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When security let me in, the lobby was so deserted it was almost spooky. But that changed instantly when I got off the elevator on my floor. It seemed like the entire department was present, all racing around and giving the office a sense of competent but time-sensitive industry.
I paused at the cubicle next to mine, which belonged to one of PennCo’s marketing copy editors. “Nataly? What’s going on?”
She glanced up from her maniacal typing, and her shoulders slumped when she saw me. “Oh, Reagan, thank god. Everyone’s been waiting for you. Nova Fucking Davidson, huh?”
“Nova Davidson… what?” I demanded.
Nataly’s eyes widened. “How can you not know? I thought you were Mr. Social Media.” She twisted in her seat, making her dark curls bounce. “You know who she is, right?”
“Obviously,” I scoffed. I’d followed Nova on all the socials from the moment she started making a name for herself, which meant I’d watched her go from an up-and-coming singer to an impending train wreck over the past year or so. She was a talented musician and a classic example of what not to do in terms of solid social media branding. “I haven’t been online yet. I was asleep until…” I glanced at my phone. “…forty-three minutes ago.”
“Wellllll.” She leaned toward me, speaking quickly. “Apparently, Nova left Janna Keefe’s Bangers on the Beach New Year’s party early because of some romantic drama. She was already drunk off her ass, though, and crashed her little pink sports car into a tree—I know,” she agreed when I gasped. “Fucking awful. Fortunately, no one was hurt.” Nataly’s lips twisted as she added, “But the paparazzi were on the scene even before the police were, and they got video of her stumbling out of the wreck?—”
“Oh, shit.”
“Right? Get on TikTok later and see the carnage for yourself. She was screaming obscenities, talking shit about Janna, singing parts of her new single totally off-key?—”
“Jesus.” I took my phone from my coat pocket and opened TikTok.
Nataly’s hand shot out, blocking my screen. “You haven’t heard the relevant part. She did all of this while wearing a T-shirt that said ‘Elustre: Sponsor of Your New Year’s Resolutions.’”
“What?” I glanced up, truly horrified, my phone forgotten. “Where’d she get that? From us? Or someone at Apex Athletics? Because this is going to be bad?—”
“It wasn’t anyone here,” Nataly said confidently, “but it’s already bad.” She waved her hand to indicate the flurry of activity around us. “Speaking of which… get your butt in the conference room. The leadership meeting is about to start, and they’ve been waiting on you. Scoot!”
“Leadership meeting? Waiting on me?” I snorted at the very idea. “You mean waiting for Stephen.”
“Reagan, Stephen’s out sick. Didn’t he tell you?”
“He… no. His text just said to come in.”
“He’s probably not thinking clearly, the poor guy.” Nataly stood with a sigh and straightened her skirt. “You know how he’s been sniffling for days but insisted it was allergies because he refused to lose his perfect attendance award? Doctor says it’s flu. High fever, cough, the works. And since Megan and Arvand are out of town for the holidays, you’re the last man standing from the PR department. You are representing PR in the leadership meeting,” she added, poking me lightly in the chest when I continued to stare at her, dumbstruck.
“I…” My heart rate picked up. “Are you sure?”
“Judging by the fact that Layla had me wait out here for you and keeps asking if you’ve arrived yet? Very.” She grinned. “Eight hours into the new year, and your ‘dreams’ are coming true. Now, move. I’ll meet you in there.”
“Yeah.” My pulse rushed in my ears. “Okay. I can do this. I can… represent.”
I hurried next door to my cubicle, where I shucked my coat and grabbed my tablet. My brain was still sluggish from too little sleep and too much overthinking, which was good since otherwise I might panic-flail.
This was my shot. Fucking finally. They’d have to listen to my ideas. Because while I wouldn’t wish a PR nightmare like this on anyone, I could help mitigate it… and prove my worth at the same time.
I practically sprinted down the hall to the tiny conference room where Layla was holding court with all the team leaders and key personnel at PennCo Fiber. The room was more crowded than I’d ever seen it, and I paused for a second at the door to catch my breath and find an available seat to slip into.
Layla glanced toward the door almost immediately and clocked me there. With a small, businesslike smile, she nodded toward an empty chair halfway down the conference table right next to Nataly. “Reagan, thanks for coming in. Have a seat. We’re just about to get started.”
I nodded and swallowed hard, trying to project professionalism as I walked around the table.
Layla James, the VP of Pennington Industries and head of the PennCo Fiber subsidiary, was maybe forty and had excellent taste, as evidenced by her neat twist of auburn hair, her cream wool power suit, and her flawless Louboutin heels. Though she wasn’t my type, she was undeniably attractive. More than that, she seemed intelligent and competent.
She wasn’t my direct boss, but I’d met her several times in the weeks I’d worked at PennCo. Stephen had even arranged a meeting for the three of us so I could try to sell her on some of the social media campaigns I’d brainstormed. Although she hadn’t (yet) given the go-ahead to any of my ideas, she’d listened courteously while I’d outlined all my ideas and even asked some intelligent questions before eventually saying no. She seemed open-minded and willing to take me seriously… which was more than I’d gotten from certain incredibly sexy boss people I refused to think about by name.
When we were all settled and turned our attention to her, Layla outlined the situation in precise, no-nonsense terms. Nova had been arrested at the scene of the accident. Now that her lawyers were involved, she’d clammed up, but the damage had already been done. Images of Nova stumbling out of her wrecked car, all smeared makeup and wild eyes with the “Elustre: Sponsor of your New Year’s Resolutions” motto stretched across her ample chest, had become an instant meme. One that was currently being shared by every New Year’s reveler who’d woken up hungover and regretful this morning… which was a lot of people.
“We’re still investigating where she got the shirt,” Layla said. “I’ve addressed the issue with our security team, and the folks at Apex Athletics are conducting their own internal review?—”
“It had to be them,” someone further down the table interrupted. “No one here would do such a thing.”
