Page 2 of One Weekend in Quebec City

Dad didn’t. Hedidn’t respect women at all.Certainlynot the woman he exchanged vows with almost forty years ago.

After working with Linda over the last eight months, I’m convinced she’s the only reason he still had a business. She’sthe one who’s been helping me navigate the ins and outs of each line of business and detangle the worst of the mess.

I turn and lean my whole weight back against the window, my head thumping softly against the glass. Myhead aches. Has ached all day. Eventhe murmur of white noise from the machine I’d had installed my second week here can’t drown out the pounding in my skull. Todaywasn’t my first round with them; it won’t be the last. Theyjust pushed every button I have.

Linda clears her throat, and I shift my gaze over to her. Shelocks eyes with me, hers steady and unyielding. “They want to see a different side of you. Theserious businessman, not the party boy constantly photographed with a different model or celebrity on his arm.”

I roll my eyes. Theold guard believes I care more about keeping my supposed seducer persona than making strategic decisions for the good of my family’s business and name. It’sfucking infuriating. Sincethe moment I graduated law school, I’ve spent countless hours learning every aspect of this company, negotiating deals Dad would have screwed up. I’vespent nights strategizing the future while juggling the relentless gossip millthat surroundsme. Allwhile trying to keep Mom, Hayden, and Piper free of potential scandals or harmful news. CanI help it if I need to recharge sometimes? I’mthirty-three years old and single. I’ma healthy male who likes women. What’swrong with that?

“They think that just because my father had a reputation for casual affairs, I’m the same.”Those ancient assholes never said one word to Dad about his meandering eye or his bad decisions. Yet, the moment his body was placed in the ground, they began to double down on me.

I date. Occasionally. Hefucked around. Everychance he got. Theyneed to remember who keeps this company afloat and writes their paychecks.

“Spencer,”she says softly,butstill snapping me back to reality. “You need to show them you’re serious. Theythink you’re just out for parties and pretty faces. It’stime to change their minds and your public image.”

“Do you actually believe the crap they’re saying about me? Whatthe media says?”Linda’s disappointment, like Mom’s, would be a punch to my gut.

She tips her head, chin down, her expression one of sympathy. “You know I don’t. Buta picture without context can’t tell the true story.”

Sure, I’ve probably been with more than my fair share of beautiful women, but that’s not who I am. Andit’s not as many as they seem to think. It’sjust a part of the narrative they’ve woven about me in glossy magazines and online articles.

Linda raises an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with my silence. Sherifles through her notes and then raises her head, looking at me pensively. “Hear me out. I’vebeen toying with an idea. Whatif we bring in a journalist?—”

“I hate journalists.”Her gaze is steady and compelling even when I cut her off, but the thought of another vapid interview makes my skin crawl.

“You hate paparazzi.”

“Them too. Anybodywho wants to stick a microphone in my face and ask stupid or embarrassing questions only to become purposefully selective in what they write because they’re only interested in sound bites piss me off. Youcan’t trust them.”

She ignores me. “We’ll get someone who works with celebrities. Youcan drive the conversation. Afresh perspective could change their minds.”

“I doubt it.”

“It’s worth a try. Especiallyif we’re the ones controlling the narrative.”

“I would be in total control?”

“Yes. Wecan ensure that’s the arrangement.”

I arch an eyebrow, intrigued. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“I do. Hername is Shelby Bailey.”She pulls a piece of paper from her stack, quickly glances at it, and shoves it toward me. “She’s talented, hard-working, and has a knack for spotting the truth in all the noise. Ithink she could highlight the business side of you without getting caught up in the infamous headlines.”

Interesting. “Keep going.”

“She’s not a big name, so she’s not working for one of the main streamers.”

“But that will mean she’s out to make a name for herself.”Just what I don’t need, another influencer type looking to find her pot of gold.

“I don’t think so. Idon’t get that from the research I’ve done. Ifyou partner with her for a few days, let her follow you around and get to really know you, she can write a piece that we control. Wecan put it in our company newsletter. Share it with mainstream media even. Showeveryone you’re not just a pretty face in a designer suit It might shift the board’s opinion. They’dhave to take you seriously.”

I lean forward,my interestcautiously piqued, and take the page from her hand. It’sMs. Bailey’s resume. “Wait, you said a few days? Ithought we were talking an interview here. Acouple of hours.”

“You have a trip to Quebec City coming up to select cover models for the holiday edition of the magazine. She’s Canadian. Canadianslike snow—it’s perfect.”

I give her a look. “There’s no snow in Canada in July, Linda.”

“I know that, Spencer. Ijust meant maybe you could take her to the shoot. Shemight have some ideas. Evenbetter, extend it by a day or two. Makeit a long weekend, see the sights. Shecan be your tour guide.”

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