Page 42 of The Rebel

Here goes nothing. I’m not used to bouncing my ideas off others. I make a decision, I stick to it. But her expertise can only help in this case.

‘I want to designate those villas for a new foster kids programme I want to develop. Where kids and their foster families can come to the island for a few days of R&R. A weekly rotation, where different families come from all around the world for some much deserved time out. We have eight villas so that’s thirty-two families a month, three hundred and eighty-four a year who can benefit.’

The words tumble out in a rush. ‘So many of the kids I see have never left their cities let alone had a vacation. And the men and women who foster are the same. Those people would benefit greatly from a programme like this.’

I search her face for some clue that she gets it; gets me. But she blinks a few times, like she’s trying to hide her surprise or come up with a response that I’ll like.

My heart sinks and I let out a breath I’m unaware I’m holding. Her lack of enthusiasm says it all. Her first instinctive reaction is that my idea sucks.

Disappointment filters through me. I thought she’d seen beneath my brusque exterior to the real me, no matter how many times I’ve tried to hide from her.

I can’t blame her. It’s what I wanted, to hold her at arm’s length, to not reveal too much. I brought this on myself.

So why does it feel like a kick in the guts?

‘I think it’s a fabulous idea.’ She sounds stilted, like she’s choosing her words carefully, and I’m disappointed all over again.

‘But?’

‘The relaunch is ready to go and this will delay it. Is that what you want?’

Damn her for sounding so logical. She’s right. I’m running on adrenalin, eager to get the redevelopment happening, but I can’t derail the plans to make the resort viable again. It’s what we’ve been busting our asses to achieve.

‘Isn’t there some way we can incorporate the programme into the new campaign?’

She shakes her head, the frown between her brows deepening. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the campaign we’ve created focuses on the glamour of Gem Island, the high-end luxury for the discerning traveller. You can’t muddy the message with a cause.’

A cause. She makes it sound like helping foster kids is akin to offering the devil a week’s free accommodation.

Her eyes brighten and she snaps her fingers. ‘Unless we utilise all those shots we took of you, the ones you vetoed. That way, we can put a face to the kids’ vacation programme—’

‘No.’ I hold up my hands. ‘No fucking way.’

I can’t be the poster boy for this programme. It’s not why I’m doing it, for the recognition. I need to stay behind the scenes as usual, ensuring the focus stays where it needs to be: on the kids.

Her nose gets this cute crinkle on the bridge when she’s disapproving. ‘We can make this work. The foster kids’ vacation programme can be an adjunct to what we’ve already done. An offshoot of the campaign, but it will only work if you’re the face of it to bring both aspects together in a cohesive way—’

‘What part of no can’t you understand?’

My hands bunch into fists and I take a deep breath, willing my anger to subside. I must be going mad. A few moments ago I was disappointed she didn’t jump at my idea, now I’m furious because her enthusiasm is overriding common sense.

Her cheeks flush and it’s not because she’s excited. Disapproval tightens her mouth. ‘You initially took me by surprise and I couldn’t see how this would work with the new campaign as it currently stands, but with the tweaking I suggest I think this is a great idea. You hired me to do the PR for Gem Island’s resort and we’ve made a great team. Why can’t you see that enhancing the campaign by featuring you in it is a good thing?’

I grit my teeth against the urge to blurt the truth. ‘Because no one gives a fuck who I am. Those kids don’t identify with me. They’ll see me as some rich prick flinging his cash around for the sake of a tax deduction. They won’t understand. Nobody will…’

I’ve said too much and, predictably, she stares at me with pity. I fucking hate it.

‘I want you to do a separate PR campaign for the vacation villas. That’s it.’

She glares at me like I’ve insulted her. ‘You’ve trusted my professional opinion until now. Why won’t you trust me on this?’

‘This isn’t about trust, it’s about business. You said it yourself. The campaign is ready to launch. I made a mistake trying to rush this. I don’t want to damage the brand you’ve tried to create for the island so let’s wait.’

‘“Damage the brand?”’ she mimics, her eyes widening in outrage. ‘Can you hear yourself? You sound like a judgemental idiot.’

---