“What kinds of changes?” I drop into a seat across from him, doing my best to look comfortable, doing my best to look like my heart isn’t hammering against my rib cage.
“You have earned quite the reputation around the city as a man who enjoys the finer things in life. Food. Women. Drinks.” Now he’s openly smiling at me, and I smile back, even though it feels fucking unnatural. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’ll always be waiting for that shoe to drop. “When it comes to your responsibilities here, we need to project an aura of…” His voice trails off as he searches for the appropriate word. “Respectability.”
“I see.”
“So I’ve hired a new PR firm to help you brush up on your image. It doesn’t mean you have to stop frequenting your club. Just work with them on creating some other opportunities to be photographed under other circumstances.”
“Not a problem,” I say with a smile, and my father nods.
I get up from my seat, torn in two. On the one hand, I’m relieved—my father actually approves of my choices and realizes that the thing with the paparazzi wasn’t entirely my fault. On the other hand, I’m sick at heart. Because if I had been anyone else…
“I’ve scheduled their first meeting with you just before lunch, at their offices,” my father says as I turn to leave. “Have your driver take you over.”
I give him a jaunty salute, then keep going.
“They’ve promised me they will assign you to the best reputation management expert they have on staff. Don’t give them too much trouble, son.”
Chapter 11
Quinn
I’m so amped up, my veins coursing with pure adrenaline, that it takes me a good five minutes to process what Walker is telling me about the company. Multibillion-dollar corporation. Privately owned by the father, who has the majority vote for any decision. Grooming his son to one day take the reins of leadership. Playboy. Partier. Womanizer. I’m listening so closely to every word that comes out of his mouth that they divide themselves up into unintelligible chunks that take a few moments to resolve in my mind.
Wait.
Playboy?
Womanizer?
This sounds awfully fucking familiar.
“Wait,” I say, cutting Walker off mid-sentence. We’re halfway down the hall leading to my brand new office. Normally, I would take a lot of delight in relishing this moment—the first walk to the space representing how far I’ve climbed since graduating college—but my mind roils with all the various pressures competing for my attention. The need to excel at this job, no matter what. The way my house is still hanging around my neck, a weight I need to cast off before it drowns me. And Christian Pierce’s eyes. “Did you tell me the name of the client? My mind is racing a little here.”
“Pierce Industries.”
My heart stops, then starts beating again.
“Pierce Industries,” I repeat after him, testing the name out on my tongue. There’s just no way it’s a coincidence.
“Yes,” Walker barrels on, not breaking his stride. “Harlan Pierce reached out to us personally. This is a bit of a special assignment.”
He stops in front of the doorway to my office and swings his arm out wide. It’s pretty huge, as far as offices go, and the view of the street below is stunning—but I barely notice. Special assignment. Jesus Christ. Where is he heading with this?
I step around Walker and into the office, heading straight for the desk. It’s a glass, modern creation set off by a futuristic-looking chair for me on one side of it and two comfortable seats for clients and anyone I’ll be managing. I assume I’ll be managing someone, since I oversaw a team of three people back in Colorado.
It’s like Walker hears my thoughts right through my skull.
“Now, usually we’d spend the first few weeks building out a team for you to manage client accounts. But Pierce Industries is such a heavy hitter that senior management has decided to dedicate a full-time person to them. That’s just to begin with, of course. If they have other needs in the future, we can add more personnel, and you’ll direct all those activities.”
I keep my face perfectly composed when I reply, but my tongue feels unwieldy in my mouth. “What are their needs currently?”
Walker holds out the portfolio that he’s been carrying. I take it from him, the leather cool and smooth under my fingertips.
“Specialized reputation management,” he says, and all at one I realize that this is going to be a one-on-one job. I flip open the portfolio, and there on the cover page is a press photo of Christian, gazing into the camera with a cocky smile.
My stomach does a slow flip, and I have to swallow the sudden dryness that appears in my mouth.
It takes everything I have, but I force myself to scan the fact sheet. Right at the top, I find the reason why Pierce Industries is so interested in managing Christian’s reputation. His father has just put him in charge of their entertainment division, which is clearly a move made in advance of promoting him to CEO. One day, he’s going to direct Pierce Industries in entirety. I know better than anyone that a person that visible needs the kind of PR management I can offer.
If, that is, I can slow my heart down to a normal level.
“Are they sending a representative?”
Walker shakes his head. “As far as I can tell, he’s coming down personally to meet with you. Harlan Pierce was very explicit about his requirements—they want actionable items by the end of the week.”
I nod once.
“Hey,” Walker says in a comforting tone. “You can do this. You came highly recommended—I’m sure your old team wouldn’t put you up for something they didn’t think you could pull off.”
I flash him the biggest, most genuine smile I can possibly force onto my face. “I’m good, really. Just thinking strategy.”
Walker lets out a short burst of laughter. “Wow. They were right about you. You don’t waste a second, do you?”
Then he’s out the door, calling back over his shoulder: “I’m going to go find your new assistant. You two should meet before your client shows up.”
The next two hours pass by in a blur. I meet my new assistant, Adam, who will handle such tasks as calling for my car to be brought around and ordering my lunch.
“My car?” I say as Adam stands in front of my desk next to Walker, who is still rattling off a seemingly endless stream of information about both my job and Pierce Industries. I get it. Time is fucking short. Christian is going to be here any minute, and I have to steel myself. There’s no time for anything less than flawless professional behavior.
“You have company car privileges. Any time you need, you’re welcome to call down to the fleet. You’re welcome to take public transportation if you’d like, but a car is always available to you.”
I don’t have time to weigh the comfort of a company car against the extra time it will take to navigate through New York City traffic. “Excellent. Is there anything else I should know before this meeting?” I glance at the clock on my computer screen.
We have five minutes.
“I don’t think so,” Walker says. “Everything you need to get started should be in the portfolio. Don’t get too hung up on this meeting, though. It’s mainly to feel things out. We’ve got other meetings already scheduled.”