Spin Control (2 page)

Oh, yes, I knew exactly who Devin Underhill wasunabashed New York playboy, heir to the billion-dollar
Hotel Bella chain, and the man who just happened to
squash my heart like a cockroach two years ago. "It's
starting to ring a bell now." I tugged at the neck of my
thick pink turtleneck sweater. Probably not the best day
to wear it. And was that my throat starting to close up?
Oh, great, this was all I needed. I tried to recall proper
breathing techniques from the one yoga class I took.
Nope, that didn't work.

Gwen turned to face Michael Korten, the publicist
transplanted to the New York office from Los Angeles.
"Good God, Michael. Please tell me you know who
he is."

"Of course I do. I emulate his kind." He absentmindedly smoothed his tie. Sarcasm-or at least I
hoped that's what it was-saturated his words.

"As you know-well, maybe not you, Kate, but you
can pretend for me-Devin has dated every available,
and sometimes not-so-available, socialite in Manhattan. Needless to say, someone of his stature who behaves in such ways gets quite the reputation-and
attention from the press."

I squirmed, but tried to cover for it by pretending my
black skirt had twisted around. I had been avoiding the
New York celebrity-gossip circuit (as much as one can
in this town, I suppose) since the breakup with Devin,
and, with one comment, Gwen had reminded me of all
the voices I had been trying to quell in the past two
years. And there I was, behind closed doors with my
eccentric boss and a rather stuffy coworker I barely
knew, discussing the man who had taken up significant
space in my mind.

Michael interrupted my mental wanderings. "So,
why does Mr. Underhill need us to do publicity?"

"Two things you should know about this project:
Devin's not the one hiring us, and he doesn't know he's
our client yet."

I squinted at Gwen, who responded to my confusion.
"It's his dad, Fox, who's doing the hiring. Fox's hotels
have been experiencing a decline in profits-and image-and he thinks it might be because of his son, or
rather his son's reputation. Women and all-night parties
seem to be Devin's favorite vices," Gwen said in a confidential tone.

Great. Thanks, Gwen. Really, could you say one
more thing that'll make me want to dive headfirst into
the Hudson?

"And our job is...," Michael watched Gwen quizzically.

"Fox has hired our company to give his son an image
makeover."

Gwen leaned in toward Michael and me and shoved
her wire-framed glasses back atop her mane of frizzy
black hair, a sign that she meant business. "Listen, you
two, you're the best reps in this office, so I'm depending on you to make me-I mean us-some money and
pull this off. I don't need to tell you that this is the most
important project you will ever have at my company,
and likely your career."

"Isn't this all kind of a stretch?" Michael frowned as
he rubbed one of his eyebrows. "I mean, tying someone's reputation to profits? I may not have an econ degree, but this doesn't add up"

I cringed, because I knew what was coming next. It
held the same horrifying yet gleeful fascination for me
as watching The Maury Show featuring moms awaiting
the DNA results of potential fathers. Disaster, waiting
to happen. And I couldn't turn away. Michael hadn't
been at Burton Relations long enough to know not to
criticize the owner of one of the tiniest but most successful publicity firms on the East Coast. I'd seen her fire other reps who had done less to question her judgment. I held my breath and winced.

Gwen shot him her patented withering stare that generally reduced most underlings into contorted heaps.
"You're not here to question the reasons. Since when
did publicists become the moral authority? Did they
teach you that in California, Michael, with your L.A.
hotshots?" The rumor buzzing around Michael when he
first started at Burton Relations six months ago had
been that he was one of the reps responsible for Courtney Love's transformation from bad girl to Hollywood
chic. (No word on who was responsible for the transformation undoing all of this.)

Michael didn't seem particularly affected by Gwen's
freeze. He just looked at me, looked back at her, and
shrugged. "Okay, you've got a point, Gwen. But what
kind of challenge, really, are we looking at here?"

I refrained from giving a big "Hmph!" I knew what
kind of a challenge we were facing. I could give
Michael ten examples from the top of my head; after
all, I had experienced at least that many in my six
months with Devin. But this was no time for reminiscing or lectures-no question, I had to gracefully remove myself from this project.

I just didn't have a clue as to how to do it.

"It's a huge challenge, Michael, because you're dealing with an outrageous reputation, and that supercedes
all else." Gwen used her intimidating-authority-figure
voice. "Devin Underhill could rescue baby seals from a
clubbing death, but the press would only focus on the wild party that was thrown afterward in honor of his
heroic ways"

"Good point, though I will be forever tainted by the
baby-seal metaphor." Michael barely smiled-there was
that barely-disguised sarcasm again. I glanced at him; he
was all business with his carefully pressed white oxford
shirt and proper tie. That he helped with the Courtney
Love makeover had to be a lie. I had this image of her
flailing about his L.A. office while he tried to awkwardly
avoid her coming on to him, saying in a stodgy tone,
"Ms. Love, we must consider the business at hand" I
smirked at the scenario and had almost forgotten why we
were all in the office in the first place ... almost.

"So," Michael continued, "I find it interesting that his
dad is hiring a publicity firm" Gwen eyed him, daring
him to continue on this line. Instead he put up his hands
surrender-style. "I know, I know. Don't question, just do"

I had to give him credit, Michael was quick. He immediately took the cue, his skepticism set aside, if not
veiled. "What's our plan of action? Is there a timeline
for making this all come together?"

Gwen looked at the ceiling and scratched her neck
with her faux fuchsia-colored nails. "I was thinking
that you and Kate could hash out the plan. First thing is
to gather all the press clippings you can find of our bad
boy from the last few years-good, bad, ugly, I don't
care. If his name is listed in the Wall Street Journal, I
want it. If it's on Page Six, I want it." She rose from the
perch on her desk and began to pace in front of her windows, in the zone. "The next thing to do is to identify patterns, as we do for all of our clients. I don't care
what you do, just make the pieces fit. The problem with
this one is that we have to present the information delicately. Remember, Devin has no idea-"

"That we're going to rain on his playboy parade?"
Michael suggested dryly.

Gwen didn't miss a beat. "That his dad has this
planned for him."

"This should be interesting," Michael observed.

I cleared my throat. "When exactly is he going to
break it to Devin?" And could I be on the other coast
by then?

"When they're in our office tomorrow."

"What?" Michael and I cried in unison.

"Settle down, settle down," Gwen assured us, her
skittish minions. "I told you at the beginning of this
conversation, you two can handle it. If it means you
stay up all night, then take a three-day weekend on me"

Michael was incredulous. "You mean that we have to
have our proposal done in twenty-four hours? What
about our other clients?"

"I'm going to put some junior account executives on
them," she said carelessly. "Might as well throw them a
bone. Listen, I can tell you that Fox Underhill is paying
us very good money to do this for him and his son. And
that information doesn't leave this room" Gwen loved
using that line. Often I would get this image of Gwen's
office bulging with information that wasn't allowed to
leave her office. Would the tidbits eventually explode
out the door and rain down on the desks of unsuspecting executives?

I was staring out the window watching traffic pass
when Gwen took notice of my lack of enthusiasm.
"Kate, you haven't said much, and frankly, dear, you're
being an airhead." I knew how much Gwen adored labeling her workers, and if this one incident would forever brand me as a ditz, I had to take control of my
emotions-as if that were realistic at the moment. But
just then, Gwen softened a bit. "Is everything okay?"

I tried to muster my buried courage. "Um, actually,
I would like to talk to you after this meeting." Michael
quickly turned his head toward me, and I flushed. "It's
nothing, really. Just a few ideas I'd like to run past
you, Gwen."

"Let's have Michael stay and hear them"

"It's about a different project I'm working on" Another lie.

Gwen smirked. "Sure, whatever you say. Before we
let Michael go, we should get a plan together today.
You can have Rita pull press clippings and do online
searches. Then you two should put your heads together
and come up with a tactful but persuasive way to present your findings to Devin and his dad." She returned to
the desk and folded her hands prayer-style. "Please,
please, please remember that Devin doesn't even know
what's happening. I talked to Fox earlier today, and his
plan is to invent some meeting for him and Devin to attend in the building, and oops, he's just gonna pop in
and see how his old friend Gwen Burton is doing. Before you know it, we'll all be chatting like old friendsone of whom needs a new public personality, mind you.
They'll be here at ten o'clock tomorrow, so at eight, I want to look over what you came up with and offer suggestions." She looked back and forth between the two
of us. "Got it?"

"Of course!" Michael replied a little too eagerly. I
think he and I both knew that something this dicey, this
much of a stretch, was never so smooth. And to get it
done in record time only added to my stress.

Michael rose from his chair; he had abnormally
straight posture. "I'm going to get started. I'll let you
two have your talk. Oh, Kate, do you want to meet over
lunch?"

"Can we do it after? I have lunch plans" Not really,
but I was about to. I needed to meet with my best
friend, Anna, so she could help me process (translation:
overanalyze) the sticky problem I had just acquired.
Besides, after the conversation I planned on having
with Gwen, I'd be off the project and would have no
need to talk about Devin ever again.

"I guess I'll just catch you this afternoon." Michael
quietly closed Gwen's door.

For about thirty seconds, the only thing audible was
my accelerating heartbeat. In that time, I devised ways
to tell Gwen about my past with Devin. Surely Gwen
would see the ethical conflicts with me working as my
ex's right-hand woman. Alternatively, she could fire me
for not being up-front right away. No, she couldn't do
that, could she?

I had been on a four-year roller-coaster ride at Burton Relations, and this is what I wanted-the assignment that was going to push me to the top of that last
hill, with no fear of ever dropping again. It just was too bad that an ex-boyfriend was going to be the vehicle to
get me there.

"Looks like I'll be the first one to talk" Gwen finally
broke the silence with a stern look that could stop traffic.

My relationship with Gwen was a complex one-at
one moment I could be teasing her, and fearing her the
next. But no matter how I felt, I have always respected
Gwen for starting her own PR firm on her thirtieth
birthday twenty-some years ago. In my time with
Gwen, I had seen turnover-much of which came from
those used to working in conventional agencies who
couldn't understand why this outlandish woman would
actually make her representatives do their own research
or attend the events they promoted on weekends.
Somehow I had broken from that pack. Gwen always
said that she saw a part of herself in me, which scared
me because I never knew which part.

"I think I know why you're being shifty," Gwen
smugly remarked. "I know why you're so reluctant to
work on the project."

How did Gwen know? And why did she put me on
this project knowing what she knew? Perhaps it was a
test-one at which I was failing miserably. That still
didn't answer the how. Fox Underhill had only met me
once while Devin and I dated, so he certainly wouldn't
remember me and certainly couldn't know that I
worked at this firm. I wasn't even sure if Devin remembered what I did for a living, so that couldn't be it. "Am
I that easy to read?" I asked sheepishly.

"You're worried about working with Michael, aren't
you?"

As if. I let out a screech. "God, no. Michael is great!
I mean, I barely know him, but he seems really smart
and good at what he does. My problem is much deeper
than that" Gwen crossed her arms, her lime-green
blouse bunching up. She pulled the glasses from the top
of her head and peered at me with curious eyes.

I opened my mouth but was greeted with silence. I
couldn't tell Gwen. I had the strange sense that she
would be disappointed in me. "It's just that I'm not cut
out for this celebrity stuff. You know that. I like to work
on products and properties, not figureheads." At least I
had moved from telling lies to telling half-truths.

Gwen stood up and sat on the edge of her desk, about
two inches from my face. "I have a reason for doing
this," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "The thought
of retirement is always crossing my mind. Of course,
could I trust someone to carry on the Burton name? It
certainly won't be children-it's a little too late for
that-too bad my cats couldn't run this place! Wait,
where was I? Oh, yes" She walked over to the door to
check that it was closed completely. "It's no secret,
Kate, that you're one of my favorites at this place" She
closed her overmascaraed eyes and inhaled deeply
through her nose. "If you nail this project, you will be a
partner in this firm. And at twenty-nine, you'd be the
youngest ever, I might add. Even younger than I was
when I started the business, my dear."