Philippe Barrault (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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wealthofnations2022-11-22 02:22 pm
figureheading) wrote in wealthofnations2022-11-22 02:22 pm
Entry tags:
fic: steel.
”You’ll be giving up a great many seats to highest bidder, Philippe,” Karl objects, when Philippe informs him of his decision to exclude Jean Louis from the CDP. It’s been two days since the photograph hit the front pages, of their trump card, their future and his… whatever that was. He says he’s a woman, Gerard had explained, Philippe curling his upper lip in disgust. The two of them, kissing heavily against a back-alley wall.
Presumably exactly where they belonged.
Currently, his PR manager is watching him with his arms crossed over his chest, a frown on his face that means Philippe is doing something that’s making life very difficult for him. Karl, his right hand man, is wearing a mirroring expression, though his arms are hanging loosely down his sides still.
“Sometimes it’s not a question of seats, but of integrity,” Philippe replies, turning around to look out the windows with the familiar view of the square in front of the Grand Ducal Palace. Behind him, Gerard clears his throat.
“Should be enough to just impress on him to keep this relationship private,” he says, calmly, soundly.
Philippe narrows his eyes, folding his hands behind his back, palms feeling sweaty. He still can’t believe that Jean Louis Girard sleeps with men. One thing is Stéphane, sometimes you do what you must for influence, but this promising, unrivalled, young talent who was going to be his heir, his successor, for certain… This man whom Philippe has shaken hands with, whose shoulders he’s grasped, whose lips he’s watched, much too closely…
“It’s not private anymore, however,” Philippe responds, “some things cannot be undone, Gerard. You of all people should know.”
“Philippe, come on,” Karl tries, stepping forward, Phillippe can hear his soles against the wooden floorboards. “I don’t personally like him and would take any reason to throw him out, but Jean Louis has done nothing wrong here.”
It comes over him like a wave, like a volcano erupting, like there’s so much heat and pressure inside him that he simply can’t contain it anymore. Wetting his lips once, he exclaims, voice raised loud and clear, ringing between the walls of his office. “I won’t tolerate that kind of dirt to soil the reputation of this party, is that clear?” The last question is ringing in the stunned silence of the room. Both Gerard and Karl look taken completely aback when Philippe turns around again, facing them. His features are steel. His resolve is set in stone.
“Very clear,” Gerard says finally. “I’ll make it work.”
“It’s your call to make,” Karl gives, after a long moment. But you’re making a mistake, implied. Philippe ignores him, dismissing them both with a wave of his hand. He walks over to his desk and calls his secretary up on the intercom.
“Send Jean Louis in,” he says, and the rest will make history.
Presumably exactly where they belonged.
Currently, his PR manager is watching him with his arms crossed over his chest, a frown on his face that means Philippe is doing something that’s making life very difficult for him. Karl, his right hand man, is wearing a mirroring expression, though his arms are hanging loosely down his sides still.
“Sometimes it’s not a question of seats, but of integrity,” Philippe replies, turning around to look out the windows with the familiar view of the square in front of the Grand Ducal Palace. Behind him, Gerard clears his throat.
“Should be enough to just impress on him to keep this relationship private,” he says, calmly, soundly.
Philippe narrows his eyes, folding his hands behind his back, palms feeling sweaty. He still can’t believe that Jean Louis Girard sleeps with men. One thing is Stéphane, sometimes you do what you must for influence, but this promising, unrivalled, young talent who was going to be his heir, his successor, for certain… This man whom Philippe has shaken hands with, whose shoulders he’s grasped, whose lips he’s watched, much too closely…
“It’s not private anymore, however,” Philippe responds, “some things cannot be undone, Gerard. You of all people should know.”
“Philippe, come on,” Karl tries, stepping forward, Phillippe can hear his soles against the wooden floorboards. “I don’t personally like him and would take any reason to throw him out, but Jean Louis has done nothing wrong here.”
It comes over him like a wave, like a volcano erupting, like there’s so much heat and pressure inside him that he simply can’t contain it anymore. Wetting his lips once, he exclaims, voice raised loud and clear, ringing between the walls of his office. “I won’t tolerate that kind of dirt to soil the reputation of this party, is that clear?” The last question is ringing in the stunned silence of the room. Both Gerard and Karl look taken completely aback when Philippe turns around again, facing them. His features are steel. His resolve is set in stone.
“Very clear,” Gerard says finally. “I’ll make it work.”
“It’s your call to make,” Karl gives, after a long moment. But you’re making a mistake, implied. Philippe ignores him, dismissing them both with a wave of his hand. He walks over to his desk and calls his secretary up on the intercom.
“Send Jean Louis in,” he says, and the rest will make history.