That’s not true, though. Idoknow what I’m doing. This might be a higher-profile client, but I am fully capable of this. Probably.
I take a fortifying breath. “What can I help you with, Ms. Lockhart?”
“I really need to speak with Simone.”
I rub my forehead with my fingers. I know where she’s coming from because I, too, would like to speak with Simone. But it’s not possible right now.
“I promise I can help you,” I say.
She lets out a sigh. “Okay, sure. Do you know what’s going on right now with . . . everything?” The last word comes out a little quieter.
“Yes,” I answer. “I’m fully up to speed with the blind item and the social media post.”
“Great,” she says, on a sob, followed by a shaky-sounding exhale.
I look to Tessa and mouth, “Is she crying?” Tessa gives me a look that says she’s very glad she’s not the one handling this call right now.
“Ms. Lockhart?” I ask, unsure what to do.
I’ve had clients cry before, of course. Crisis management tends to involve people who are actually in crisis. Funny how that works. It’s rare that a client is joyful during a disastrous turn in their career. Though there have been some—since publicity, no matter what shape it comes in, is still publicity.
But these tears aren’t from a career in crisis. We haven’t heard anything worrisome from the studio. These sound more like the brokenhearted kind. And that, I don’t have a lot of experience with.
“Sorry,” Bailey says, her voice thick.
“It’s totally fine,” I reassure her.
“I’m just not sure what to do about the blind item and . . . River’s post.” Her voice is wobbling so much now, I can barely understand her.
Okay, Claire. Time to show her what you’ve got.
“Well, you have options,” I say. “You can do nothing, of course. You can stay quiet and see where the narrative goes.”
“I don’t want to do that,” she says with no hesitation.
That’s good, because in a case like this, you definitely want to quell any negative rumors quickly, before they spin out of control.
“I’m not going to let people think I’m the one who cheated.” Her voice catches on the last word.
“Okay, then.” I pause, trying to come up with the right answer here while the sound of Tessa’s scribblings fills the space. “You can do something retaliatory to his social media post.”
She sniffles. “Like adopt a dog too? I don’t know if I want to do that.”
Bailey’s climb to stardom was fast. This is probably her first real PR crisis. She doesn’t know yet that you don’t fight fire with fire—you have to be strategic. Her next move should be calculated and purposefully vague, and then people can draw their own conclusions.
“No, I mean you do something else, in the same vein. You—” I pause to think of something. “Could be seen buying yourself flowers, for instance. Showing everyone that you don’t need someone in your life.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “But . . . that doesn’t feel like something I’d do.”
“You might have to step out of your comfort zone.”
“I get it. But I don’t know if I want to do that. What’s another option?”
“I understand,” I say, stalling for time while I try to come up with another idea. “Um . . . then how about a public dinner with friends? Something that shows you’re happy and you’ve moved on.”
Bailey sighs. “But . . . I haven’t.” Her voice is thick again, and the sniffling is back.
There’s silence on the other end of the line, and I give her time to deal with her emotions.
