"That bad?"
I set down my fork and reach for my water glass, buying myself a second. "Two PR agents have already failed with him. I'm the third."
Mom goes still. "Natalia."
"It's fine," I say quickly. "It's just… Carey assigned it to me personally."
Her mouth tightens at the name. She's heard it before. Plenty of times. "Your college rival, Carey? The one who—"
"—accused me of getting unfair special treatment? Yep, that one." I push pasta around my plate, the motion automatic. "She's a consultant now. Gabriella brought her in to assess operations and recommend cuts. She has a lot of power. And she's been looking for a reason to use it on me since the day she walked into our office."
Mom leans back in her chair, studying me with that particular expression mothers have perfected. The one that sees straightthrough deflection and professional bravado. "So she gave you an impossible client."
"She gave me a trap," I correct. "Luka Popovich doesn’t do interviews. He doesn’t cooperate with PR teams… or anyone, really." I take another bite, chewing slowly. "Carey knows if I fail, she has grounds to cut me during the next evaluation."
"Jesus, Natalia!" Mom sets down her fork entirely now. "And you're paying for this relocation yourself?"
"Out of pocket, yes."
"Why would you be doing that? Legacy PR can’t be hurting that bad, are they?"
I wave a hand. "No. But my boss, Gabriella, doesn’t exactly know that I took on this client. She didn’t want to touch him and his issues, but if I land this, it will be the redemption I need to stay."
The silence stretches between us. Mom reaches for her water glass, takes a long sip, then sets it down with the careful accuracy of someone choosing their words.
"That sounds like a lot of pressure on you," she says finally. "Are you sure this is worth it? Maybe it’s time to find another agency to work for."
"And give up the four years I put into this place? Besides, Legacy PR is one of the biggest names in PR in the country. I’d take a pay cut going anywhere else."
"And Carey wants you to fail?"
"She is either hoping that Luka blows me off like the other two agents, leaving me with nothing to show for my assessment review, or that I save the client and Carey gets a huge promotion. If I pull this off, Legacy PR has a massive quarter, and she gets credit for handing me a high-commission client."
Mom's jaw tightened. I recognize that look—it's the same one she wore when a teacher accused me of cheating in tenth grade, or when my college roommate tried to stick me with her halfof the rent. It's protective and furious and wholly ineffective against corporate politics, but I love her for it, anyway.
"What does Gabriella say about all this?" Mom asks. "She hired you. Surely she—"
"Gabriella trusts Carey's decision," I cut in. "Or at least, she trusts the optics of bringing in an outside consultant to make the tough calls. This way, if people get cut, it's not her fault. It's data-driven and strategic restructuring."
"That's bullshit."
I almost smile. "Yeah. It is."
Mom picks up her fork again but doesn't eat, just holds it like she needs something to grip. "Have you met him yet? Luka, I mean?"
"No. Not yet." I think about the file on my phone, the handful of photos I've studied until I could sketch his face from memory. That imposing demeanor… those cold but intriguing eyes. "I know his stats, his history, every scandal he's been attached to. I know he's twenty-seven, Russian-born, an Olympic hero, and has a chip on his shoulder the size of Puget Sound."
"Sounds delightful."
"He sounds like a nightmare," I correct. "But he'smynightmare now. And I don't have the luxury of walking away."
Mom reaches across the table, her hand covering mine. Her palm is warm, familiar, the same hand that braided my hair before school and held ice packs to bruised knees and signed permission slips for field trips I'd almost forgotten.
"You're going to figure this out," she says quietly. "You always do."
I want to believe her. I want to feel the certainty she's offering like it's a lifeline I can grab onto. But all I feel is the weight of what's ahead. Tomorrow night is the Hawkeyes’ last home game before the bye-week, and I have a ticket and a press badge thathis agency sent me. Tomorrow night, I will meet the client and find out what kind of resistance I’m up against.
"I have to," I say simply.
