“Your face. Something happened.”
“I just really want to know how you convince your clients to do things they don’t want to do?”
“That’s easy…” She says and I move my chair closer to hers, hanging on the silence. “You got to make sure it’s something they thought of and they wanted it. Simple psychology.”
“Simple…” I repeat back.
“One time, I had a client who advertised online that she was rich and owned a large mansion, showing off her designer bags and clothes. Someone exposed her and it turned out she rented everything and went into debt trying to keep up the fantasy. I had to rebrand her as relatable, that she wasn’t vapid.
“She hated the idea.
“Now she’s a Christian, Bible-thumping influencer who does daily affirmations online. I don’t think she’s ever stepped inside a church.”
I hang onto every word. Lena is so self-assured with her choices. I bet she easily decides what meal she would get at a restaurant without having to look up the menu in advance.
“I just need him to see the light is what you are saying?” I ask.
“Exactly. Did the client want to change her image? No! She did, however, want a paycheck and an audience—as do most people in this town.”
“All he seems to do is sulk about his past experiences, but in a quiet, brooding way.”
“You just need the public to see his good moments. Even if getting him there is orchestrated.”
“So stage something where he is being nice to someone and it’s on camera?”
“Exactly!”
“I just want him to sign with me.”
“You mean Blackburn?”
“Yes, that.” My chest deflates.
Lena’s brown eyes widen and the corners of her lips curve into a smile. At this rate, I don’t know which volume my voice is set on.
“Let’s get a box of food to go and head to my place to hang. I’ll get those brisket nachos you are always ordering for lunch. They will soak up the alcohol.”
Lena frantically waves her hand in the air, immediately catching the waitress’s attention. I can’t seem to get a grip on reality. Everything is getting blurrier by the second.
Images of the restaurant are blurred with my body now on a green chair. Time shifts in an instant. I can’t figure out when and how I landed here, because a wool blanket is draped over me and I’m resting snug into the cushions of the chair. Her ghostly figure is now sitting next to me again. The chant is buzzing in my ear as a headache forms.
“I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to get butterflies anymore,” I confess.
A rush of wind blows the blanket off my body and my eyes hang heavy, having a hard time staying open. I’m no longer able to fight it, surrendering to the darkness behind my eyes.
Chapter ten
A Blip
My eyes fixate on the glass box that Chris is sitting in, just toying with me. No response since last week’s email. A professional, well thought out recap of Holden Strauss and my encounters.
Study him, he said.
What do I get from that? Holden clearly seems unimpressed with us, probably loving the fact we are desperate to sell him on us.
So far, studying Holden feels like a ploy to do more of the same for Chris—make him look good. I handle the details and he handles the presentation. All I can seem to do right now is study Chris’s office.
How many pens are lined up neatly on his desk? Nine.
