Darla spent little time in them.
Her personal assistant had been fielding calls since dawn.
Fashion journalists wanted statements.
Business reporters asked whether she'd remain president.
A luxury hotel group had postponed a planned promotional event.
A celebrity stylist requested clarification about an upcoming partnership.
And an advertising agency asked whether the company intended to change the faces appearing in its next campaign.
Darla had spent years building a public image that depended on admiration.
Now people were watching her for entirely different reasons.
When the notification arrived, she read it once.
Then again.
Then she threw the phone onto the sofa.
“They can't do this!”
Her personal adviser, a sharply dressed woman in her forties, sat opposite her.
“Darla, you need to calm down.”
“Don't tell me to calm down.”
“I'm trying to help.”
Darla stood.
She paced across the room.
“That's my company.”
The adviser looked at her carefully.
“It's the company your family founded. But you don't have controlling ownership.”
Darla spun around.
“You sound like him.”
“I'm telling you what the documents say.”
Darla's eyes filled.
“Everyone's turning against me.”
The adviser sighed.
“You insulted someone on an airplane. There are multiple recordings.”
“He provoked me.”
The adviser remained silent.
Darla continued.
“He stood there acting so superior.”
“He showed you his boarding pass.”
“He knew who I was!”
“Darla.”
“What?”
The adviser leaned forward.
“He didn't have to know you were president to deserve his assigned seat.”
Darla stared.
The adviser continued.
“You're focusing on who he turned out to be instead of what you did.”
Darla's expression hardened.
“So now you're going to lecture me too?”
The adviser looked tired.
“I've spent six years helping you manage your career.”
“And I've paid you very well.”
“Yes.”
Darla blinked.
The adviser continued.
“But that doesn't mean I should tell you everything you want to hear.”
Darla folded her arms.
“You're fired.”
The adviser stared at her.
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then the woman stood.
“All right.”
Darla looked startled.
“What?”
“If that's your decision, we'll handle the termination according to our agreement.”
The adviser picked up her handbag.
Darla opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
She had expected an argument.
An apology.
Someone begging to keep the relationship.
Instead, the woman walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned.
“You're surrounded by people who know how to flatter you, Darla.”