Chapter 10 - The Ultimate Plot TwistMonday morning at Landon Creative felt like the final scene of a high-stakes legal thriller.
The thirty-fifth floor executive boardroom was packed. Sitting around the massive oak table were the managing director, the head of HR (David, a man whose favorite hobby seemed to be issuing written warnings), Sarah Jenkins—who wore a smug, victorious smile that screamed she thought she had won—and Rebecca Sloan.
I stood near the door, my heart hammering against my ribs, holding a single manila folder.
David cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses.
“We have received an anonymous, highly detailed report concerning a potential breach of corporate governance and undisclosed conflicts of interest involving Ms. Sloan and Mr. Vance,” David announced, casting a severe look across the room. “Specifically, regarding your joint travel to New York and subsequent personal involvement.”
Sarah Jenkins leaned forward, feigning deep concern. “It’s just really disappointing, David. Some of us work for years to earn our promotions through merit, while others... well, shortcuts are disappointing.”
The room went dead silent. Everyone looked toward the head of the table, waiting for Rebecca to crumble under the weight of the corporate scandal.
Rebecca didn't flinch.
Slowly, gracefully, she stood up from her chair. She didn't look flustered, defensive, or guilty. She looked like a general about to win a war.
“Thank you, David, for bringing this forward with such... prompt efficiency,” Rebecca said, her voice cutting through the silent room like a razor blade. “In fact, it’s wonderful that Sarah brought this to light, because it gives us the opportunity to address Landon Creative’s outdated, archaic fraternization policies head-on.”
David blinked, caught off guard. “Pardon?”
Rebecca walked slowly toward the center of the room, stopping right beside my chair. She placed a hand casually on my shoulder—a gesture so brazenly public that Sarah Jenkins actually gasped out loud.
“As of eight o'clock this morning,” Rebecca announced to the entire board, “I submitted a formal restructuring proposal to the executive board of directors. Effective immediately, I have voluntarily recused myself from all direct oversight of Mason Vance’s creative assignments, transferring his reporting line directly to the creative operations pool.”
David’s jaw dropped. “You... you recused yourself? But what about the Apex Financial account?”
“Mason earned that account entirely on his own merit, as proven by the standing ovation he received from their CEO last week,” Rebecca said smoothly. “Furthermore, pursuant to Section 14 of our corporate charter, personal relationships between employees are permitted provided they are disclosed to HR within twenty-four hours of crossing professional boundaries—a disclosure which Mr. Vance and I formally submitted to the board’s compliance portal at 7:45 AM today.”
The color drained entirely from Sarah Jenkins' face. She sat back in her chair, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“You... you filed the disclosure?” Sarah stammered.
Rebecca turned her head, looking down at Sarah with a look of absolute, surgical pity.
“Transparency is the first rule of good management, Sarah. Something you might learn if you spent less time monitoring other people’s personal lives and more time improving your own quarterly conversion rates.”
A stifled cough of laughter came from the doorway.
Standing in the back of the boardroom, wearing a visitor’s badge and holding a large iced coffee, was Derek.
“Ten out of ten performance, sis,” Derek called out cheerfully. “Can I clap now?”
David, the head of HR, looked frantically between Rebecca, Sarah, and me, before finally clearing his throat and closing the folder in front of him.
“Well... if the disclosure was filed within the twenty-four-hour window, and supervision has been successfully decoupled... then technically, no rules were broken.” David looked up, utterly exhausted. “Meeting adjourned.”
Ten minutes later, the boardroom had emptied out.
Sarah Jenkins had practically sprinted toward the elevators, muttering something about checking her metrics.
Only Rebecca and I remained in the vast, sunlit room, standing beside the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Chicago.
Rebecca let out a long, shaky breath, her professional armor finally dissolving completely. She leaned against the glass, looking up at me with a tired, brilliant smile.
“Well,” she whispered. “That could have gone worse.”
“You are terrifying,” I said, stepping close enough to wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against me. “You completely blindsided them.”
“Rule number one of advertising, Mason,” she murmured, her hands resting softly on my chest as she looked up into my eyes. “Never enter a pitch meeting without knowing every single variable in the room.”
“And what about rule number two?” I asked, smiling down at her.
Rebecca’s dark eyes danced with warmth and mischief.
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“Never let your best friend play matchmaker—unless he accidentally leads you to the best thing that ever happened to your career.”
I didn't answer with words. Instead, I kissed her right there in the executive boardroom, with the entire Chicago skyline stretching out beneath us, knowing that whatever came next, we had officially written our own ending.
