Chapter 19 #2
There, on the screen, is one of the lines I wrote. Not word for word, but close enough that I recognize the bones of it immediately.
I look down at my notebook.
I am a cool little cucumber who does not react to tiny things like these.
“We softened the language around construction access,” Marissa says. “The first draft was too focused on efficiency from our side. This version acknowledges the disruption more directly before moving into mitigation.”
Daniel from Development frowns. “I still think ‘disruption’ sounds negative.”
“But it is a disruption,” Marissa says.
Daniel looks offended by this deeply controversial statement.
“We’re closing two side streets and rerouting a bus stop for eight months,” she continues. “People will notice.”
A truly wild concept. People noticing the physical world around them. What’s next? Women having brains?
Legal Guy taps his pen against the table. “The concern is that acknowledging disruption too clearly could make it sound like we’re accepting liability for inconvenience.”
Marissa looks at him. “We are causing inconvenience.”
“Yes, but we don’t have to phrase it like that.”
“It’s—” She stops, then turns to me. “Actually, Carly, this came from your notes. Can you walk us through the angle?”
For half a second, I think I must have misheard her.
Everyone looks at me. Andrew included.
I clear my throat. “We shouldn’t be afraid of saying there will be disruption. Everyone already knows there will be. If we avoid it completely, it sounds like we’re hoping the neighborhood won’t notice the road closures, which makes us look either dishonest or stupid.”
Daniel’s frown deepens.
I probably should have phrased that differently.
Oh well.
“So the better angle is to acknowledge the inconvenience in plain language,” I continue, before I can lose my nerve, “and then move into what BenCo is doing to reduce the impact. Clear signage, temporary access points, delivery windows for local businesses, the updated pedestrian route. It shows that we’ve thought about the actual people who live and work there, not just the construction timeline. ”
Marissa nods. “Exactly.”
Legal Guy studies the slide with one hand resting on his chin. “I don’t hate it.”
“Alert the media,” I mutter.
Andrew coughs once into his hand. Marissa’s mouth twitches. Daniel does not seem amused, but Daniel from Development has the personality of a white sheet of paper, so I try not to take it personally.
“What about affordability?” someone asks from the other end of the table. I think his name is Steven. He looks like he plays golf on the weekends. “Are we addressing that directly?”
Marissa clicks to another slide. “Prepared response is here.”
Oh.
That one is mine too.
Not entirely. She’s edited it, made it cleaner, less Carly, more Communications. But I can still hear myself in it.
Andrew leans forward slightly.
“Carly?” Marissa says. “Same question.”
I look at the slide, then at the table. “We shouldn’t lead with price point.”
Maybe-Steven lifts his brows. “It’s a development project. Price point matters.”
“It does,” I say. “But if someone asks whether Westbrook is going to make the neighborhood less affordable, and our first answer is about market rates, we’ve already lost them. That’s not really what they’re asking.”
“What are they asking?”
“They’re asking if they still belong there.”
The room goes quiet.
Okay, that sounds a bit dramatic. No one gasps, and you can’t hear a pin drop. It’s not a courtroom drama. Unfortunately. But something shifts anyway.
I look back at the slide. “So we shouldn’t answer like we’re defending something. We should answer like we understand why people are worried.”
No one says anything for a moment.
Then Marissa says, “That’s the angle.”
After that, the meeting continues. People talk about timelines, holding statements, local business outreach, and what not to say if a reporter brings up displacement. I take notes, because that is still my job, even if part of me keeps staring at the words on the screen and thinking, I wrote that.
When the meeting finally ends, everyone gathers their things. Marissa closes her laptop and looks at me across the table.
“Thank you,” she says.
I give her a smile that probably looks normal from a distance. “Of course.”
She hesitates, like she might say something else, but then Legal Guy asks her a question and the moment disappears.
Good.
I cannot handle more moments right now.
I close my notebook and stand, ready to follow Andrew back to the executive floor.
“Miss Michaels,” he says.
I stop.
His gaze moves briefly to the others still leaving the room, then back to me. “A moment.”
Oh no.
The room empties. Marissa leaves last, giving me one quick, unreadable glance before the door clicks shut behind her. Then it is just me and Andrew.
He stays standing for a second, one hand resting on the back of his chair.
“You handled that well,” he says.
“Oh,” I say, looking down at my notebook and blushing, because I am an embarrassing individual. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. You understood the issue faster than half the people at this table.”
“Apparently not fast enough.”
Andrew goes still. “What do you mean?”
I press my thumb into the corner of my notebook.
Lie. Make a dumb joke. Pull the fire alarm. Leave.
Instead, I say, “Atlas said no.”
Silence.
I keep my eyes on the table. “I applied for the PR Manager job after Brian mentioned it. I know they’re a competitor, and I know I probably should have told you, but I didn’t.” I swallow. “I just thought maybe it was a way out.”
Andrew is quiet long enough for the words to start curdling between us.
“A way out of BenCo?” he asks.
I look up. And then, because my mouth apparently has a mind of its own, I say, “A way out of being your assistant.”
He closes the folder in front of him. His eyes drop from mine, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter than before.
“I understand.”
I tighten my grip on my notebook. “I didn’t apply because of you.”
His eyes return to mine.
“That came out wrong,” I say immediately. “I mean, not only because of you. I mean—God.” I press my lips together and try to gather whatever dignity I have left, which is very little. “I wanted something that was mine. Something that wasn’t this.”
“This?” he repeats.
I gesture vaguely between the table, the empty chairs, the room, possibly the entire corporate structure of BenCo. “Sitting outside your office. Managing your inbox. Following you from room to room like a little duckling.” I swallow. “I want more. I want to challenge myself and be taken seriously.”
“I gave you the press briefings.”
“I know,” I say. “But it was still on top of everything else.”
That shuts him up, because he knows I’m right.
The press briefings were new. Exciting, even. They made me feel useful in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. But they were also something added to the pile, tucked between calendar management and travel schedules and making sure Andrew had the right version of the right deck.
An opportunity, yes.
But also a weight.
Andrew lets out a breath. “I didn’t think about it like that,” he says.
“Yeah, well,” I begin, not really knowing what to say. “At least it made me realize what I want to do, what I’m good at. So that’s something.”
He looks toward the door, then back at me. “If you want to move down to Communications, I won’t stand in your way,” he says.
I almost laugh. “That’s generous.”
His expression flickers.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” he says.
He shifts his hand on the back of the chair.
“I can’t make that move happen for you,” he says.
“Not cleanly. Not now.” Because of our situation.
He doesn’t say it, but it sits there anyway.
“If Marissa asks for you because she wants you, that’s different.
But it has to come from her.” He studies me for a second, eyes softening. “You impressed people today, Carly.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be nice to me. I can’t handle it.”
His mouth presses into a line, like he almost smiles but thinks better of it. “All right.”
There is a pause. Then he says, “Atlas was wrong.”
I hug the notebook closer to my chest. “They missed out on a very competent little duckling.”
This time, Andrew does smile.
“Yes,” he says. “They did.”