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CHAPTER ONE
Ashlyn
One Year Later
“You want me to do what?” I didn’t bother to tone down the incredulity in my words. Let my coworkers stare. My aunt must’ve lost her mind.
“It’s not that complicated, Ashlyn, and stop looking at me like that.” With more drama than a daytime soap opera, Cici Grove flopped down in the ancient conference chair nearest to her. It gave a pitiful moan, even under her minute weight. For a brief moment, I waited, half hoping that the chair would give out, half hoping it wouldn’t.
My lips quirked. I could use the distraction right now.
“Let me clarify. You just told me you want me to revamp the image of one of the city’s biggest playboys.TheLiam Macklen. Oh, and you want me to make it happen in a month.”
“No, of course not,” Cici said, eyes focused on her French-tipped manicure. “Ideally three weeks. Leden wants to make the big announcement to their shareholders in a month.” Cici pulled a nail file out of God knows where and began to file away at the perfectly lacquered nails, uninterested in my slack jaw. “They want their boy polished to perfection by game day.”
I was going to need a cocktail when I got home. Or four.
“So three weeks, then. To completely reverse Man-Whore Macklen’s public image into something suitable for the CEO title? Are you kidding me? I’ve heard he won’t even talk to the media nowadays.”
“Exactly, which is why I’m sending you. You’re not the media anymore, sweetheart. Now you’re the one calling them. And besides, can you blame him after the past few thingsThe San Francisco Peerhas posted?”
That was putting it mildly. The product of a Hollywood starlet mother and a local entrepreneur turned politician, Liam Macklen drew attention anywhere he went. Whether a charity function, or jogging shirtless down Lombard Street. Local news source and infamous gossip column to the celebrity sect of the area,The San Francisco Peerhad consistently blasted out updates on Liam Macklen and his equally beautiful siblings since they were of legal age.
I bit down hard on my lip, cutting off the curse that threatened to slip from my lips. “Public relations is a super delicate, long-game type of work, Cici. You can’t just throw me in there.”
For the first time, Cici’s face twisted in something akin to worry. I frowned because Cici doesn’t worry. Cici charges in, guns flashing, consequences be damned. It was one of my favorite things about her.
Warm blue eyes leaped to mine. “Ashlyn, I have to. This Leden contract could change everything for the company. You know how badly Grandpa wanted in with them. If you secure this, if you help with their playboy issue, then we will be a shoo-in for a company-wide communications campaign.”
I crossed my arms, grumbling. “I hate it when you play the grandpa card.” But I knew she was right, at least on this. Grandpa had founded Grove Communications back when press releases were hand delivered and media was nothing but an overeager journalist with pencil and paper. He had always wanted to represent Leden, a construction company superpower in our hometown San Francisco.
But Grandpa Roger died last year, before we ever would’ve heard about this kind of opportunity. I knew how badly Cici wanted to follow in his footsteps, to represent the family by living out the dream of Grove Communication’s founder. And I wanted that for her.
Right now, following that dream meant pairing me with one of the city's most notorious playboys, Liam Macklen. I had handled athletes before, even some low-level Hollywood wannabes, but Macklen wasn’t just a playboy. He was smart, witty, well-connected, and more than a little savvy on avoiding people like me. Considering his family’s pocketbooks, I was pretty sure he’d had a publicist following his every move since he was in diapers.
But that hadn’t changed anything. From what I could see online, Liam Macklen did exactly what he wanted, whenever he wanted. Which did not bode well for our timeline.
I sighed, settling back. I could see the ghost of a smile tightening Cici’s lips. She knew she was getting to me.
“Do you need the rest of us on this too?” Peter Thatcher, the only other full-time Grove Communications employee, spoke slowly, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked warily between us. While there were very few things that he and I could agree on, I was suddenly incredibly glad for his Eeyore-like personality and line of questioning. Cecelia Grove, or my aunt Cici, did not like being questioned. But she was also aware that our little family business was walking the sharp edge of disaster on the daily.
As I predicted, Cici tensed, her honey-gold hair shimmering as she tossed it over her shoulder, the strands falling perfectly back into place. I twisted my lips as jealousy threatened. Cici had always been effortlessly beautiful.
She was my grandma and grandpa’s “oops” baby. Her appearance and the sparse years between us meant that most people assumed she was my sister. Not that I would ever correct them. I’d been an only child, and she'd been more of a sister to me than the aunt she really was.
Cici had helped me sneak back into the house after curfew, she’d egged my ex-boyfriend’s car after he wouldn’t give me my stuff back, and knew exactly when I needed a taco night out. She was the edgy, slightly dangerous fairy godmother that no princess could do without.
So when she’d called a few months ago, desperately needing some help running our family’s communications firm, of which I’d inherited partial ownership over when Grandpa passed away, I’d flown to her side without a backwards glance. It’s not like I was leaving much behind. My tiny desk at the immense Los Angeles marketing firm where I’d gotten my first job was just that, immense and in the past.
Which brought me here, to where I was sitting in my very first staff meeting, staring at my aunt as she flashed those sharp, wickedly intelligent eyes at her staff. She wanted me to convert Liam Macklen into an easily malleable executive like the rest of them.
“Right now, I’d like Ashlyn to take the lead on this.”
“Why?” Peter asked, deadpan.
I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Sitting there in his buttoned-up polo and jeans, he slouched in his chair so much I could barely believe he could see over our small conference room table. I had no idea what Cici saw in him, but as with most things, I simply let her have her way.
“Are you blind, boy? It’s because she’s hot.”
