Rose #3
I'd love to know what the hell that's about. Truly. Unfortunately, the list of interpersonal mysteries currently awaiting my attention has developed a backlog, so this one can take a number.
“What's this about?” Michael asks.
“The press is running a story.” I gesture toward the screen on the wall. “One of our sources flagged it about thirty minutes ago. May I?”
I reach for the cable.
“Please,” Blaire says before Michael can answer.
My brother glances at her, and something passes between them that looks suspiciously like the continuation of whatever argument we interrupted, but he lets it go.
Thank Christ for small mercies.
I connect my laptop, the screen changes, and whatever strange little war is happening around this table gets temporarily demoted by the much larger one staring back at us.
"The Los Angeles Journal is running a piece framing the Monroe Communications engagement as a publicity stunt. The angle is that the board brought in outside help specifically to manufacture investor confidence ahead of Meridian closing," I start. "They're calling it damage-control theater."
I take it from there while they read on, walking them through the gist of it: how the piece names Monroe Communications outright, how it cites the board's private concerns about Bennet's image almost word for word, how it frames the whole hire as a calculated performance to soothe skittish investors rather than any real change on my brother's part.
I point out the quotes as they hit them.
The unnamed sources, one after another, all singing the same tune: a fractured board, a last-ditch grab to hold Meridian together.
I look up, and my eyes land on Ms. Monroe, who's gone very still and very professional in the way of a woman watching her own name become a liability in real time.
"How long before it's published?" Ms. Monroe asks.
"Live within the hour."
Immediately everyone starts strategizing, but my brain's already made the plan. It's right there in front of us, plain as day. Considering Michael's obvious disdain for this woman, though, I already know exactly how this is going to go.
I brace for impact. "May I suggest something?"
Michael's jaw clenches, and he doesn't even look up. "What."
Fucking hell. Here we go.
"Position yourselves as the couple. Ms. Monroe isn't here as a PR consultant.
She's here because the two of you have a long-distance history, friends who got closer and finally took it somewhere.
Get photographed together. Same engagement, different frame.
It kills both narratives with one carefully curated story. "
If he could get over himself for one second, he'd see this is the play.
"Abso-fucking-lutely not." He's immediately on his feet, grabbing his jacket, and then he's out the door without a word or a glance in our direction.
Goddamn it, Michael. For fuck's sake.
"I'll get him. We need to discuss this with some level of maturity."
I step into the hallway. Michael's got both hands pressed flat to the wall, leaning into it, head hanging low between his shoulders.
My anger isn't aimed entirely at him. It's a simmering pot of everything, all of it at once, and I can already feel the boil-over coming up through my shoulders as I close the distance.
"Bennet." I use his formal name in place of Michael since we're in earshot of passersby. "I don't care what tantrum you're winding up for, or what stick you've got lodged up your ass where Blaire Monroe is concerned. I cannot fix this mess by myself. Not this time."
He looks at me, and I nearly cave. For a second he's fourteen again, all lost and furious, and my whole chest goes soft. But I power through it.
"Get your goddamn head in the game and your ass back in that conference room. Right the fuck now, little brother."
The next half hour passes in a blur. I can barely focus.
I feel the exhaustion bleeding down into my bones.
I haven't spared Jackson a single glance the entire time because I can't afford to break, and something about the way he's been looking at me lately makes me want to curl up into his arms and let him keep the whole world off me.
That's not who I am. I'm the protector. He weakens me in ways I can't afford, and I can't afford much right now.
Michael walking out of the conference room clears my head enough to snap me into work mode. The rest of us stand and start heading out of the room.
"We'll head to New York first thing, get a meeting with Mr. Sakura and steady the waters. Jackson, you're with me. He's going to ask about the investment, and I'll need you at your sharpest," I say as we enter Frank's office to grab my things.
He nods, thumbing a note onto his iPad.
"Good call. And if we're going to have to loop in Tokyo, we get ahead of that now." Frank shakes his head. "This is a shitshow. He may be a grown man, but he acts like a goddamn toddler."
"Watch it, Frank." I level him with a look. "That toddler signs your paychecks, and he's my brother. So watch your goddamn mouth."
Jackson brushes a hand over his jaw to hide a smirk as I walk out of the office and head to find Michael.