JACK
Good. Because if he even hinted at the possibility, I’d have to reconsider working here, and I’ve grown accustomed to my career. I don’t want to start over somewhere else. “Then what are we doing?”
“I’m trying to keep the gala from turning into a referendum on my decision-making.”
“It already is,” Harrison says. “You just haven’t responded yet.”
Silence falls again. Heavy. Charged. He’s not wrong, and we all know it. I finish the last of my coffee. Cold now. Bitter in a different way. Then I look at Gavin. Really look at him.
And I see the weight on him—the pressure of being his mother’s son in a company she built with gold-plated claws. He’s trying to run forward with her hand still clenched in his shoulder blades.
It won’t work. I clear my throat. “She’s testing you.”
“No s**
