“Do y’all need me to help with something?” Olly asks, dropping his spoon into his bowl. Milk splashes out on his blue T-shirt. He’s twenty-two, fresh-faced, and built like an NFL player. His skin is a lighter shade of pale than mine, and his hair is buzz cut like he’s just enrolled in the marines.
I look behind myself and then realize he’s just talking to me. His Southern drawl confuses me when he says the wordy’all. I fight the urge to answer back in the same accent, a terrible habit I picked up when I first moved to LA and started mimicking the Valley girls with their whiny twangs. Instead, I reach for the Tide pen in my drawer, chucking it to him and pointing at the stain on his shirt.
He blushes as dimples form in both cheeks.
“I think I’m good for the moment. But I could use you in the meeting I’m about to have.” I nod at the boardroom as I grab my laptop and notebook and make my way toward it. Olly quickly dabs at his T-shirt with the Tide pen, then follows behind.
“Christopher, how are you darling?” Caryn flicks her blond locks behind her shoulder and readjusts her cream blouse. Chloe has yet to join us on the Zoom call.
It’s surprising how similar most publicists are. Like they allattend the same PR etiquette classes. Caryn’s approach is almost identical to Connie’s. Darling here, flicks of the hair there.
“Good, thanks, and you?” My tone is less charismatic than hers.
“Wonderful, darling. I can’t wait to get this show on the road.” She rubs her hands with glee.
The door opens behind her, and Chloe enters. Her hands cup a Brewed mug, the company slogan clearly visible on-screen as she sits down:One cup away from tolerating humanity.
More like seven in my case, I comment silently to myself. Her dark-brown hair and reverse cat-eye makeup is offset by her nude lipstick and caramel T-shirt.
“’Sorry to keep you guys, I got caught up in a forecasting meeting.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “Where are we at?”
“We’ve just started, darling.” Caryn checks herself out in her camera, rather than looking at Chloe. It’s a crime I’ve been guilty of multiple times.
“Great. How’s Alexander doing?” Chloe quickly moves things along.
Her question locks around my throat like a vice.
What do I tell her—them? That Paul is concerned about Alexander’s recovery? That he not-so-subtly informed me that I need to tread carefully when I speak with him this morning? That anything I do could cause him to relapse?
Best not. Best to do what I’ve become accustomed to when it comes to Alexander and be truth-adjacent.
“He’s good. Got out of the treatment facility yesterday. He seems to be in good spirits, according to management.”
“Are they not joining us?” Caryn asks, reaching for a nail file and rasping it against her index nail.
“No,” I answer and let out a chuckle, not at the question, but at how at ease Caryn is with filing her nails on a call with me and Olly, who I’ve yet to introduce. “I felt we could have a franker conversation on here without them.
“By the way, this is our new assistant, Olly. I’ll connect you via email after the call,” I say, smiling at them. I turn my laptop so they can get a better look. Both of them smile and say hi as Olly waves back.
“How’s the campaign doing so far?” I ask, steering the conversation back to their key performance indicators, not wanting to get weighed down in gossip about Alexander.
“They’re doing okay? They’re lower than we were hoping for two weeks in. But, given the adjustments made to the campaign owing to Alexander’s availability, we don’t expect things to ramp up until just before Thanksgiving.”
There’s a slight bitterness to Chloe’s tone, and I don’t necessarily blame her. The rehab stint threw a complete spanner in her marketing plans. If anything, it made me appreciate her more. Somewhat of a kinship has formed between us since we’ve both been fucked over by Alexander’s actions, albeit in very different ways.
“Any updates from his label?” Caryn drops her nail file and returns her attention to the screen.
I flick open my notebook and squint at the notes I took down from the call with Paul earlier.
“It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Yearis up to sixty-two on the daily Spotify USA charts and it’s at a similar spot on Apple, which is encouraging this early on. Only Mariah and Brenda Lee with their Christmas songs are higher. They’re creating a bunch of digital assets for socials to tie into the song, and Paul has gotten the label to agree to putting a nod to the Brewed campaign in them.”
“Great! Do they need me to send over our branding materials?” Chloe asks.
“I’m sure that would be handy. Let me loop you in with them after the call.” I nod at Olly to make a note.
The women remain silent, and I feel the tension rising in my body.
I reach for one of the stress balls I’ve left in the boardroom and read it:Better to squeeze me than send that text. Too late for that, I think.
