Page 19 of The Publicity Stunt
“I need you to take over Tony Martin for me. My idiot husband booked us on a five-day nonrefundable cruise in the Bahamas. It’s been five years since we got married, and still he doesn’t know I hate surprises.” She doesn’t even look up while dumping this massive information overload on me.
“You want me to handle Tony?”
Zawe is a PR shark, known for her cutthroat tendencies and sharp gaze that screams, “I get what I want, exactly how I want it.” The woman has her initials carved on the sole of her Jimmy Choos, for crying out loud.
“Yes, you, April,” she says. “The shoot only has two weeks left to wrap up, so it won’t take much from your time. Not that you have a lot going on as it is.”
Her words are like a punch to the gut. True, but hurtful.
“Look, April,” Zawe says and this time she does look up, her frigid brown eyes directed right at me. “You’ve been here longer than anyone else. And you’ve done some really good work these past years.”
Self-satisfaction and pride glows in my chest, but her next words put out the warmth like a bucket of ice.
“But I can’t ignore your recent slump,” Zawe says. “You haven’t brought in a single new client in the past six months, and the publicity industry is highly competitive. You know that.”
I swallow a rock-sized lump in my throat.
“I hate saying this, but,”—she huffs and leans back, the legs of her chair creaking—“consider this your last chance. You’re going to handle the final leg of Tony’s PR campaign. And if you mess it up in any way, then …” She shrugs. “Well, I’m going to have to let you go.”
My heart bangs against my ribcage and the knots in my stomach tighten. The worst has happened and it’s not even noon. Fired? I’ve never been fired from anything. Sure, there was that one time in fourth grade when Mrs. Wheeler demoted me from being class monitor because I kept favoring Luke Hayes, the sandy-haired boy I had a massive crush on. But I’m almost sure this is worse.
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and scooch forward. “I won’t let you down.”
“You can’t let me down,” she corrects.
Right.
“I like having you around, April. So please don’t make me fire you,” Zawe says, vaguely irritated, and goes back to her laptop. “I’m emailing you all the details. You can get started on this right away.”
I get up from the chair and straighten the legs of my pantsuit. “Got it, Zawe. Thank you. I won’t disappoint. Shoot, I mean, I can’t—”
She cuts me off with a sharp nod and a flick of her hand. Translation:we’re done.
I purse my lips and nod, walking back out toward my cubicle, my heartbeat thumping against my temples.
“Hey, April!”
I look up and—“Oh shit!” I swerve, almost running into Eric, our newest intern, and the cup of coffee in his hand.
“Whoaaa … that was a close call, huh?” He takes a step back and sets the cup down on the edge of a dull-grey desk. “Is she in a better mood now?” he asks, tilting his head toward Zawe’s glass-walled office.
I lift my arms in a tired shrug. “Only one way to find out, right?”
“Huh. Yeah.” He doesn’t sound convinced at all.
I start to lower my hands when Eric’s eyes dart toward my wrist. “You have a tattoo? That’s dope. What does it say?”
I quickly force my hands into a guarded fold across my chest. “Oh, just a generic old heart.” Lies. “Why don’t you get going on that coffee?” I get us back on track, putting a Zawe-shaped stop sign to any follow-up questions he might have and make a direct beeline for my cubicle, shutting the door behind me.
I pull back my sleeve and uncover the tiny “H” on my left wrist. The H that stands for Hayden.
Hayden fucking Parker.
I’ve contemplated getting it removed loads of times, but apparently tattoo removals hurt way more than getting said tattoo. So, no, thank you. I run my fingers over the black outline of the H. He got an A for April on his right wrist. There wasn’t much I couldn’t convince him to do. This tattoo was proof.
My chest constricts at the memory. I retract my fingers and pull down my sleeve, shutting him out of my mind.
I can’t afford any distractions right now.
