He looks at me over the top of his coffee cup.
“I’ve been debating whether I’m relieved or offended that you didn’t listen to it.”
“And what’s the verdict?”
“Jury’s still out,” he says.
I shake my head. “Well,” I say, standing up, “I’d say I look forward to seeing what you and River will do next, but that would be a lie.”
He winks. “You’re going to love it.”
And just like that, I’m annoyed with him again.
Chapter 8
PR Tip #41:On the red carpet, everyone’s watching. Make sure they see what you want them to see.
“Ms. Lockhart, over here!” a paparazzo yells as I watch my client smile and pose.
Bailey looks dazzling in front of the step and repeat in a floor-length navy blue gown, the white backdrop behind her covered in the Silverline Studios Foundation logos, the press lined up opposite her, cameras raised and her name being called from every direction.
We’re outside a hotel ballroom in Beverly Hills, and I’m just off to the side, waiting for her, hidden in the shadows, wearing all black like a good crisis manager. My job is to orchestrate without being noticed.
I’ve been to press junkets, boutique premieres, industry cocktail parties—but nothing with full press coverage, A-list attendees, and two clients who have avoided being in the same room until tonight.
Translation: I don’t get paid enough for this.
I’ve prepped for a week. Luckily, the PR war hasn’t escalated. The Wooster video brought sympathy back to Bailey, and Luke didn’t retaliate. Yet. I’ve been expecting something, keeping an eye on Brandwatch, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it’s been silent from River. The anticipation is almost worse than whatever Luke has planned.
And I know he’s got something in the works.
But even so, the reprieve has been much needed, because I had a lot to do for this gala, pulling press lists to find who Bailey should stop for a photo or interview with, avoiding any who have been hostile. I’ve briefed Bailey on what to say if asked about River (nothing), the show (nothing that involves River), or her personal life (also nothing). I briefly considered getting her a sign that said “On vocal rest” so she wouldn’t have to answer anything but decided against it. Barely.
There was some coordination with Luke for this one. Weneeded to change seating arrangements and stagger arrival times, with Bailey going first and River showing up later. This will be the first time they’ve been in the same room since the blind item dropped, and people are champing at the bit to get pictures of them together. Not on my watch.
I’ve got Tessa monitoring things in real time back at the office, keeping an eye on what people are posting online during the event so we can combat any backlash if necessary.
My phone beeps.
Jerkwad:We’re here
That’s right—we’re keeping each other in the loop. I find myself in strange territory with Luke because of this gala. We’ve had to actually cooperate, which feels . . . wrong. We’ve even come up with a system so we can signal each other if needed.
With a wave and a point to my watch, Bailey knows it’s time to wrap up. She gives the cameras one last smile and follows me inside to the greenroom, where we’ll wait before heading into the ballroom.
“Good job,” I say once she’s away from any last sneaky camera shots. The room is fairly empty, except for some event staff and a couple of stylists who are on hand for touch-ups.
She shakes her arms out and closes her eyes for a brief second. “That was rough,” she says.
“You handled it like a champ.”
We’ve talked enough on the phone that seeing each other in person didn’t feel like a first meeting—more like finally putting aface to a voice. Well, she put a face to mine, since I already knew hers.
Sam and I finished season three over the weekend. The cliff-hanger was brutal.
Bailey is smaller than I imagined, very petite. And more nervous than I’d expect an A-lister to be. But given the circumstances, it makes sense.
“Did you see that one guy in the front that kept asking me if I had a thing for men with pointy ears?” she asks.
