Chapter 9 - The HR Time BombI stared at the glowing screen of my phone, the words swimming in front of my eyes like a death sentence.
An official inquiry is waiting on your desk when you get back to Chicago.
Rebecca noticed the sudden change in my posture. Her fingers tightened around mine.
“Mason? What is it?” she asked, her voice dropping all playful pretense as her professional instincts took over.
I slid my phone across the small wooden table so she could read the screen.
In the dim amber light of the jazz club, Rebecca’s face went completely blank. The warmth vanished from her brown eyes, replaced instantly by the cold, calculating focus of a high-level executive staring down a hostile corporate takeover.
She read the text twice.
Then she slowly set her glass down on the table.
“Sarah Jenkins,” Rebecca said, her voice terrifyingly calm.
“She must have had someone watch us at O’Hare, or tracked our flight manifests through a contact in travel planning,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “Rebecca, if HR launches an official investigation into a conflict of interest between a creative director and a senior copywriter... we’re finished. You’ll be accused of favoritism, and I’ll be the collateral damage.”
“Nobody is finishing anything,” Rebecca said sharply, her chin lifting in that familiar, unyielding way that made me fall for her in the first place.
“Rebecca, be realistic. We walked right into her trap.”
“Sarah wants a war?” Rebecca’s dark eyes flashed with a brilliant, dangerous fire. “Then I’ll give her a war. But we aren't going to fight it on her terms.”
Before I could ask what she meant, Derek slid back into the booth slider beside us, holding three fresh drinks and grinning widely.
“Hey, you guys look like you just saw a ghost,” Derek said, handing a glass to Rebecca. “What did I miss? Did someone order the wrong vintage?”
“Derek,” Rebecca said, turning her full, terrifying attention onto her half-brother. “Your friend Sarah Jenkins has just launched an HR grenade into our department.”
Derek’s smile vanished instantly. He set the drinks down on the table with a clatter. “What do you mean?”
“She filed an anonymous tip with HR accusing Mason and me of violating corporate conflict-of-interest policies based on our trip to New York,” Rebecca said smoothly.
Derek stared at her, his jaw dropping. “Sarah did what? That psychotic little—I’m going to go to her apartment right now and superglue her car doors shut!”
“Violence is charming, Derek, but ineffective,” Rebecca said coldly. “We need a counter-strategy. And we need it before our flight lands in Chicago tomorrow afternoon.”
I looked at Rebecca, watching the wheels turning in her brilliant, strategic mind. Even in the middle of a corporate crisis, she looked breathtakingly formidable.
“What’s your play, boss?” I asked quietly.
Rebecca looked at me, a slow, razor-sharp smile curving her lips.
“We don't deny the relationship, Mason.”
My heart skipped a beat. “We don't?”
“No,” Rebecca said firmly. “If we lie, HR investigates, and Sarah controls the narrative. But if we walk into Monday morning's executive committee meeting and control the narrative ourselves... we turn her little ambush into a PR triumph.”
May you like
“How?” Derek asked, leaning in eagerly.
“By getting ahead of the story,” Rebecca said, standing up from the booth and grabbing her coat. “Mason, finish your drink. We have a campaign to rewrite. Not for Apex Financial—for Landon Creative.”
