Part 1: Chapter 6

As the door clicked shut behind Anne, the stillness in Damien’s office seemed to envelop him. No, it seemed to suffocate him. The silence, broken only by distant laughter echoing from the main corridor, felt heavy and oppressive. It was as if isolation itself had laid claim to the periphery of his workspace, engaging in a twisted game of duck-duck-goose with his sanity at the fringes of the room. He didn’t like it. Shifting uncomfortably in his waistcoat, he felt the heat from the late afternoon sun spilling through the massive windows, casting long shadows across the room and adding to the stifling atmosphere.

Glancing at his watch, Damien realized it was barely past four, but the thought of enduring another hour in this vacuum was unbearable. With a sigh, he resolved to call it an early day, planning to escape at five after tying up some loose ends. Behind her, like a breath of oxygen twenty thousand leagues under, Anne had left the faintest trace of her lovely scent—the subtlest aromas of whatever rounded, natural scent she had, silky bar soap, and lilac blooms. That scent reminded him of his promise to her. Quickly, he composed an email, attaching the presentations as promised and adding a cheerful sign-off: "Thanks, Anne :)."

As he leaned back in his chair, the squeak of its protest echoed throughout the quiet room. He drummed his fingers on the desk while casually scrolling through the presentation slides again, contemplating Anne’s insight. With a sense of clarity that only hindsight could provide, Damien saw her point now that he’d taken some time to not only hear it but actually consider her input. Despite his initial skepticism, her criticisms held a lot of merit. The infographics were busy, cluttered—just seas of endless data. The layout was chaotic and needed streamlining. He thought back to their first encounter in the elevator, where she had passionately exclaimed, “Right now our marketing solutions are just universal info dumps. Walls of text. Too much all at once. Nobody wants to engage with that.”

She was right. The company’s marketing really had needed some brutal honesty. Even if the board didn’t approve the rebrand, which was certainly a possibility, they needed to overhaul their approach to marketing. Streamlining, simplifying, and embracing the challenges of the 21st century were crucial. Evidently, Anne was going to be the catalyst for that change.

The more Damien thought about it, the more he was glad to have met Anne. She had brought these issues to his attention with an assertive voice that could do a world of good at Hudson Gateway. He’d never met the previous marketing manager for domestic products—or international, for that matter—so he had no way of gauging the quality of their ideas. But if Anne’s complaints held any truth, and if Charlie, the President of Marketing, really was killing ideas before they could grow, it was a problem that needed addressing. As Anne had suggested, vicissitude was important for any company, and Hudson Gateway was no different. Damien decided that he and Charlie would need to have a serious discussion about being more open to progressive ideas, especially from Anne. He could already imagine how that confrontation would play out. Charlie, like a live wire, would likely storm into his office like a cat 5 hurricane in a tirade against the “green woman” in domestic marketing. Damien rolled his eyes at the thought, confident that he could and would stand firm in his support for her progressive ideas.

Fidgeting with his laptop, Damien adjusted it to be perfectly parallel with the edge of the desk. He had another presentation coming up within the month titled “Customer Centricity: Building Strong Relationships for Long-Term Success,” and he made a mental note to ask Anne if she’d be interested in contributing. After all, maintaining customer relationships through marketing was under her purview, and harnessing her expertise could be invaluable.

As the hands of his watch reached five, signaling the end of another busy day, Damien swiftly closed the tabs on his computer and gathered the remaining paperwork on his desk. More than eager to head home, he tidied his workspace with practiced efficiency, meticulously arranging every item before shutting down his computer. With a fluid motion, he slipped on his suit jacket and slung his shoulder bag containing his laptop over one shoulder.

Stepping out of his office and locking it behind him, Damien exchanged polite nods and final words with his remaining C-Suite colleagues as he made his way to the elevator. Stopping in front of Cathy’s desk, he noticed she was packing up her own belongings. She spotted him and smiled in greeting.

“Wow, going home at a normal hour today, Damien?” she asked, pushing in her chair.

“It’s happened once or twice,” he replied with a smile. “I think. Let me walk you to your car.”

Together they made their way to the elevators. While Cathy talked about her daughter’s new puppy—a daughter Damien suspected she was trying to set him up with, given the adjectives she used to describe her—beautiful, intelligent, maternal, and the heavily-and-often-emphasized “single”—he mulled over the events of the day. Part of him hoped Anne would step into the elevator on floor 50 so they could continue any number of conversations he wanted to have. Her insightful observations had left a lasting impression on him. After each of their meetings, he found himself reflecting on her candor and intelligence, which often made him reassess his approach to projects and initiatives. It was rare to encounter someone so willing to challenge the status quo, especially when that status quo came from someone higher up. He couldn’t help but admire her tenacity.

The elevator doors slid open on parking level 2, releasing a swarm of workers eager to head home. Cathy and Damien were greeted by the hot, humid air of the parking garage, mingling with the vaguely stale scent of gasoline. They walked together to Cathy’s car, their footsteps echoing rhythmically in the vast underground space. Once she was seated in the driver’s seat, Damien placed a hand on the roof of her car and leaned down to speak.

“Have a good night, Cathy,” he said.

“Stay out of trouble, Damien,” she replied, starting her car.

“You first.” He stepped back, allowing her to back out and depart. “See you tomorrow.”

As Cathy drove off, Damien felt the strange sense of isolation creep back. It intensified when he closed the door of his own car, shutting out all ambient noise and leaving him with only the sound of his breathing. That sense melted away as the car started, the stereo resuming his playlist with “Frontier Scientist” by The Avalanches. Placing his sunglasses over his eyes—both real and prosthetic—he drove away from the tower, feeling the weight of his day gradually lift with each passing block. Home beckoned, promising solace he was eager to embrace.

Cruising past similarly majestic homes, Damien pulled into his estate, a long stretch of pavement cutting through manicured grass. The driveway ended in a carefully landscaped circular formation, framing a large brick Georgian home. At its center was a modest fountain, flanked by vibrant flowers, flowering fruit trees, and sculptural rock formations. Each detail was illuminated by the warm light of the golden hour.

Letting himself into the grand foyer, Damien set his laptop on the entrance table, shedding his suit jacket and loosening his tie. With a sigh of relief, he kicked off his shoes and slipped into his favorite pair of well-worn, luxurious slippers. He hung up his jacket and tie in the walk-in closet, changing into gray sweatpants and a plain blue T-shirt before heading back downstairs.

Crossing the marble tiles, Damien noticed the mingling scents of flowering trees outside and polished wood and leather within the house. Additional light cascaded through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, bathing the space in a golden hue that highlighted the collection of artwork adorning the walls. Despite himself, he stopped to admire the pieces. He didn’t consider himself a fine art snob, but he appreciated displaying works from local artists and Albany-specific artwork and photographs.

The exception was his prized painting mounted above the fireplace, protected by a pane of glass. It was a heavenly landscape by Frederic Edwin Church, an epitomic example of the Hudson River School. The dramatic sunset scene of the Hudson Valley in autumn commanded attention, offering a tranquil contrast to his bustling modern life.

Flopping onto one of the plush couches, Damien let one leg dangle over the armrest, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He contemplated the banality of the evening ahead. Arriving home before 7:30 was a rarity, even on the best of days. His watch told him the chef should arrive soon to prepare dinner. While the meal was likely something complex like fennel lemon risotto with seared scallops, Damien was tempted to request a comforting dish like chicken parm with linguine. Extra crispy, extra mozzarella, cholesterol be damned.

His phone buzzed, lighting up with an incoming call. Glancing at the screen, Damien answered, “What trouble are you getting into now?”

“Did you look at the meme I sent you?” Erik’s voice carried its usual playful tone.

“Some of us work, you know,” Damien replied, amusement evident as he pulled up the meme. A chuckle escaped him as he read it.

“I thought you’d like it,” Erik said.

“A bit highbrow for you, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you. My intelligence knows no bounds.”

“As long as those bounds don’t exceed the fifth grade,” Damien shot back, quickly continuing before Erik could retort. “What’s your plan tonight? Want to come over? I know you didn’t call just to talk about a meme.” He heard the sound of Erik’s car engine in the background.

“No can do. Practice tonight.”

Damien sighed in disappointment. Sometimes it seemed Erik’s schedule was even more chaotic than his own. While Damien wore one busy hat, Erik juggled several with impressive precision. Despite the teasing, Damien admired his brother’s ability to balance so many moving parts.

“I miss you, man. It feels like it’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other,” Damien admitted, trying to mask the longing in his voice.

“That’s because it has. We haven’t seen each other since vacation. And that’s the real reason I called,” Erik said. “I know we text all the time, but it’s not the same. Stop traveling so much, and we wouldn’t feel like ships in the night.”

Part of Damien agreed. The constant travel was exhausting—early mornings, late nights, red-eye flights, and endless presentations. Coming home to an empty house didn’t help. Even the hot meals he often returned to were prepared by a chef he rarely saw, and often only hot because they had been left in containers to be nuked long after the chef had gone.

Simultaneously, Damien loved the job he did. He loved the ways it was often like a puzzle to solve, finding patterns and acting as the architect of business solutions. He relished improving the climate and building a company culture and morale he hoped employees valued. It allowed him to see the world, meet countless people, and live the fantasy life he’d always envisioned. It was a life of success with a financial cushion that could not be understated—the big house, the dream cars, and the occasional dream vacation. Yet, it came with its own woes and an abundance of sacrifices. That much was certain.

“You know that’s not possible,” Damien said, shaking his head slightly.

There was a moment of silence, filled only by the ambient noise of Erik’s driving. “Hey, you good?” Erik asked.

Damien blew out a raspberry. “Yeah, just…”

“One of those days,” Erik finished for him.

“Yeah. I’m just missing you right now. Let’s hang out soon. I’m long overdue for some quality time. In the meantime, send more memes.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. But you’ve got to actually look at them. Otherwise, I’m wasting precious hours I could spend on something else really stupid.”

“Love you, Erik.”

“Love you too, D.”

The call disconnected.

Damien sat back in his chair, lost in thoughts about Anne and her proposal, and nodding along to the lo-fi beats playing in his earbuds as he pored over a many-paged report on his tablet. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement near the office door. Looking up, he saw Charlie, the President of Marketing, poking his head in. Damien pulled the earbuds out.

“Damien, sorry to barge in. I called and knocked, but you didn’t respond.”

Glancing at the phone, Damien noted the missed call.

“Mind if I steal a moment of your time?” Charlie’s voice was brisk, businesslike.

“Of course,” Damien replied, gesturing for him to take a seat across the desk. “What’s on your mind?”

Charlie settled into the chair, placing a heavy stack of papers on the desk. “I wanted to discuss the proposed launch campaign for the new battery line. I’ve been reviewing the initial strategy plan, and I have some concerns, especially about the budget.”

Damien nodded, signaling for him to continue. Charlie launched into a detailed critique of the proposed marketing plan, laying out areas where he felt it lacked coherence and failed to align with company objectives. Damien listened attentively, making both written and mental notes as Charlie spoke.

As Charlie delved deeper into his analysis, Damien’s thoughts drifted to recent insights from marketing. Anne’s perspective, the prospect of a rebrand, and Charlie’s valid concerns about the new product’s launch all coalesced into a growing sense that they were on the cusp of something revolutionary. However, based on Anne’s observations, Damien suspected Charlie’s solutions might be stale and uninspired.

“You know,” Damien interjected absently as Charlie paused for breath, “I bet Anne has some interesting suggestions that could address some of the issues you’re raising.”

Charlie paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “Anne? From Domestic Marketing?”

Shit. I said that out loud. Damien nodded, striving to appear nonchalant despite knowing he might have just put Anne in an awkward position.

“New eyes. Fresh take. Might be worth looping her into the discussion. Could be an overlooked resource,” Damien said, waving his hand dismissively as if to downplay the suggestion.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Charlie’s face at the mention of Anne. His resistance was palpable. Damien pressed on, leaning forward to meet Charlie’s gaze head-on.

“I didn’t know you knew her,” Charlie said, his voice carrying a razor-thin edge.

Damien chose to ignore the remark. “I understand change can be daunting,” he continued carefully, “but if we want to stay ahead of the curve and our competitors, we need to explore new perspectives. Our success depends on our ability to adapt and innovate—that’s integral to the energy industry, as you know. I’m open to new ideas.”

Charlie’s expression hardened, his grip tightening on the stack of papers. “I’ll take that into consideration,” he replied curtly.

Not exactly the enthusiastic endorsement Damien had hoped for. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he nodded, grappling with a pang of guilt for possibly igniting conflict sooner than intended. “Join me at the board meeting tomorrow,” Damien suggested. “Bring up your concerns. Stop by after 11:15. We should be done with routine material by then.”

Charlie gathered his papers and stood. “Appreciate your ear, Damien,” he said shortly, his tone carrying a drop of acid. He left abruptly.

What the hell was his problem? Damien stared after him, contemplating whether to shoot Anne a quick email to warn her that Charlie might confront her. But what would he say? “Dear Anne, Charlie knows we’ve been talking”? That would only give her something to stress about unnecessarily. He decided to address it later if need be.

With a puff of exhaled breath, he returned his attention to the tablet.

The boardroom buzzed with low conversation as executive team members talked amongst themselves around the sleek mahogany table. Damien sat at the head, flipping through routine reports and action items. As the executive session concluded, he prepared to move on to the next non-agenda item when the door swung open violently, shattering the calm atmosphere.

Charlie entered, but his usual composure was replaced by an unmistakable air of agitation. Beside him, Anne looked visibly unnerved, her usual confidence wavering under the firm grip he had on her arm. Anne locked eyes with Damien, who gave her a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, silently urging her to trust him. He saw the panic swimming in her eyes.

“Sorry for the interruption,” Charlie announced sharply, not sounding apologetic at all. “But I believe there’s a matter that needs urgent attention.”

The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward Charlie and Anne. Damien raised an eyebrow, silently urging Charlie to explain.

Charlie released Anne’s arm, forcing her into a seat before positioning himself beside her, his posture rigid with authority. “It has come to my attention,” he began, his tone laced with disapproval, “that there have been certain unauthorized actions taken within the marketing department.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. Damien felt unease prickle at the back of his mind, bracing himself for the inevitable storm. Charlie’s body language told Damien this was not definitely not just about a problem with a new product, its potential marketing, or its proposed budget. No, this was something much bigger than that, and whatever “exposee” he was about to hand deliver had just become a major problem. Damien’s heart skipped a beat as it became clear precisely what Charlie was alluding to. How he’d obtained that information, however, remained a mystery. Not that it ultimately mattered because whoever he had confronted in the past 12 hours had certainly been a subordinate following orders.

“Specifically,” Charlie continued, his voice gaining an edge, “there have been a lot of unauthorized man-hours allocated to a project I was not made aware of.”

Damien exchanged a quick glance with Anne, who met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. It was clear: Charlie was throwing Anne under the bus, sparing no punches.  He had come at Anne with a vengeance for talking to someone she probably “shouldn’t have” and spending valuable time and resources on pies he didn’t have his fingers in.

“I find it deeply concerning,” Charlie’s voice rose, “that decisions of this magnitude are being made without proper oversight. It undermines the integrity of my department and jeopardizes my marketing initiatives.”

Damien felt indignation rise within him. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to remain composed, his pointer finger tapping the table a few times. “I can assure you, Charlie,” he said calmly, his voice flinty, “that any decisions made within marketing were done unquestionably with the company’s best interests in mind.”

Charlie’s lips curled into a thin line, condescension dripping from every word. “Be that as it may, protocol was not followed. For that, there must be accountability.”

Frustration boiled beneath Damien’s calm facade, but he held firm. “Perhaps,” he suggested diplomatically, “you and I can discuss this specific matter of perceived insubordination further in a private setting. Tête-à-tête, away from an unnecessary audience."

Charlie hesitated, then gave a curt nod. “Very well,” he said tightly, his eyes briefly narrowing on Anne before he turned and left the boardroom. Anne stood, trailing after him cautiously.

Damien watched them leave, tension hanging heavy in the room. He wasn’t done with Charlie yet.

“Charlie,” Damien called sharply, halting him in his tracks. “Come back here, please.”

Anne froze mid-step, glancing back nervously, but Damien’s voice softened as he added, “You too, Anne.”

After a pause, Charlie reluctantly turned back, irritation etched on his face. Anne followed a few steps behind, her movements tentative as she approached the boardroom again.

Damien’s voice was calm but carried a sharp undertone as he addressed Charlie. “Sit down.”

Charlie hesitated, clearly torn between storming out and adhering to Damien’s authority. After all, he couldn’t complain about insubordination and then blatantly disregard an order from his superior.

“What, Damien?” Charlie snapped, his tone brusque. 

“We’re not done.”

Reluctantly, he sank back into the chair that moments earlier had been occupied by Anne. He sat brooding, his agitation palpable.

“Anne, could you please wait outside for a few minutes?” Damien said delicately, gesturing toward a chair in the lounge area nearby. His voice betrayed none of the situational unease he felt. “I’ll call you back shortly.”

Anne nodded mutely, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Damien couldn’t help but find the rosy hue in her cheeks marginally endearing.

He waited for the door to close behind her before turning his attention back to the remaining board members. Lowering himself into his chair again, he addressed them. “Before we were so rudely interrupted,” he began, his gaze lingering pointedly on Charlie with an unreadable expression, “I believe our esteemed colleague had some non-agenda items he wished to address. Concerns about the proposed marketing strategy for the new solar power bank, if I recall. Care to elaborate on our discussion from last night?”

Charlie’s jaw tightened at the mention of their previous conversation. He seemed to have forgotten it in his haste to cause a scene. Nevertheless, he nodded curtly. “Yes, I do,” he replied tersely through gritted teeth. “I have serious concerns about the budget allocation for this project. The figures simply don’t line up as they currently stand, and beyond that, I’m not convinced the proposed strategy is the best use of our resources.”

“Do you have materials to present?” Damien asked, though he knew the answer.

“No,” Charlie said flatly, shooting Damien a dirty look.

Damien shook his head in exaggerated disappointment, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Charlie. “Unpreparedness doesn’t look good on you, Charlie. I expected more after our conversation.” His tone remained level. “Carry on.”

Charlie scowled, the tips of his ears reddening, but he launched into his spiel. Damien half-listened as Charlie outlined his objections to the board, nodding along with feigned interest. His mind, however, was elsewhere, preoccupied with planning his next steps. Charlie’s disorganized delivery did little to sway anyone’s opinion on the matter.

“Thanks for bringing these issues to our attention, Charlie,” Damien said coldly once Charlie finished speaking. “We’ll take them into consideration as we move forward with the project. We’ll reconvene at a later date to address any outstanding issues, provided you present us with adequate evidentiary materials to support your viewpoint.”

Charlie bristled, but Damien held his gaze unflinchingly. Charlie’s childish outburst had only reinforced Damien’s resolve to assert his authority. Charlie’s posture betrayed his desperation to leave.

Oh, but I’m not done with you yet, Damien thought.

“Can someone at that end bring Anne back in, please?” Damien requested.

One of the members rose to fetch her. When Anne re-entered, Damien gestured for her to take the empty seat to his left. She dragged her pendant across the chain a couple of times as he addressed the board with steely intent. “Evidently, there has been a misunderstanding that needs clarification—later discussions about hierarchy violations aside.”

Anne’s eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at Charlie, who mirrored her bewildered expression, before cautiously taking her seat. Her posture was stiff, her blouse and jeans starkly contrasting the designer suits surrounding her. Damien noticed, for the first time, how she stood out as the lone woman in a room full of powerful men who could easily dismantle her career if Charlie’s accusations had any merit.

Turning back to the board, Damien’s tone was calm yet authoritative. “The actions taken within the marketing department were not unauthorized, as Charlie has alleged. In fact, they were carried out under my direction.”

Anne’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief as murmurs of surprise spread through the room. Charlie’s face morphed into one of humiliated disbelief.

Good.

“Anne and I have been discussing the potential for a rebrand project for some time now,” Damien continued. “While we initially planned to wait until we had a concrete proposal before bringing it to the board, recent events have forced our—my—hand.” He let his words hang in the air, his eyes briefly cutting to Charlie.

“That being said,” Damien went on, “it’s only fair to provide the board with a brief overview of the project, even though Anne wasn’t prepared to present today. Questions can be addressed during the formal presentation at a later date.”

After brief introductions, Damien nodded for Anne to proceed, subtly asserting his role as the leader. She hesitated momentarily but soon launched into a succinct summary of the rebrand project. As clunky as they may have been and despite the lack of preparation, Anne’s words were far more coherent than Charlie’s, painting a vivid picture of their vision for the company’s future. Damien felt pride swell within him, not just for the progress being made but for the eloquence, confidence, and passion with which Anne spoke. Her poise, determination, and proactivity were qualities he admired.

Charlie’s stunned expression suggested he was beginning to understand he wasn’t the sole decision-maker in marketing. Damien took satisfaction in that. Despite Charlie’s efforts to undermine him, Damien remained firmly in control.

Once Anne finished, Damien nodded approvingly. The board murmured their appreciation for her impromptu presentation. Adjourning the meeting, Damien caught Charlie trying to slip away. He gestured for Charlie and Anne to join him in his office, his expression leaving no room for debate. Charlie’s posture slumped in resignation, while Anne walked with confidence.

Inside the office, Damien wasted no time. “Charlie,” he began, his tone laced with frustration, “what you did in there was entirely unacceptable.”

Charlie bristled. “I was simply addressing a matter of protocol—”

“Protocol?!” Damien interrupted incredulously, crossing his arms. “Dragging Anne into the boardroom and publicly chastising her without any evidence to support your claims? That’s not protocol, Charlie, that’s pure unadulterated, unbridled, petulant unprofessionalism. That is not something I’m keen on tolerating.”

Anne’s eyes flashed as her spine straightened. Her voice was firm. “I won’t stand here and be accused of something I didn’t do. My team and I have worked, and will continue to work, tirelessly on this project, and I don’t appreciate having my efforts, or theirs, undermined. You don’t get to dismiss my contributions just because you’re uncomfortable with change. You're only as good as your manager and—”

“Careful,” Damien warned, though he appreciated her resolve.

She took a breath, her tone icy and confident. “I deserve to be heard. That’s why I was hired.”

Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but Damien silenced him with a raised hand. “For you to shoot down any ideas that don’t come from your shallow-seeded mind is not only short-sighted, but it’s also stifling the potential for any innovation within the marketing department,” Damien said coldly.

Charlie’s face darkened with indignation. “I beg your pardon—”

“No Charlie, you don’t get to ‘beg pardon,” Damien retorted, pulling at his collar as heat began to rise. “You’ve coasted on mediocrity for too long, shooting down ideas you deem risky or unconventional. That ends now.”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing in a quieter, intense tone. “If I reviewed the exit interviews from the last marketing manager’s tenure, I’d likely find similar complaints, wouldn’t I?”

Charlie’s lip curled in a snarl.

“Anne brought a fresh perspective, one I value and respect. Instead of embracing it, you dismissed it without thought. That ends now.”

Charlie’s face turned red as he clenched his fists. “You have no right to speak to me like this,” he spat, his voice trembling with fury.

The goddamn audacity, Damien scoffed internally.

“Oh, but I do,” said Damien coolly. “Not only am I the one with CEO written on my door, but unlike you, Charlie, I’m not afraid to challenge the status quo. I’m not afraid to push boundaries and explore new ideas. That’s one reason why I’m in this office and you’re not. And if you can’t handle that reality check, then maybe it’s time for you to reconsider your role within this company.”

A tense silence filled the room, the weight of Damien’s words settling like a storm. Charlie glared, his nostrils flaring with anger not unlike a bull about to charge at a goading matador. Yet beneath his anger, Damien caught a flicker of uncertainty. Anne’s eyebrows lifted as she observed the exchange in quiet surprise.

Damien’s tone softened slightly, though it remained firm as he turned his attention to Anne. “And as for you, Anne,” he began, his voice steady but assured, “your contributions to the marketing department have been invaluable despite your short tenure, and I won’t let anyone’s insecurities undercut that.”

Anne’s lips curved into a grateful smile, her eyes shining with appreciation. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with emotion.

“Furthermore,” Damien continued, his gaze shifting back to Charlie, “I want to make one thing abundantly, Swarovski clear. If I so much as suspect that you are retaliating against Anne in any way for what transpired today, there will be consequences. And those consequences will not be remotely pleasant.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed, defiance flaring in their depths. “Are you threatening me, Damien?” he demanded, his voice sharp with fury.

Damien met Charlie’s gaze head-on, his resolve unshaken. “Consider it a promise,” he replied evenly, his tone unwavering. “I will not tolerate any form of retribution or retaliation against Anne or any other member of my marketing team. Is that understood?”

Charlie’s jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek twitching. After a brief pause, he nodded, his tone begrudging. “Understood,” he muttered, the words laced with bitterness.

Who's got the proverbial bigger dick now, Charles? Damien thought, though he kept his expression impassive. He gave a curt nod in acknowledgment. “Good,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no further argument. “Now you’re dismissed, Charlie. We’ll reconvene within the next few days to discuss the next steps for your revised plan to market the battery packs.”

Charlie shot a lingering glare at both Damien and Anne before storming out, the tension in the room seeming to dissipate the moment the door clicked shut behind him. Damien shook his head slightly, considering Charlie’s uncharacteristically hair-trigger temper. Come to think of it, Damien’s own patience with Charlie had been unusually thin as well.

Turning back to Anne, Damien’s expression softened with genuine concern. “Are you alright?” he asked gently, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Anne glanced at his hand, prompting Damien to withdraw it immediately, taking a step back. Instead of recoiling, she met his gaze with a grateful smile, her eyes reflecting a mixture of appreciation and determination. “I’m fine, Damien,” she replied, her voice steady and resolute. “Thank you for standing up for me, but I don’t need anyone to fight my battles. I can handle myself. And I should handle myself. Working out my issues with Charlie is all part of the process, right?”

Damien gave her his full attention. As she spoke, his eyes caught on a faint, golf ball-sized discoloration on her neck—yellow and purple, likely a fading bruise. It looked like she’d tried to cover it with makeup, but the stress of the day had likely caused it to wear off. His throat tightened as his gaze lingered a moment too long, but he quickly looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

He nodded, acknowledging her fortitude. “I know. I have no doubts about that. But that doesn’t mean you should have to fight alone,” he said sincerely. “It also doesn't mean that you get to, I don't know, leave the dugout to umpire your own game. You don't suddenly get the ability to go rogue because of my support for you. It’s my responsibility to ensure that you, and all of my employees, are treated with the respect and dignity they deserve. Especially when they get blindsided with whatever bullshit temper tantrum that was.”

“I understand I was out of line to speak like that. And thank you,” Anne said, her smile shaky but appreciative.

Damien returned her smile with a nod, a pang of indecipherable discomfort wriggling in his stomach. He chose to ignore the gnawing feeling. “Of course. But I want to make sure you know I’m here for you. If you need anything, whether to talk or address concerns, my door is always open. Well, sort of. You know what I mean. Shoot me an email first.”

Anne’s smile widened, a hint of relief evident in her expression. “I appreciate it more than you know,” she said softly. “It’s nice to feel like my ideas are valid.”

A moment of quiet understanding and solidarity settled between them. Damien broke the silence with a chuckle, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Not going to lie, though,” he said, his humor returning, “I’m relieved we don’t have to keep that secret under wraps anymore. We can work on it openly now.”

Anne exhaled, visibly expelling her stress. “Tell me about it.”

“Alright, now get out of here, Shackleton,” Damien teased with a wink. “I’ve got work to do, and so do you. There’s a whole rebrand proposal that needs finishing, unimpeded, I hope.”

She grinned. “See you later, Damien.” With a sweet, genuinely gracious glance over her shoulder, she pulled the door open and left.

The moment she was gone, Damien sank into one of the couches, pinching the bridge of his nose as he replayed the events of the past few hours.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered with a heavy exhale. With self-awareness, he added, “I am not paid enough for this.”

He most definitely was.