Page 43 of Babies for the Big Shot

She didn’t know what was coming. And the knowledge that I failed to protect her from this makes something in my chest twist with sharp, nauseating regret.

“I’ll deny it,” I say finally.

Jonah blinks, taken aback. “You’ll what?”

“To the board. To the press. I’ll say it’s not her. Say it was someone else. A friend. A date. The photo’s grainy, the lighting’s poor, it was raining. Let them chase shadows.”

He exhales a quiet, humorless laugh. “You seriously think that will work?”

I shoot him a hard look. “Do you have a better plan?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches me, silent and inscrutable, the way he has done for two decades of my worst decisions, assessing the trajectory of my downfall with clinical detachment. Finally, he sighs and runs a hand across his face.

“Honestly? Maybe not.”

The admission surprises me.

He gestures toward the phone still lying on my desk. “She’s not named in any of the coverage. There’s no direct link back to her unless someone leaks it internally. And she won’t. You know that as well as I do. If we refuse to confirm it, the press won’t have enough to make it stick.”

“They haven’t speculated?” I ask, my voice low, measured.

“Not by name. Some Reddit threads think it’s an actress you dated five years ago. No one credible has identified her.”

“Perfect.” The word lands heavy with grim finality. “Let them chase that.”

Jonah lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “We stonewall. Issue no comment. The firm will draft a holding statement if the board forces it, citing that your private life has no bearing on operational integrity. You’ll look like an arrogant bastard, but that’s hardly out of character.”

“Thank you for the morale boost,” I mutter.

He smiles faintly, though there’s no amusement in his eyes. “Just doing my job.”

I turn my gaze back to the image still glowing on the screen. The way I’m holding her. The way she’s holding me inreturn, unapologetically close. There’s nothing accidental in it. Nothing I can wave off as impulse or error. It carries weight, consequence. A quiet gravity pulling everything in its path toward a point I may not come back from.

And in another life, a different world, I wouldn’t hide it. I would claim it. Claim her.

But this isn’t that life.

And I won’t be the reason her name is dragged through public filth. I will not allow her ambition to be reframed as seduction. I won’t let her brilliance be reduced to gossip fodder in the hands of men who see women as nothing but leverage.

“Damage control,” I say quietly. “We let the photo fade. We give the board a version that protects the company. Meanwhile, she and I keep our distance. No contact at work. No personal interactions. At least until this dissipates.”

Jonah tilts his head, studying me with the weary acceptance of a man who knows exactly how this ends. “Can you actually do that?”

I hold his gaze. “I have to.”

He studies me, silent. Calculating. Measuring the margin between instinct and impulse. He doesn’t challenge it. Just nods once.

I look at the image again. A still frame with teeth. A single moment, caught and frozen, already pulling at the edges of everything I’ve kept contained.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

I don’t stop moving. “To handle the fallout.”

The hallway feels longer than it is. Every glance, every half-swallowed whisper, tells me the photo is moving faster than we’d hoped. I ignore it. Focus sharpens into a single objective.

Sara.

She wouldn’t have seen it yet. Not unless someone showed her. Even then, she wouldn’t grasp the scale, not immediately.