Hudson scoffs, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed like he’s been waiting to let this all out. “Who do you think kept our doors open during the market crash, Vic? Who locked in the deal that got our cookware line onto every website and in every high-end department store across the country? Who negotiated the damn TV show that you get to be the face of? Meanwhile, you were off perfecting your butter-poached scallops.” He shakes his head, laughing bitterly. “So, forgive me if I don’t think your priorities are straight. You shouldn’t even be the one calling the shots.”

I slam my hand down on the table, rattling the water glasses and our executive leaders.

“Yet, I am.” My voice is steady, unwavering. “I’m the one sitting at the head of this table. I’m the one Dad named CEO. Not you.”

Hudson’s jaw tightens, and his glare is sharp—flashing with something between anger, betrayal, embarrassment, and forced humility, but he doesn’t push back, at least, for now.

The room is tensely silent, and the rest of the team sits stiffly, exchanging cautious glances while their leaders navigate the fine line between personal feelings, family spats, and professional duty,

Nevertheless, my resolve hardens. I won’t let our feelings or some corporate strategy undermine the genuine connection I’m building with Kerry, or worse, put my daughters in the crosshairs of public scrutiny for the sake of buzz. I’ll protect them at all costs. My daughters are perfect, and I refuse to allow the darkness of others to dim their shining light.

I take a slow breath, recalibrating, shifting the focus back to the actual meeting.

“Look, I get it. Optics matter. But I won’t turn my personal life into a marketing campaign just because it fits neatly into a PR strategy. I’ll manage my personal life on my own,” I assert firmly. “I’m fine with being photographed and seen at events. I gave you a list of planned appearances with Kerry and the girls. Anywhere else, any other time I haven’t approved, is where I draw the line.”

My PR head still looks wary after the verbal brawl but presses on carefully. “Vic, no one’s asking you to exploit your daughters. We’ll work with what we’re given, but the reality is we need a balance. You can’t keep hiding behind your food. People connect with people, not just recipes.” She concedes, offering a compromising but satisfied smile.

I nod, simply wanting the conversation to end.

For the next three hours, Hudson and the team dive deep into financials, outline quarterly projections, and discuss my upcoming press tour while Kerry and I text back and forth about the girls. I’m anxious to get out of here, and just as I think we’re wrapping up, my agent clears her throat.