I speak over the growing chatter, forcing my voice to climb up an octave. “Ronald Campbell, the Vice-President Operations, and Daniel Penner, the Vice-President Finance, will be taking over as Co-Presidents for the interim leadership until there’s a singular candidate voted by the board. The final candidacy will be confirmed—at the latest—by the end of this quarter. That’s 38 days, not including today.”
I finally look up to see every single hand raised. We had already informed the attendees that there was going to be a ten-minute Q&A at the end of the briefing.
Guess now’s the time.
Squaring my shoulders, I lock eyes with a woman carrying the Daily Ledger badge and nod.
She smoothly grabs the microphone and introduces herself before asking her question. “Mr. Astor, because your presidency was contingent upon the marital sub clause, is it true that you were never the president, only an interim president for the past three years?”
The flatness and composure of her voice don’t hide the slight, triumphant scorn hidden in her expression. And I realize that the clause leaking all those weeks ago was always going to have lasting effects. No matter if I fulfilled it.
I clear my throat, pinning her with a steady gaze. “That is correct. My five-year probation was as the interim president.”
“And now that you’ve resigned, does that mean—”
The mic is snatched from her before she can finish her follow-up question. But I’m sure she won’t be the only one voicing it.
And it happens only two civilized questions later.
A smarmy-looking reporter introduces himself and then gives me a full-blown smile before splitting my world in half. Because his question, though professional, is dangerously framed. Forcing me to publicly acknowledge my fuck up.
“Are you resigning so that you can get rid of the clause and finally pursue the woman you photographed with last month?”
I’m not worried about myself. But I’m downright terrified of my answer backfiring on Cece somehow. No matter how I structure it, they strip it apart.
Fuck I need to be careful with how I word this. “I’m resigningandgetting rid of the clause so that Cece—Ms. Celestine Wentworth and I can build something without the clause hanging over our heads,” I say, watching his brows quirk with amusement.
It makes me want to punch the shit out of his sleazy smirk. “A clause—might I add—that was created by Odette and Thomas Astor to ensure I never went past the probationary period.”
For some reason, he’s allowed a follow-up. And my hackles rise when he mulls over my answer, jaw working with a question I fear will doom me. “But you could’ve kept the presidencyandMs. Wentworth. Why resign?”
That’s my out. He just asked a question I’ve already answered.
So I curve my lips into a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes as I say my next words. “I’ll repeat, Mr. Lewis. I’m resigning so that Ms. Wentworth and I can build something without the clause hanging over our heads.”
That kills whatever fascination these people have with my love life. And the questions become a bit more palatable. My answers are swift and clear.
“…will there be a vote on the next presidential candidate?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be a voting member, considering you’re still a shareholder?”
“No, since our bylaws state that a shareholder candidate running for senior leadership cannot be a voting member. And I’m one of the candidates who will be running for the presidency next month.”
“You’re resigning and… running again?”
I keep my expression neutral when the same man stammers his follow-up. “I’m resigning from the interim presidency that Iinherited. And running again as the elected one.”
The ten-minute Q&A is over fast. Ronald takes over most of the last-minute stray questions, and I walk out of the hall with my guards surrounding me.
Just as I’m about to reach my car, my phone vibrates in my coat pocket. Elation washes over me, expecting Cece, but it quickly becomes exasperation when it’s Taewon.
“I’m guessing you saw?”
He chuckles. “That was definitely better than your last press briefing.”
“And why aren’t you back yet?”
