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“Will we still have a place to collect a paycheck at the end of this week?” comes from my right.
“Charlee, this way,” Tyler whispers from behind me. Feeling overwhelmed and thoroughly confused, I automatically follow him, heading into the kitchen area where a couple of junior interns are making coffee.
“Wow, you must have been pretty hassled out there. Your hair looks a mess. Are you hurt?”
Tyler starts his usual fussing, and I shake my head vigorously.
“Tyler, quit blubbering and fill me in,” I command, smoothing my hands down my hair to fix it as best as I can. “What’s all this nonsense going on? Did someone die on the company grounds?”
“Our reputation is dead, that’s what’s up.”
“What does that even mean?” I’m starting to lose patience with him.
Tyler pulls out his phone and starts swiping quickly. When he stops, he holds it up to my face.
“Charlee, we’re screwed.”
Taking the phone from him, I realize I’m super nervous as I start to read out aloud. It’s an article on one of the most respectable publications in New York City.
“In shocking allegations shared with our correspondent who chooses to remain anonymous, Building Bridges is a modern-day formal fraud center. Our source claims the Bridges, Inc. subsidiary is allegedly siphoning money out of the community by issuing startup loans only to businesses that suit the executive family’s personal interests. Their selection process is said to be biased and they are turning away fledgling businesses that are truly in need of financial aid and other resources. According to our source, Building Bridges was built on one massive lie…”
The article goes on and on, and with each paragraph I read, my heart sinks a little lower. The man claims he came into Building Bridges and discovered that everything we say we are is clickbait and false advertisement, and that some of our clients have gone bankrupt within two weeks of working with us.
This is a massive lie! How do reporters print stories without even reaching out to every party involved?
I know how fickle reputations are in the Financial District. People are terrified of being in debt to the wrong company. One false move or bad PR, and everything can go right down the drain.
Building Bridges has been hit terribly hard, and because of our affiliations with a massive international brand like Bridges, Inc., this wrecking ball report is about to go global.
“What are we doing to salvage the situation so far? Do you know?” I hand the phone back to Tyler. He strains his neck to check if anyone is looking, then he starts talking in whispers.
“I’m not very sure, but I heard Wade telling his assistant that a PR representative from Peterson, Myers & Co. was brought in this morning. Apparently, she’s an expert in this game and a personal friend of Harrison’s. Look,” Tyler steps out of the doorway so I can peer into the general area.
My breath catches in my throat when I spot her.
If Aphrodite came down from the skies, this is exactly what she’d look like. The lady is standing at the reception desk with Harrison, her side profile facing me. She’s tall, probably over six feet. She’s also wearing the designer heels of the season, gaining more height on her stature. She’s thin and willowy, her oval face framed perfectly against a dark crown of wavy hair. How is her skin so silky? And how long does one have to work out in the gym to look that good? I can see a few designer accessories popping on her wrists and neck. She’s formally dressed but also oozing so much sex appeal.
She’s physically perfect, and so is the nervous man she’s talking to.
Harrison looks like he barely showered that morning. He has almost two days’ worth of stubble on his face, wearing a T-shirt on faded jeans and designer slipper slides. He must have dashed out of his home, because he looks like he should be anywhere but at work.
Despite his lack of togetherness, the pair still make a stunning sight together. Harrison, a randy rogue god with perfect dark hair. This PR lady, a perfectly dolled-up seductive goddess.
And then there’s me, a pining mortal currently dying of jealousy.
Harrison looks so nervous. He’s tapping his fingers together, his legs are restless, and his are eyes darting from space to space.
I turn away before he catches me watching.
Why do I suddenly feel so sick to my stomach? I know this lady is here to do a job, but how can Harrison be friends with her and resist her striking charm?
Crossing my arms against my chest, I head up to my office.
Tyler is watching me, silently, and I know he understands the sudden switch in my mood. I’m suddenly feeling like a silly teenager pining for a celebrity actor.
This is embarrassing, even for me.
8
