Page 1 of All Superheroes Need PR
Chapter OneVanessa
I shuffle the papers in front of me, arranging them until they’re perfectly fanned across the conference room table, the headline of each newspaper now visible. My gaze snags on the headline from theLondon Champions Daily, the third largest newspaper globally and the single largest newspaper whose content is exclusively dedicated to the Forty-Eight.
Taranis, master of lightning, saves pediatric surgeon from collapsing at hospital, states, “Some heroes wear white coats, not capes.”
I push the newspapers out of place so I can see the full picture dominating the space below the headline. I sigh, wishing thathewas the clay I had to work with. A knight clad in a baby blue so pale it appears white, contrasting against his light-brown skin and accentuating his smile. It’s a smile that Margerie would—and has—calledpanty-droppingand that every single person on earth has universally concluded belongs to the most attractive man who ever lived. Except, well, he isn’t amanexactly.
I think about how effortlessly and elegantly he smiles for the camera. Six foot something. Perfect fade with a trademark lightningbolt shaved behind his right ear. Big purple eyes—not blue, not aqua, but bright violet—that have been on the cover of almost every magazine ever made—that could afford him, anyway. Scary likable. I’ve met a few folks from Selkie Global, the media firm that manages his PR, and though they’ve always been tight-lipped about what it’s like working with him, I imagine it’s a dream. One that I definitely won’t have a chance to take part in because he’s not the one I’m here to see.
I rearrange the papers so that theLondon Champions Dailyis third down instead of right there on top, laughing at me. Because the truth is that I’m the teeniest bit grateful he’snotthe client I’m coming to meet. Taranis is perfect.Tooperfect. And just so ...pretty. I don’t do well with men, pretty ones in particular. I haven’t dated a guy seriously since college, and I haven’t dated a guy who looks like Taranisever. Men make me nervous. Actually, everything makes me nervous, but guys who look like that? Terrifying.
“Aren’t you scared?” I jolt at the sound of Margerie’s voice, and she snorts out a laugh that she not at all convincingly disguises as a cough. My chief marketing officer and emotional support person leans into my shoulder and gives the back of my arm a pinch. “What were you daydreaming about?”
“How you move like a ninja in those shoes.” I scowl, glaring down at her feet. She’s almost six inches taller than I am without heels and chooses to wear stilettos every day to work. These are baby-pink satin and look more expensive than all the shoes in my closet combined. “You’d give any of the Forty-Eight a run for their money in those—literally.”
She laughs a little harder, voice more muffled as she covers the bottom half of her face with her notebook. She glances to the glass wall of the conference room, evidently trying not to be overheard by the members of the Champions of Earth Coalition standing on the other side of the glass. The staff are waiting in the hallway—lining the hallway—like a royal congregation welcoming a king. I try to refocus on the feel of the newspaper under my fingertips instead of my next breath, which fails to arrive as promised.
There’s so much on the line here—literally, possibly, the fate of the entire world—and somehow me and my small firm are the team that nabbed the short-term contract to convince this mysterious holdout to become a good guy.
A hero.
I shrivel at the thought. “Stop.” Margerie’s hand comes down on the newspaper stack like the blade of a guillotine on my intrusive thoughts. “Don’t panic. We got this.”
I nod, but the words I mean to repeat get stuck in my throat. I can’tnotthink about the newspaper lying right there on top. Two weeks old—an eternity ago in the eyes of the press—but not wrong ...
The Riot Creative is set to be the smallest firm to work with one of the Forty-Eight. Supernatural Defense Department chair says that this shows Mr. Singkham and the Champions “aren’t serious” about Pyro acquisition.
After weeks of assessment, my team arrived at the same conclusion. Though we’ll be paid for our work on the proposal we put together, there’s a strong chance we’ll be leaving this office today without anything more than that. Margerie keeps reminding me that to have made it this far is already a success—that we have other clients, that our team is highly skilled, that I formed a company capable of taking on a contract like this in only seven years. Even if there’s blowback from this and the Pyro becomes a villain, as we all suspect he will, we’re a PR firm specializing in crisis communications. We can recover. And if we don’t—if the world burns tomorrow and my company collapses with the rubble—we’ll all still be fine. My team is highly skilled, capable of finding new work, and I ... I could start a new company, but ...
I don’t want to do any of that. I don’t want my team to leave me. My social anxiety made hiring people hard enough that I resisted for the first two years, working myself into the ground trying to do everythingby myself, until two things happened in the same month: my family staged an intervention and a client fired me. So, after a lot of work with my therapist, I managed to open my mind up to the idea of hiring staff. And I lucked out. I found Margerie.
My core team has been with me for four years now, Margerie for five. I know they’ll eventually look for new jobs, take their next steps, form families, move out of Sundale, do normal people things, but my hope is that maybe, just maybe, if we can nail this short-term contract and successfully convince the Pyro to become a hero in the next three months, I can get them the long-term contract. This sexy, massiveten-yearcontract to cover the Pyro’s PR for the duration of his contract with the Champions would take us to places I couldn’t have ever dreamed of when I started The Riot Creative; my team will all want to stay and I won’t have to change anything.
“Hey.” Margerie’s voice has gone all soft, and I look up at her, and she looks down at me, her perfect eyebrows drawn over a perfect nose. “What did I say?” She says each word carefully, speaking to me like I’m about to have a panic attack.
I am about to have a panic attack. It wouldn’t be the first time. I inhale deeply and think how annoyed my therapist would be with me. Not only have I not been doing my breathing exercises, I’ve stopped breathing altogether.
“We got this,” I repeat, knowing that it’s not just my fear of abandonment that’ll fuel me today. Looking up at Margerie, the truth is that I like my team. The fight for this contract feels like a fight for them in a way that no contract has ever felt before, based on the size, scope, and notoriety of this contract alone. All I can do now is hope and pray the Pyro turns out to be a decent, nice person—well, superbeing—and maybe, maybe, justmaybe... a hero.
Margerie frowns. “Make me believe it.”
“We got this?”
Margerie sighs. “We’ve gone over this. It’s worth the risks. The bad stuff is just speculation. All we know forfactsis that the Pyro is a freeagent. The VNA placed a bid. The COE placed another bid. We don’t know the amounts, but we know they’re attractive enough for him to consider working with the heroes despite the fact that he’s never worked with anyone on anything before and doesn’t seem to really give a shit about ... well, anything,” she huffs. “That’s why we got the bid,” she says, trying to be reassuring.
“That’s why we got the bid,” I repeat, taking another breath in and holding it for five seconds before releasing it between us. “He’s not special.”
“He’s not special.”
“We’re not special.”
“We’re fucking great.” She grins. “There’s a reason we got this contract.”
I nod, my lips thinning and my shoulders rolling back. “There’s a reason we got this contract.”
“We’re great.”
“You’regreat.”
