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“They want to ‘take back their power’.”
I frown. Public relations has never been my strong suit. Data doesn’t lie and I follow the numbers. It’s my job to find problems in the mechanics of a business, much like a workman in a garage. I take out the unhealthy parts. Replace them with new ones. Make the machine run again.
It’s simple.
“Fine. Fix it.”
“Me?” His eyes widen.
“Yes, you.” I check my watch and push away from the desk. “I’m not putting out a public statement or holding a press conference for this nonsense.” I wave a hand at him. “Short of that, you can do anything you want to out the fire.”
“Bolton.” Vargas whips around, gripping the back of the sofa. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve got a meeting.”
“There’s no meeting on the schedule.”
I throw a backwards wave. “I want a solution by the end of the day, Vargas.”
His angry mutters follow me all the way to the elevator.
I smirk at his annoyance. I pay Vargas an insane amount of money to handle crap like this. He’s mouthy but good at what he does. I have no fear that he’ll be able to come up with a way.
The elevator doors open.
Employees hurl greetings at me and I acknowledge them with a curt wave.
Outside, my driver opens the back door for me.
“Where are we headed, sir?”
I open my tablet and lean back, “To the most important negotiation of my life.”
* * *
Ms. Phoebe slamsa cup of tea before me and hits me with a dark frown. The wrinkles around her blue eyes deepen like tissue paper.
“Thank you.” I stiffly pick up the drink.
It’s cold.
The head of the foundation folds herself primly into a chair. Her face has a hint of a pinch when she settles in. She’s getting too old for this, but she’s not ready to admit defeat. Her shoulders are tense when she folds her hands over the table and looks at me.
For a while, she says nothing.
I take the chance to observe her office. It’s cramped with cabinets, stacks of files, and colorful rugs. The photos on the wall tell a story. Snapshots of her receiving awards from governors and officials are stuck to her cabinet drawers. Faded. Unloved. Almost like an afterthought.
The more pronounced photographs are of her in service. Stills of newly-constructed houses. Orphanages. Children in hats and gowns holding diplomas.
My eyes linger on a picture with Ms. Phoebe and Clarissa. Ris is beaming at the camera, her smile so wide that it takes my breath away.
Damn. She’s so beautiful.
Not just her face.
Everything about her.
She’s giving. Loving. Willing to sacrifice herself for others. It was the easiest thing to fall in love with her back then and I realize those feelings are still there.