Marjorie clears her throat. “We also have pressure from the board to increase our long-form documentary content in Q2. They want something with cultural weight.” She pauses. “Preferably not crime. They said we have reached a saturation point.”
“I agree,” I say smoothly. “Our brand is prestige, not exploitation.”
One of the producers, Jayden, nods enthusiastically. “We can pivot toward sports legacy features. Retired legends. Human interest arcs.”
He says it, trying not to make direct eye contact with the framed poster of Paul Bronski on my wall.
“Oh, please,” I say. “You can pitch Paul all you want. He is an institution.”
Jayden blushes. “It would rate well.”
“It would,” I agree, and also work well with my personal PR dealings. “But only if done respectfully. And only if we pair it with something contemporary. Mirror the past with the present.”
Marjorie sharpens her gaze. “You have someone in mind.”
I always have someone in mind. “We could pair a Bronski retrospective with a current roster spotlight. Create a narrative bridge. Legacy to present day.”
Marjorie’s eyes light up like someone just offered her a limited-edition fountain pen. “Elegant. Marketable. Approachable for multiple audiences.”
“Exactly,” I say. “I will outline the framing. For now, keep development broad.”
Her producers begin tapping away on their tablets.
Next, I scan their budget issue. One project has exceeded cost projections by a laughable amount. The problem is obvious. Too many locations. Too many rewrites. Too much improvisation for a script that does not deserve it.
I slide the paper back. “Cut two shooting days. Consolidate locations. Script lock by Monday. If they want more time after that, they can fund it themselves.”
Jayden whispers, “She is terrifying.”
Marjorie agrees with a simple nod. “Consider it done.”
Her team gathers their tablets and stand in unison.
As they file out, Marjorie lingers.
“You know,” she says, lowering her voice, “you are very good at this.”
“Thank you,” I reply politely.
“But the board will ask why your father approved production restructuring from,” she pauses, “where is he again?”
My spine goes cold for just a second. “He should be landing in JFK within the next hour.”
“Home for the holidays?” she asks.
“More like for the Holi-day. Then back off to play golf. I believe Hawaii is his next stop. I’ll get his approval and handle the board.”
Marjorie studies me. She is not stupid. She sees more than she should. But she also respects power, and right now, mine is the only thing keeping her department running on schedule.
She nods once. “Very well.”
Then she leaves, and the temperature in the room rises by two degrees the moment her heels click out of earshot.
I take a slow breath. Two departments down. Six to go.
And a whole company to keep upright with nothing but precision, charm, and sheer willpower.
PR arrives like a glitter bomb with a time limit.
