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“You don't need to describe what Willow has been working on,” he snaps. “Try all you want, son, but don't kid a kidder.”
Anything I was about to say is instantly silenced when the bathroom door swings open to reveal a fully dressed, very composed Willow. We sent our clothes down to be dry cleaned earlier, and she looks fresh and poised as she strides across the room without so much as a glance my way.
“Mr. Cargill.” She thrusts out a hand, looking him straight in the eye. “My name is Willow Anderson. I am the public relations professional your son hired in the wake of the video leak.”
He accepts her handshake, though there’s still derision dancing at the corners of his smirking mouth.
“I'm sure it was quite a shock, hearing about what's transpired over the past week or so, but rest assured, everything is firmly in control. As Sawyer just explained, the dinner meeting with the city council was nothing short of a success, and a second event scheduled to take place tomorrow afternoon should go the rest of the way toward cementing the city council's vote.”
“And what miraculous event would this be?”
She lifts her chin in the face of his sarcasm. “A luncheon to celebrate a new program your family is sponsoring. The goal is to reach out to underprivileged children and provide them with free sailing lessons.”
“And they’ll have the opportunity to use what they've learned... when, exactly?”
“That's up to them,” she fires back, unruffled except for the fresh color in her cheeks. “The point is, the Cargill family is going to be more than just a name associated with a yacht club. Much like the expansion of the club will foster a greater sense of community, so will this program. We need the public to see your family as a true contributor to this town.”
“We already are,” he insists, his chest puffing.
“Just the same. This is the sort of announcement that stirs up a lot of good will, and that good will takes us the rest of the way to the finish line.”
I think I just witnessed a miracle. Never has anyone so effortlessly silenced Alistair Cargill. “I…” That’s the best he can do while the crackling tension begins to dissipate. I wonder if she has the slightest clue what a victory she just scored.
“And in case you're wondering,” she continues, folding her hands in front of her and throwing back her shoulders, “I do realize how unprofessional this incident is, and I take responsibility for it. I intend to maintain my position until the luncheon has concluded.”
She what? “Willow—”
“After that,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over me, “I intend to resign.”
