A-Hole to A-List (PR Girls & Instalove 1)

“He’s a client. I can’t even think about that.” I noticed that my fingers were tapping on my coffee mug, and I forced myself to stop.

“Look, you said that your boss is a good guy, right?” Corina said. “And PR clients are usually temporary, or we just work with them a few times a year. It’s not like a forbidden teacher-student relationship or whatever.”

“Exactly,” Brynn said brightly. “So solve his little publicity issue, then go out with him.”

“His publicity issue is not so little,” I said slowly. “His reputation isn’t great. I’ve been looking into him, and although there’s nothing concrete except for one incident, he seems like a playboy type. Everyone wants to talk about authenticity these days.”

“A turnaround situation,” Corina nodded. “First, let’s order. Then you tell us what you can, and how we can help.”

As we all flipped our menus open, I grinned to myself. Even though we worked at different companies, the three of us were already sworn to secrecy. We often helped each other or shared resources and ideas, without sharing actual private client details. With the three of us on the case , there must be a way to make Andrew look like a good guy worthy of A-list events.

4

_____

Andrew

After dropping by JT Strategy Group and finding out that Jenna was on lunch, I could have just left a message. Instead, I pressed the receptionist for her actual location, impressing upon her the seriousness of the information I needed to pass on.

Maybe it was a bit much, but this was top-secret information. Plus, I really needed to see Jenna again, immediately.

There was no way to tell whether dropping by to deliver the flash drive would be seen as friendly, or controlling and paranoid. But I really couldn’t put our marketing materials into an email, since a few of the descriptions would let the proverbial cat out of the bag early.

There was so much riding on the launch that I should be laser-focused. So why was my heart pounding as I got into my car and drove away from the diner?

Hoping that her friends thought I was

charming, I cursed slightly at the traffic on the way to the marketing company we used on the opposite side of the city. I needed to personally pick up the t-shirts, hats, and flyers for the event, because Terry didn’t trust couriers.

All of the sponsors were going to have a ton of swag at a massive convention like this. Like the rest, I’d spared no expense. These t-shirts were exclusive designs by a well-known Venice beach graffiti artist. Since I was doing only one run, they were a limited edition and exclusive to the event.

All of these strange little ways to build up hype were admittedly a bit ridiculous. We had a technologically superior product, and it should be easy to market. But these days it was all about being first, and having the major influencers on your side, as much as it was about what you were selling.

My father must be spinning in his grave, realizing that it was the artwork on the merch that would help sell our new computer processors and video cards just as much as the firepower inside them.

What a weird world we live in , I thought to myself for the millionth time.

Finally getting back to the office nearly two hours later, I took a photo of the merch samples and emailed it to Terry through our private server. To my absolute delight, there was an email from Jenna, saying that she loved the marketing and the lightness of our message.

Responding immediately, I gave her the address and invited her to swing by at four. She replied in minutes, confirming that she’d drop in.

Opening the feed to the parking lot security camera on the far left of my three huge monitors, I popped on my headphones and dove into paperwork, getting ahead of work for the next hour. Our legal team had made everything official, so I could now explain things to Jenna.

A few other people needed to be told, but Jenna was the person I wanted to impress the most.

Breaking down, I finally realized that I needed to know about her. I searched for Jenna Meyers online, aching for any personal information. Yet she had every social media profile locked down tight, with only the straightforward headshot from her work website.

Even when I dug further, the only hits I could find were from having dinner with her two girlfriends on a restaurant review, and an old list of books on her to-be-read pile from four years ago. If her tastes hadn’t changed, she enjoyed science fiction and fantasy. At least that was something.

My pulse jumped as a car pulled into our lot. That was definitely Jenna at the wheel. Racing out through the double security doors, I reached her before she could even knock.

“How are people supposed to get in if there’s no buzz code?” she asked suspiciously.

“They’re not,” I shrugged. “Parcels are either picked up by me, or left at a post office box. Nobody else should ever be here. I was watching for you on the security camera.”

There was no way to read the look she shot me. Keying in today’s code, I held the door for her as she stepped inside.

Jenna’s eyes darted around the bare beige hallway. “It’s like an FBI fortress in here,” she quipped as I keyed in the code for the second door.