder sits open.
Scarlett stands beside me, close enough that I catch the faint scent of her perfume. Something clean and subtle.
"The timeline for the independent audit announcement," I say, pulling out the relevant documents.
"Legal wants to wait another week. I think that's too long."
She leans over the desk, studying the papers.
"I agree. Every day we wait, the narrative gets away from us. We need to show action now."
Her hand reaches for one of the documents at the same moment mine does. Our fingers brush. Both of us pull back.
"Sorry," she says, not looking at me.
"You're right about the timeline," I say, redirecting.
"Draft a statement for an announcement later this week. I'll push legal to move faster."
We spend the next thirty minutes going through the plan, making notes, adjusting strategy.
It's all professional, focused. But there's an undercurrent I can't ignore—the way she bites her lip when she's thinking, the way her voice drops when she's making a point she's passionate about, the way the space between us feels charged.
Finally, she closes her notebook.
"I think we're set. I'll have the draft to you by tomorrow afternoon."
"Scarlett." I don't know what I'm going to say until the words come out.
"You should go home. It's late."
She glances at the clock.
"So should you."
Neither of us moves. Then she picks up her notebook and heads for the door. I watch her go, the door closing behind her with a soft click. I return to my desk but don't sit. Just stand there looking at the papers we were reviewing, her handwriting visible in the margins where she made notes.
This might be more of a challenge than I anticipated.
DAY 30
I need coffee. It's barely ten in the morning, but I've been in back-to-back meetings since seven and the espresso machine in the executive kitchen is calling my name.
I walk into the kitchen and stop. Scarlett is at the coffee station, laughing at something Mike is saying.
He's leaning against the counter, animated, gesturing with his hands as he tells some story.
She throws her head back, genuinely amused.
The sound of her laughter fills the small space. My jaw tightens.
Mike says something else, and she swats his arm playfully.
"Stop, that's terrible."
"I'm serious!" Mike grins.
"You should have seen his face."
I force myself to move, walking to the espresso machine.
"Morning."
They both turn. Mike straightens.
"Mr. Blackwell. Morning."
Scarlett's smile fades slightly, her professional mask sliding back into place.
"Good morning."
I make my espresso, acutely aware of the shift in atmosphere. Mike makes some excuse about getting back to work and leaves. Scarlett finishes preparing her coffee in silence.
"You and Mike seem to get along well," I say, keeping my tone neutral.
"He's been helpful getting me up to speed on the digital strategy." She adds cream to her cup.
"Very knowledgeable."
"Good." I take my espresso and leave before I say something I shouldn't.
Back in my office, I can't stop thinking about her laugh. Open, unguarded, genuine. She doesn't laugh like that with me.
DAY 45
Another late session. This time we're in my office reviewing media talking points for an upcoming interview I'm doing with a financial news outlet.
Scarlett sits across from me, pen in hand, tapping it against her notebook as she thinks.
"The question about corporate oversight is the dangerous one," she says.
"They're going to push on whether this represents systemic failure."
"And we pivot to the independent audit and the actions we're taking."
"Right, but—" She taps the pen faster. "—you need to acknowledge the concern first. Don't deflect immediately. Show you understand why investors are worried."
I lean back in my chair.
"You think I'm going to come across as defensive."
"I think you're going to come across as a CEO protecting his company. Which you are. But you need to show empathy first." She meets my eyes.
"Acknowledge, then pivot. Don't just pivot."
I consider this. She's not wrong.
"You're not afraid to disagree with me," I observe.
She bites her lower lip—that habit again—before responding.
"Should I be?"
"No." I lean forward. "I like it."
A flush creeps up her neck, but she doesn't look away.
"Then I'll keep doing it."
We go back and forth on the talking points for another twenty minutes. She pushes back on my approach twice more, and both times she's right. I adjust my strategy based on her input.
"You're good at this," I tell her as we're wrapping up.
"At disagreeing with you?"
"At seeing the angles I miss. At making me better."
The words hang in the air between us, heavier than I intended. She closes her notebook.
"That's what you're paying me for."
"Is it?" I ask quietly.
She stands. "I should go. It's late."
I don't stop her.
DAY 50
I'm leaving a meeting with legal when I see Scarlett in the hallway, phone pressed to her ear. Her back is to me, shoulders tense, one hand pressed against her temple. I slow my pace, not wanting to interrupt but unable to ignore the stress evident in her posture.
"I understand that," she says into the phone, her voice tight.
"But I've already explained the situation. I can't just—" She stops, listening.
"That's not fair."
I stop walking entirely, staying back far enough that she doesn't see me.
"Fine," she says finally.
"We'll talk about it later. I have to go."
She hangs up and stands there for a moment, head down, breathing. Then she turns and sees me. Her expression shifts immediately, the professional mask slamming back into place.
“Mr. Blackwell."
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"Fine. Just..." She waves her phone vaguely.
"Personal."
I want to push. But I don't have that right.
"If you need anything," I say instead.
"I'm fine. Thank you."
She walks past me, and I let her go. But the image of her standing in that hallway, looking defeated, stays with me the rest of the afternoon.
DAY 60
I'm heading to another meeting when I pass Scarlett's office. The door is open, and I glance in out of habit.
Brad is sitting on the edge of her desk, gesturing animatedly as he tells some story. Scarlett is in her chair, leaning back, smiling wide.
"—and then he just stood there, completely frozen," Brad says, laughing.
Scarlett covers her mouth, trying not to laugh too loudly.
"No, he didn't."
"I swear. Like a deer in headlights. It was the most awkward thing I've ever seen."
She laughs again, the same open, genuine sound I heard in the kitchen with Mike. I keep walking, but irritation flares hot in my chest.
Why is Brad in there? What's so funny? Why does she look so relaxed with him when she's always so guarded with me?
I make it to the conference room and force myself to focus on the meeting. But the image of Scarlett laughing in her office, Brad sitting too close, stays lodged in my mind.
DAY 75
The team decides on a Friday happy hour at a bar near the office. I normally skip these, but Karen specifically asked me to make an appearance, so here I am.
The bar is crowded, music loud, the team scattered in groups. I order a whiskey and find a spot where I can observe without being in the thick of things.
Scarlett is across the room with Daniel and John. She's wearing a dress instead of her usual work attire—dark green, fitted, hitting just above the knee. Her hair is down.
She looks incredible.