Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Thank you, Reagan.” Layla forced a smile despite clearly being stressed. “I’m sure the communications team values your thoughtful analysis. Rest assured, though, I—we—have things well in hand.”
Someone on the far side of the table chuckled under their breath, and my cheeks went as hot as if she’d said the words “please don’t mansplain my job to me” out loud. I nodded, pressing my lips together to prevent any further wayward outbursts.
Layla cleared her throat again and took a sip of her steaming coffee. “The social media focus on this story is troublesome,” she went on. “But the real concern is that the story has been picked up by several credible news organizations. Global Pulse has already asked for a comment.”
“Them again,” someone scoffed. “They should know better. We handed them their asses last time they took us on.”
Layla sighed. “Yes, they’ve been looking for a way to smear Pennington’s reputation ever since I insisted on suing them for their last fictitious story, but maybe this is an opportunity to convince them we’re the good guys. They’ve written an article questioning whether Nova Davidson is our new ‘brand ambassador,’ which we can— Oh!” Layla glanced over my head, and her professional smile transformed into something warm and genuine. “There you are! Just in time.”
The murmured greetings of the department heads were drowned out by the roaring of blood in my ears as Thatcher Pennington, CEO of Pennington Industries and owner of several body parts I’d recently had in my mouth, straightened from where he’d been propped against the doorjamb and moved to take the remaining empty seat next to Layla.
Mother of god.
After a brief glance that went no higher than his neck—yep, that was the torso I’d been intimately acquainted with, alright—I resolutely looked away and resisted the urge to tug at my collar, which was suddenly a size too tight.
After weeks of zero contact at work, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d see Thatcher again so soon—that his emergency and mine were one and the same. And despite experience with dozens of different morning-after scenarios, this was a new one for me. How the hell was I supposed to sit across a conference table from my hookup while pretending that the heater wasn’t wafting his tantalizing cologne across the table and that my entire body wasn’t flushing hot-cold-hot-cold like a neon sign announcing Reagan Wellbridge fucked his boss?
I could barely hear Layla as she went on. “…I was just saying that the media is using this incident as clickbait with us as the target. We’ll implement a multipronged strategy. The first step will be crafting a press release. The second and more important step…” She paused for another sip of coffee. “…needs to be an in-person, multicity PR tour, headlined by both of us.”
Her words were like a record scratch, cutting through all the lust and confusion in my brain.
A PR tour? Had we traveled back to 1855 and nobody told me?
Without my consent, my gaze flicked to Thatcher to gauge his reaction and found him looking as stupefied as I felt.
I was no PR expert—social media was only one tiny facet of public relations, after all—but an in-person whistle-stop tour seemed unnecessary and… frankly, useless. Why would Pennington cater to the traditional news media when the outlets that seemed to be covering the story seemed to have a grudge against the company? Why go to all that effort and expense so we could reach a few dozen people when there was a free way to reach millions of people with just a few clicks? If the issue was the story going viral on social media, wasn’t the best place to handle it… social media?
I took a breath and opened my mouth to voice these thoughts… and immediately remembered that my unsolicited comments were not welcome, so I clenched my hands together under the table instead. Everyone else at the table was nodding, like this seemed utterly rational to them. Nataly didn’t appear surprised, like maybe she’d gotten a memo I’d missed.
“I would have spoken to you privately about this beforehand, Thatcher, but I—we—only brainstormed the concept a few hours ago and fleshed it out based on your availability according to your online calendar,” Layla went on. She gave Thatcher a wry smile. “You said you were committed to doing whatever it took to mitigate the damage, so I’m taking you at your word.”
Thatcher frowned. “I am committed. But this—”
“Is vitally important to the response strategy,” she said. “I wouldn’t ask it of you if it wasn’t. Now, you and I were already planning to attend the Textile Symposium in Kansas City tomorrow afternoon—”
“I’m leaving tonight,” Thatcher confirmed. “You’re flying out tomorrow.”
“Yes, but now I think it makes more sense to travel with you so we can continue to strategize. Also, I feel strongly that we should extend that trip for a total of…” She coughed lightly. “Two weeks?”