“It’s too late, Tess,” says Grant.
“PFH is officially in damage control mode,” Dale echoes.
“Damage control?” I repeat with a raised brow. “What the heck does that mean? Am I not allowed to defend myself here?”
Grant scoffs. “And what defense can you launch to the lead partner of PFH for why you let it look like you’re cheating on her son with a 22-year-old NHL star?”
“I was not cheating on Troy in the middle of my best friend’s wedding,” I cry. “And besides, I’d have to still be with Troy for anything I do with another person to count as cheating—”
“We’re still married,” Troy says. “You’re my wife, Tess. Jesus—”
“That’s a technicality and we all know it.”
“It’s a temporary separation. We’re working on our relationship,” he counters. “And it’s private—”
“Ohmygod, are we rewriting history now?” I shout. “Okay, you want to talk about PFH as a ‘family first’ company?” I say, using air quotes. “What about you, Troy? Where was the conference room shakedown when you cheated on me with your secretary in your fucking office? I got to walk in and catch Candace on her knees with your cock in her mouth—”
“Whoa,” says Dale, leveling a warning hand at me. “Tess, let’s try not to get vulgar here.”
I turn to him, eyes wide. I feel like I’ve stepped into some kind of alternate dimension. “This is so messed up,” I say, breathless. “This is so completely fucked. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You know as well as anyone that appearance is everything,” says Dale. “We can’t excuse this kind of negative press when it involves our partners and their families. There has to be consequences for any and all morality clause breaches.”
“So, what were his consequences?” I cry, waving my hand across the table at Troy. “He fucks anything with tits, he does it on PFH property, and yet I’m the one getting my wrist slapped for dancing at a wedding?”
“He wasn’t photographed,” Grant replies.
“And it wasn’t splashed across the AP for all our clients to see,” adds Dale.
I just shake my head, actually feeling the moment I lose all faith in humanity. It slips from my body like a puff of smoke, floating before my eyes before it disappears. “So that’s it then? One standard for him and another for me? Seems really fair—”
“One standard period,” Dale counters.
“So, what’s happening now then?” I say. “What’s my punishment for daring to emasculate Bea’s precious son?”
“Careful,” Troy growls. “I pushed Mother to be lenient here. Don’t make me change my mind.”
“A leave of absence,” says Dale over him. “Only temporary, of course.”
“Oh my god!” Shoving back from the table, I stand. “A leave of absence? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Only until this all dies down,” he goes on. “Likely we’ll have a plan of action that will involve you and Troy doing some image control—a few public functions, some client dinners. And Troy is fully on board,” he adds. “We all want this smoothed over as quickly as possible. In six weeks, we can reevaluate.”
“Six weeks?” I cry.
Dale just nods. “That’s been company policy in the past for administrative leaves.”
Across from me, Troy nods too. He’s trying to keep his expression solemn, but I can see the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. Fucker. This is what he wants. Any excuse to keep me trapped under his thumb. Never mind that I close nearly double the deals that he does. I may be the greater financial asset to PFH, but Troy is the legacy with ties to the company’s founder. He’s the heir apparent to our current CEO.
Speaking of the queen…
“I don’t believe for one second that Bea agreed to this,” I say. “She wouldn’t. She can’t.”
Bea Owens has long been like my guardian angel. My own mother never cared about me. She was always chasing her next boyfriend and hopping from job to job. I lived with whichever family member was willing to take me in for a few days or weeks at a time. But I was always just an inconvenience. Always in the way.
Not to Bea. She saw my talent and drive. She recruited me into PFH and paved the way for me to make junior partner. When everything with Troy and I started to fall apart, Bea helped us try and make it work.