“All I know is, I put a lot of sweat equity into making this weekend happen,” Smithson said, folding a boast into a complaint. “I did not sign on to have my name associated with a public disaster.”
“But it’s notyourname, is it, Captain Narcissism?” Jean scowled at him. “And why do you sound like that?”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
“Like all of a sudden you’re Little Lord Fauntleroy instead of Neanderthal bro.”
Now that she mentioned it, Smithson’s voice had changed. It was less booming bass and more crisp syllables, and he hadn’t chortled at his own jokes in several minutes.
“For your information, I went to Wharton. Part of my job is meeting people where they are.” Smithson gestured at the office, and Charlie’s dad, in a way that did not feel complimentary.
“Code-switching,” Emma said.
Jean was still studying Smithson like a specimen under glass. “What else were you pretending about, Little Smitty?”
Charlie tried to see what she was seeing. Was that not a natural tan?
The friend with the curls looked up from her phone. “Um, it looks like he’s writing a book.”
“Him?” Jean scoffed. “No way. That’s so many words.”
“I use the term ‘write’ loosely,” her friend clarified. “I’m sure he’s paying a ghostwriter.”
“Uh, no,” Smithson retorted. “And if I did, it would be because I’m too busy for that low-level shit. Let someone else run spell-check.”
“Hold on,” Jean’s friend said. “Here’s the description.The Pabst Smear: How to Build Your Brand by Tearing Down Your Rivals. A Negative Marketing Case Studyby Smithson Oliver Barrett.”
“The Pap Smear?” Mrs. Pike whispered.
“Pabst, like the beer,” Mugsy corrected. “What do you mean by negative marketing?”
“Why are you asking me?” Smithson looked over both shoulders, like there might be someone standing behind him.
“Because your name is on it,” Mugsy reminded him.
Smithson shook his head. “Sounds fake.”
“Are you questioning my sources?” There was a dangerous glint in Hildy’s eyes.
“Where did you find that? The deal hasn’t even been announced.” Smithson sounded more annoyed than contrite.
“I know someone who works for your publisher.” She turned to Jean, mouthing, “Sorority sister,” behind her hand.
“Okay, you want the truth?” Smithson acted like they’d badgered him into confessing, but it was evident even to Charlie that he was happy to spill. “This is my last consulting gig anyway, so whatevs. Yes, I’m going to be the next Tony Robbins. The book is just the first step.”
“I don’t understand.” Mr. Pike still looked hopeful, as if he believed Smithson could spin the situation in a nondisastrous light.
“Listen.” Smithson spread his hands in abe reasonablegesture.“We’re both entrepreneurs. Men of the world. We know how it goes. Sometimes you’re up, and sometimes you’re down. And Pike’s was going down. Nothing to be done about it.”
“Funny you didn’t mention that in your pitch. The one explaining why I should pay you a small fortune to help us rebrand.” Charlie’s dad was gripping his fancy letter opener so tightly, Mrs. Pike tugged it out of his hand.
“At least this way you go out with a bang,” Smithson said. “Beer is about celebrating the good times.”
“A party planner would have been cheaper,” Mrs. Pike muttered.
“I tell you what. I’ll mention you in my acknowledgments.” Smithson winked at Charlie’s dad, like he was doing him a favor.
“So you came here and pretended to help but you were really working against us.” Charlie waited for someone to tell him he’d gotten it wrong, but no one pushed back—except Smithson.
