“Sir?” Marcus asked, confused.
“Elara,” Julian said coldly. “She isn’t ready for these people, Marcus. You know how she gets. She stands in a corner holding a glass of water. She doesn’t know how to network. She wears dresses that look like they came off a department-store rack. Tonight is about power. It’s about image.”
Julian thought of the woman waiting for him in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton right now: Isabella Ricci. Isabella was a model turned brand ambassador. She was smart, ambitious, and so stunning she drew attention like gravity. She knew how to laugh at bad jokes, whisper into investors’ ears, and look flawless at his side in front of the paparazzi.
“Remove her,” Julian said.
Marcus blinked, stunned.
“Remove Mrs. Thorn? Sir, she’s your wife. It’s the Vanguard Gala. Spouses are usually—”
“I said remove her,” Julian snapped, slamming the tablet onto the desk. “I’m the CEO of this company, Marcus. I decide who represents us. Elara is a liability tonight. I need to close the deal with the Sterling Group. If Arthur Sterling sees me with a housewife who can’t talk macroeconomics, he’ll think I’m soft. Delete her name. Revoke her security clearance. If she shows up, don’t let her in.”
Marcus hesitated, deep discomfort on his face. He liked Elara. She remembered his birthday when Julian didn’t. She sent him soup when he was sick. But he needed this job.
“As you wish, Mr. Thorn,” Marcus said quietly, tapping the screen. “Elara Thorn removed.”
“Good.” Julian straightened his tie, checking his reflection. “I’ll tell her the event is men-only—board members. She’s naïve. She’ll believe it.”
