“With all due respect,” Ben says. All eyes turn to him. “I find mockery a less than favorable way to get what you want.”
Julian stills. All eyes turn to Ben. He looks completely at ease, unflustered by the conversation that has been rising an octave with each sentence. Inside, my guts are twisting, and I’m trying to unknot them to stay sane.
“She needs to listen,” Julian snaps. He always struggles with confrontation, especially when the other party is calm. He’s lucky he tends to be good at his job.
“She is your boss.”
The room goes quiet. The men who laughed moments ago suddenly find their fingers fascinating. I don’t need to be reminded of my position. But I don’t resent him saying it.
“And the person at the head of this company,” he adds.
That hits. Hard. A single statement reinforcing my position. A battle I’m not fighting on my own. It’s alien, but a relief. My eyesflick to Ben; he doesn’t look at me. His focus is solely on the man in front of him, the one he’s dismantling a single word at a time.
“There will already be footage,” Julian says, changing tact.
“It’s online,” Clara adds. She winces as we make eye contact. “The video—with the egg.”
I nod.
“We need to get this under control.” Julian leans forward, hands clasped. “We need to spin the narrative. Deflect to the good we’re doing.”
“What exactly are you asking of me?” I ask. Not beaten, but now he’s mellowed, willing to listen.
“You on camera. Talking about the good we’re doing.” Julian exhales. “The retreat. What it means to the patients. What it means to you.”
I freeze. My personal life stays personal. I’ve never used Mikey as a marketing strategy, and I won’t start now.
Clara steps in. “Julian.” She chuckles. “Do you really believe Antonia could be the warm face of Opengate? Have you seen her speak on camera?”
My head snaps to the side, and Clara shrugs.
“That interview you did way back when… the one for the business open day. It was awful. You sounded like a robot.”
It’s true. She’s right. Back when it was just the two of us fighting in our own little corner, I’d tried public PR. I think the reporter’s summary wascold and methodical. It didn’t help.
“Well, if not Antonia, who?” Julian mutters, exasperated. “I was told the Jones family is off limits.”
Silence. None of my team volunteers. Multiple men who line their pockets from our company earnings year after year and not one steps forward.
I open my mouth to argue again. Ben’s palm covers my knuckles, stopping me instantly. Something tightens in my lower stomach with the contact.
“If you need someone to speak publicly,” he says evenly. “I’ll consider it.”
He’s stepping into the fire again. I almost react. Almost. Then his grip tightens on my fingers.
And I don’t know whether to stop him from doing this.