Page 14 of The Boyfriend Boycott
After a couple of minutes, I start to open the door into the hall, but now I’m met with someone standing just outside, blocking my exit. There’s some sort of heated discussion, and I crack the door open slightly to see who it is. I make out a recognizable sleeve of tattoos through the small gap, but the other person I can’t place.
“The minute we start letting big corporations like this in, you can say goodbye to the Heartwood you know and love,” Grady says. “As soon as that happens, you’ll have assholes like Carter Bouchard all over the place, it’ll be lousy with assholes.”
“Carter is …” The other voice starts but then trails off. It’s a woman, and her tone is nothing but professional, diplomatic. She’s weighing her words. Her tone is firm when she says, “Carter owns and operates a respectable chain of restaurants. He has the numbers to prove that opening a location in Heartwood would be financially beneficial to the town. It would be a welcome addition for tourism.”
“Have you consulted with Eleanor about this? I think she might have something to say about tourism.”
I put a few pieces together and realize he’s talking about the same Eleanor that I’ve been communicating with about the Wanderluxe promotion. She’s the chair of the tourism board, and she’s a sweet lady. I can see why Grady is skeptical that she would be on board with a restaurant chain opening here.
“People come to Heartwood for its charm, not to go to the same restaurant they go to every Friday night in whatever city they came from. No one wants an Urban Ember here, I can assure you that,” Grady points out. Having visited several small towns like Heartwood over the last few months, I’ve seen this before, and Grady is only partially right. The truth is most people don’t know what they want. A new restaurant or business is exciting initially, but it isn’t until after the landscape of the town has changed that people think twice. By then it’s usually too late to undo.
I shouldn’t be listening in on this conversation, but I have no choice. I’m trapped in this tiny washroom and there’s no way that I’m going to reveal myself now. I make a mental note to stop spying on Grady for the rest of my time here. Although, in my defence, this time was entirely accidental.
“When is the council meeting?”he asks.
“The council meeting is in three weeks, feel free to make your case then. Although it’ll be tough to beat Carter, I’m warning you right now,” the woman answers.
“I’ll be there,” Grady says, his voice flat but firm.
“With all due respect, Grady,” the woman says, “Carter has a lot of connections, especially with the council. We’ll hear you out, as we would for anyone. But an argument against a change that would financially benefit the town, coming from someone who would be in direct competition … it’s not a good look. Besides, we all know you. You’re the polar opposite of Carter. He gets shit done and puts up a fight when he needs to. This is going to be a fight. One that isn’t even in your arena. You own a dive bar. You don’t care what people think about you, you never have. Don’t think I don’t remember you from high school. Class clown, doing whatever it took to get people to like you. Forgive me if I don’t think you’ll take it that seriously.”
“I guess we’ll see at the council meeting, Mayor,”Grady says, and the woman turns to leave, but he reaches out for her, causing her to turn back towards him. “Jodi, we’ve known each other a long time, and I care about you. Just … be careful if you’re going to get involved with Carter.”
I don’t have time to contemplate what Grady means by this because, suddenly, my phone rings.I scramble around to find it and shut it off, but whoever was talking to Grady on the other side of the door stopped what they were about to say, their train of thought interrupted.Fuck. Well, now is as good a time as any.I push open the door, Grady’s eyes going wide as he sees me.
“Sorry, excuse me,” I say, pushing past them and refusing to make eye contact. When I reach the safety of our table, I check my phone to see who called and find Sasha’s name on my screen. I’ll call her back later. She’s probably calling with some new contract opportunity, but I highly doubt that it’s going to be the lucky break that I need.
Ally’s eyes dart from me, who took an inexplicably long time in the bathroom, to Grady, who is just coming out from thehallway and heading to the bar. Her eyes narrow, gaze fixed on me.
I slide across the leather bench and sit back down in the booth.
“What did I miss?” I plaster on a fake, unruffled smile as I try to take control of the conversation and steer it away from the fact that it looked like Grady and I were just in the bathroom … together. A change of subject is the only way to handle it. The more excuses I come up with, the more damning it will be.
“We were just talking baby names,” Ally says. “And I wanted to get your opinion …”
My phone chimes again. Sasha is calling back. Two calls in a row? What could be so urgent at this time on a Friday night? I stand from the table again and hold up my phone. “Sorry, Ally. I have to take this. I’ll be right back, and you can tell me all about your baby names.”
Ally goes back to her conversation with Poppy, but I can feel her eyes on my back as I wander outside.
I click on my phone once the front doors shut behind me, and the sound from inside the bar dies down.
“Hey, Sasha,” I say.
“Spencer. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.”My heart picks up its pace as I weigh whether she’s calling with good news or bad news. Her voice is always so monotone, I can never tell. Just when I think I’m getting a read on Sasha, she’ll send me the dreaded we-need-to-talk text, only to tell me I’ve landed a career-changing contract.
“Sorry, the reception is bad in the campground I’m staying at. What’s up?”
“I have an opportunity for you,” Sasha starts. “Now, it’s not your typical travel blogger contract, in fact, it’s not really anything like that at all.”
“That might be a good thing.” Clearly, the travel influencer contracts are not quite cutting it anymore.
“It’s a job in public relations.”
“Like PR?” I ask. I’ve never done anything like that. Influencing, that’s marketing in its most basic form. It’s selling a product or a service that I already believe in. And, if you’re attractive enough, people will buy whatever you tell them to. PR is different, it’s more involved. It’s making a product, a service, or a person look appealing even though they might not be. That takes just the right eye and ability to make people see what you want them to see. It’s something that people go to school for, get four-year degrees in.All I have is a carefully curated Instagram page.
“Yeah, that’s what PR stands for.” Sasha’s tone can only be described as an audible eye roll. “The position is salary, $80k a year with benefits. Everything you’re looking for. There’s still some travel involved.” My mind stalled on 80,000 a year. Some people wouldn’t bat an eye at that figure. In fact, a lot of people would try to negotiate higher. But that’s more than I would need to be able to afford my life in Vancouver. It’s a number that would mean I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone but me.
“I don’t have any PR experience. What do they want me for?” I ask. Maybe they have the wrong Spencer Sinclair. There’s no way I would be the first person they would choose.
