Page 9 of The Authenticity Clause
It was absurd. The entire situation was absurd. He was absurd.
The amusement was immediately followed by a wave of intense annoyance, mostly at himself for feeling it. He couldn't let this… this charming chaos win.
"Alright," Julian said, his voice returning to its usual flat calm. He had a new plan. "I understand your perspective, Hayes. Even if I don't agree with it."
Leo beamed, as if he'd just won a major victory. "I knew you'd see it!"
"So, to ensure we're aligned going forward, I have a new task for you," Julian continued, ignoring him. He pulled up a blank document. "I want you to take the fifty-page brand synergy document and distill it into a one-page executive summary. Focus on the core quantifiable objectives. No metaphors. Nofeelings. No souls." He fixed Leo with a hard stare. "And absolutely no squirrels."
He expected a protest. An argument. Another charming defense of artistic integrity.
Instead, Leo just nodded, his expression surprisingly serious. "A one-page summary of quantifiable objectives. Got it." He picked up his fox mug from the desk. "You won't be disappointed."
"I expect to have it by noon," Julian added.
"Consider it done," Leo said. He gave Julian one last, bright smile before turning and walking out of the office, closing the door softly behind him.
Julian was left in the sudden, echoing silence. He stared at the closed door, the ghost of Leo's chaotic energy still lingering in the air. He had given him a tedious, impossible task designed to crush his creative spirit with the sheer weight of corporate nonsense. He had won the confrontation.
So why did it feel like he had just been played?
He turned back to his monitor and, against his better judgment, pulled up Leo's design again. His eyes were immediately drawn to the squirrel. It was, he had to admit, a very well-drawn squirrel.
He let out a short, sharp sigh and minimized the window, the unwanted flicker of amusement still dancing stubbornly at the edge of his thoughts.
Chapter 7: The Interception
The one-page executive summary had been an act of pure, unadulterated torment. Leo had spent hours wrestling the fifty-page behemoth of corporate jargon into submission, a process that felt less like writing and more like performing an exorcism on a possessed business textbook. He’d finally produced something coherent by interpreting the entire document as a very, very boring poem, and then summarizing the poem.
He’d expected Julian to dissect it with the cold precision of a coroner. Instead, Julian had read it, given a single, almost imperceptible nod, and said, "Adequate."
Coming from Julian, "adequate" felt like a standing ovation. Leo had been riding the high of that single, lukewarm word for a full twenty-four hours. It was a new record.
That high came to a screeching, catastrophic halt during the Monday morning team meeting.
"Alright, listen up," Sarah Vance announced, clapping her hands together with her usual infectious energy. "Big news on the Northwind account. The client loved the initial creative direction—" she gave Leo a theatrical wink, "—and they’ve moved up the timeline. Phase two kicks off this week."
A collective groan rippled through the room. Leo, not knowing what phase two entailed, just nodded along, trying to look both serious and creatively inspired.
"Which brings me to a small team restructure," Julian said, his voice cutting through the chatter with effortless authority. Everyone fell silent. "Given the accelerated timeline and the specific design needs of this phase, I’ll be taking a more hands-on role. Hayes," he said, and Leo’s stomach plummeted into his shoes. "You’ll be reporting directly to me for the duration of this project. Your desk is being moved next to mine this afternoon."
The words hit Leo with the force of a physical blow.Directly to me. Next to mine.It was a death sentence delivered in a calm, professional monotone. He was no longer a distant, amusing anomaly. He was being moved to the epicenter of the volcano. The very handsome, very grumpy volcano.
This is it,his inner monologue wailed, already composing his eulogy.Here lies Leo Hayes. He flew too close to the grumpy, well-dressed sun.
He risked a glance at Maya, who gave him a look that was equal parts pity and morbid fascination, the kind of look you give a character in a horror movie who decides to check out the strange noise in the basement.
"We have a kickoff call with the Northwind team in ten minutes in Conference Room A," Julian continued, completely oblivious to the silent scream happening inside Leo’s head. "Be there."
The ten minutes passed in a blur of abject terror. Leo felt like he was walking the green mile, only instead of a priest, he had Maya whispering frantic, last-minute advice in his ear.
"Just agree with everything he says," she hissed as they walked. "Nod. Look thoughtful. If anyone asks you a question, justsay you want to 'circle back after syncing with the team.' It's corporate for 'I have no idea'."
"Circle back," Leo repeated, the words feeling foreign and clumsy. "Got it."
Conference Room A was even more intimidating than Conference Room B. It had a massive oak table and a panoramic window overlooking the city that made you feel both powerful and very, very small. The Northwind team was already on the large screen, a trio of serious-looking people in expensive outdoor vests.
Leo sat down next to Julian, maintaining a carefully calculated distance, as if Julian’s gravitational pull might expose him as a fraud. He opened his notebook to a clean page and held his pen, poised to take notes he wouldn’t understand.
