I didn’t answer. He always tended to ask four or five questions in a row before giving me a chance to answer one of them.
“You are the CEO of a billion-dollar real estate corporation.” He said the words as if he couldn’t believe them himself. “You are a billionaire.”
“That was more than implied by your first sentence...”
“I just don’t understand you sometimes.” He looked at me like I was deranged. “You have the world at your fingertips, but you’d rather risk it on stupid shit that brings you negative attention. I’m honestly starting to wonder if you care anymore. Like, do you wake up first thing in the morning and think to yourself, how can I possibly make my public image even worse today?”
“I’m usually thinking about pussy first thing in the morning. I don’t typically have any other thoughts when I wake up.”
He stopped pacing and glared at me. “You’ve been through thirteen publicists this year alone and thirty-six total over the past four years. Do you have any idea what that means?”
“This city clearly needs better publicists.”
“It means that once again, we have to delay our global initiative efforts and our stock options because there is no way in hell Wall Street will have anything to do with our brilliant yet battled CEO. It also means...”
I stopped listening. My brother overreacted to everything and our views on the company couldn’t have been more different. True, over the past few years my public persona had taken on a life of its own, but the press made it ten times worse than the reality. Yes, I once partied like there was no tomorrow. Yes, I once fucked a different woman every week—almost every day for a couple years. And yes, I tended to say whatever came to my mind during press interviews, but after the two decades of nonstop work and sweat equity I’d put into making this company what it was today, I more than deserved it.
And as of seven months ago, I actually hadn’t had sex or partied once since The New York Times decided to run a different version of that “explosive” sexting article. (That, and the board made me sign a seventh-month agreement that promised no public social outings while my image recovered.)
“I can’t get a single PR firm past the word ‘Hello’ when I tell them I’m calling about representation for you.” Leo was still talking. “Now, I’ve done my best with the board in practically begging them not to ask that you resign from your own company, but I don’t know if I can do much more.”
“What?” I was paying full attention now. “What did you say about me resigning?”
“Look.” He sighed. “You’re one scandal away from them asking you to step down as CEO. You’d still have your stock options, they’d send out an amicable press release to make it seem like it was your idea, and the company will still technically be yours, but...”
“But what?”
“But this is getting very tiring. You’ve become quite impossible to deal with and I say that as your brother, with much respect for all you’ve done for me and the company.”
“The company I started.”
“The same company you need to be held accountable for.” He walked over to my desk and set down a sheet of paper. “I’ve managed to get them all to agree to hold off on pushing you to resign, unless you commit something else egregious—a la saying you enjoy ‘fucking’ on live television.”
“I was answering the question honestly.”
“Of course, you were.” He rolled his eyes. “This is a list of the remaining, reputable PR firms in this city. Do me a favor and call around to see if one is willing to take you on. If you can, lie about who you are and only use your initials and an LLC.”
“Any particular reason why Linda can’t do this for me?”
“Not at all.” He tapped his chin. “Well, unless we account for the fact that she’s currently dealing with tying up the loose ends from the last publicist who just quit you minutes ago, and you can’t afford to lose her right now.” He walked toward the door and then looked over his shoulder. “Oh, and one last thing. Because I know you and I know how you think—”
“You don’t know how I think at all.”
“I noticed that you had today’s date highlighted on your digital calendar,” he said. “I couldn’t help but realize that it correlates to the last day in your seven-month ‘no-partying’ agreement with the board.”
“It also correlates with my birthday.”
“Your birthday was yesterday,” he said, his voice firm. “They’re going to redraft that agreement and ask you to re-sign it Monday. If you do choose to go out this weekend and break your self-imposed no-sex rule, I highly suggest that you don’t make the most of it.”
“I won’t.”
I will...
THE PUBLICIST
PENELOPE I stepped out of a town car at Broadway and Fifth Avenue, juggling my umbrella and coffee in one hand and my clients’ files in the other. Today marked the eighth day in a row that heavy rains had fallen over this city, and I was beginning to regret not renting an office space closer to my apartment.
“Good morning, Miss Lauren.” The concierge greeted me as he pulled the door open. “Good to see that you’re two hours early as always.”
“Good morning to you as well, Oliver,” I said, smiling. “You know I’m allergic to being late.” I walked inside and hit the button for the elevator, taking it straight up to the seventh floor.
The second I stepped off, I stared in awe at the shiny, silver plated lettering that hung high above my double doors: Penelope Lauren & Associates.
My firm was one of the smallest public relations companies in Manhattan, and our clients were mostly mid-level athletes, local celebrities and colleges, and a few Wall Street assholes who were incapable of keeping their cocks in their pants. Every now and then, we’d land a huge account but they’d eventually be lured away by the brighter lights of a larger firm. A firm with more staff, bigger resources, and other big name clients that I could only dream about landing.
Still, with only six years under my belt, I was proud of how much me and my team of five had accomplished thus far.
I unlocked the door to my office and started my morning ritual: Listen to thirty minutes of an audiobook, respond to all the important emails, and vow to give two hundred percent effort for the rest of the day. I read through my current clients’ files—making sure I was on schedule for everything they needed, and by the time I finished, my secretary Tina was setting a fresh cup of coffee on my desk.
“You are the CEO of a billion-dollar real estate corporation.” He said the words as if he couldn’t believe them himself. “You are a billionaire.”
“That was more than implied by your first sentence...”
“I just don’t understand you sometimes.” He looked at me like I was deranged. “You have the world at your fingertips, but you’d rather risk it on stupid shit that brings you negative attention. I’m honestly starting to wonder if you care anymore. Like, do you wake up first thing in the morning and think to yourself, how can I possibly make my public image even worse today?”
“I’m usually thinking about pussy first thing in the morning. I don’t typically have any other thoughts when I wake up.”
He stopped pacing and glared at me. “You’ve been through thirteen publicists this year alone and thirty-six total over the past four years. Do you have any idea what that means?”
“This city clearly needs better publicists.”
“It means that once again, we have to delay our global initiative efforts and our stock options because there is no way in hell Wall Street will have anything to do with our brilliant yet battled CEO. It also means...”
I stopped listening. My brother overreacted to everything and our views on the company couldn’t have been more different. True, over the past few years my public persona had taken on a life of its own, but the press made it ten times worse than the reality. Yes, I once partied like there was no tomorrow. Yes, I once fucked a different woman every week—almost every day for a couple years. And yes, I tended to say whatever came to my mind during press interviews, but after the two decades of nonstop work and sweat equity I’d put into making this company what it was today, I more than deserved it.
And as of seven months ago, I actually hadn’t had sex or partied once since The New York Times decided to run a different version of that “explosive” sexting article. (That, and the board made me sign a seventh-month agreement that promised no public social outings while my image recovered.)
“I can’t get a single PR firm past the word ‘Hello’ when I tell them I’m calling about representation for you.” Leo was still talking. “Now, I’ve done my best with the board in practically begging them not to ask that you resign from your own company, but I don’t know if I can do much more.”
“What?” I was paying full attention now. “What did you say about me resigning?”
“Look.” He sighed. “You’re one scandal away from them asking you to step down as CEO. You’d still have your stock options, they’d send out an amicable press release to make it seem like it was your idea, and the company will still technically be yours, but...”
“But what?”
“But this is getting very tiring. You’ve become quite impossible to deal with and I say that as your brother, with much respect for all you’ve done for me and the company.”
“The company I started.”
“The same company you need to be held accountable for.” He walked over to my desk and set down a sheet of paper. “I’ve managed to get them all to agree to hold off on pushing you to resign, unless you commit something else egregious—a la saying you enjoy ‘fucking’ on live television.”
“I was answering the question honestly.”
“Of course, you were.” He rolled his eyes. “This is a list of the remaining, reputable PR firms in this city. Do me a favor and call around to see if one is willing to take you on. If you can, lie about who you are and only use your initials and an LLC.”
“Any particular reason why Linda can’t do this for me?”
“Not at all.” He tapped his chin. “Well, unless we account for the fact that she’s currently dealing with tying up the loose ends from the last publicist who just quit you minutes ago, and you can’t afford to lose her right now.” He walked toward the door and then looked over his shoulder. “Oh, and one last thing. Because I know you and I know how you think—”
“You don’t know how I think at all.”
“I noticed that you had today’s date highlighted on your digital calendar,” he said. “I couldn’t help but realize that it correlates to the last day in your seven-month ‘no-partying’ agreement with the board.”
“It also correlates with my birthday.”
“Your birthday was yesterday,” he said, his voice firm. “They’re going to redraft that agreement and ask you to re-sign it Monday. If you do choose to go out this weekend and break your self-imposed no-sex rule, I highly suggest that you don’t make the most of it.”
“I won’t.”
I will...
THE PUBLICIST
PENELOPE I stepped out of a town car at Broadway and Fifth Avenue, juggling my umbrella and coffee in one hand and my clients’ files in the other. Today marked the eighth day in a row that heavy rains had fallen over this city, and I was beginning to regret not renting an office space closer to my apartment.
“Good morning, Miss Lauren.” The concierge greeted me as he pulled the door open. “Good to see that you’re two hours early as always.”
“Good morning to you as well, Oliver,” I said, smiling. “You know I’m allergic to being late.” I walked inside and hit the button for the elevator, taking it straight up to the seventh floor.
The second I stepped off, I stared in awe at the shiny, silver plated lettering that hung high above my double doors: Penelope Lauren & Associates.
My firm was one of the smallest public relations companies in Manhattan, and our clients were mostly mid-level athletes, local celebrities and colleges, and a few Wall Street assholes who were incapable of keeping their cocks in their pants. Every now and then, we’d land a huge account but they’d eventually be lured away by the brighter lights of a larger firm. A firm with more staff, bigger resources, and other big name clients that I could only dream about landing.
Still, with only six years under my belt, I was proud of how much me and my team of five had accomplished thus far.
I unlocked the door to my office and started my morning ritual: Listen to thirty minutes of an audiobook, respond to all the important emails, and vow to give two hundred percent effort for the rest of the day. I read through my current clients’ files—making sure I was on schedule for everything they needed, and by the time I finished, my secretary Tina was setting a fresh cup of coffee on my desk.
