Page 15 of The Boyfriend Boycott
“It’s a tour company, Mile High Tours. They do group trips all over the world. Apparently, the consensus is that it’s just an opportunity for singles to hook-up. They’re worried that they’re sending the wrong message and attracting a very niche crowd of only young singles, ostracizing other potential clients and sullying their reputation. Now some woman is blasting them on socials, saying that they’re responsible for her getting chlamydia. It’s a whole thing,” Sasha explains. “They love what you’ve done for WanderLuxe, how you’ve turned living in a van into ‘hashtagvan life,’ and suddenly camping is cool. They want you to do the same thing for them. Make chlamydia cool again, or something like that.”The job Sasha describes sounds involved, and frankly, more intense than taking photos for social media.
My mind wanders to the possibility that I won’t cut it, and I’ll be back at square one, jobless and homeless. My insides drop, leaving me breathless at the thought of it. But I can’t let myself go there. This is an opportunity that likely won’t come around again, not with the number of rejections I’ve received in the last few months.
“Okay, but that still doesn’t solve the problem of me having zero experience doing PR,” I say again.
“Well, you don’t have the job yet. They want a portfolio of any PR-related experience you do have, so I suggest getting to work. Spin some of your marketing jobs to sound more public relations-y and you’re a shoo-in.”
“The first thing they need to do is change their name.” I scoff.
“Wait, why?” Sasha sounds genuinely confused.
“Mile High Tours? Like the mile-high club? If they don’t want to cater to singles, then they shouldn’t be advertising that the hook-ups are starting before you even arrive at the destination.”
Sasha barks a laugh on the other end of the line.“See? This is why you’ll be great in PR, Spencer. You catch things like this. They’ll love you. Get the portfolio to measap.” She pronounces the word ASAP phonetically, not as an acronym.
I turn around and peer into the window of the bar. The sun has set, and dusk is blanketing the town, just enough that the inside of the Whisky Jack is illuminated. I catch a glimpse of Grady, serving drinks to a table by the window. I watch his movements, fluid and sure, as he passes out the glasses from the tray he is balancing on one arm. He makes one of the women at the table chuckle with something he’s said. I’m sure it was somecheeky one-liner. The kind that would also make me giggle and blush.
The way that woman had been talking to him by the restrooms, made him sound like a total schmuck. I’ve known Grady for all of two days, and I can already tell that’s not who he is.
“Give me three weeks?” A nebulous idea is forming, the shape of it I can’t quite make out, but it’s there. “I think I have just the project in mind. Three weeks, and I’ll have a portfolio ready for you.”
“I can hold them off for now, but there’s no guarantee that they won’t find someone else by then.”
“Please, just make up some excuse, buy me some time. Promise me. I need this, Sasha.” I don’t tell her that I’ve exhausted all of my other options, and if I don’t land a job that pays well enough soon, I will officially be a twenty-nine-year-old burnout with no job, no prospects, no home of my own. That’s the part that makes my palms clammy, the very real possibility of losing my apartment.
It wouldn’t be the first time in my life that I’ve been homeless, but everything,everythingI’ve done with my life up until now has been to make sure it never happens again.
“I’ll do what I can, Spencer.”
I click off my phone and swing the door open before beelining towards the bar. All I have to do now is convince the one person I should be staying far away from that we are the perfect team. Grady Landry has gone from a one-night stand to my only shot at a job that will secure my livelihood in a matter of minutes.
CHAPTER 7
GRADY
My blood is still boilingfrom my conversation with Jodi when Spencer sidles up to the bar and plops herself on the last open bar stool. The heat burning my face from anger and the heat from Spencer’s eyes on me are almost impossible to differentiate. She observes me for a moment, not saying a word as I tilt a chilled glass against the beer tap and pull the long handle back. A perfect half inch of foam forms on the top, and I set it down on the tray that Finn is waiting to take out to some customers.
“Your drink is at your table,” I inform her, in case that’s the reason she’s sitting here. She wasn’t there when I dropped them off, and it caused an unexpected pang of disappointment, thinking maybe she had left. But here she is, blinking her green eyes at me in the dim light of the bar, chewing on her bottom lip as if contemplating her next words.
“What did you make me?” she asks.
“Something spicy. You strike me as someone who enjoys a little heat,” I answer, nodding towards the spicy margarita sitting on the table in front of her empty seat. Something spicy, and a little sweet. Just like her.
“Accurate assessment. But that’s not why I came over,” she says as I pick up the next bill to start working on the order. “I have a proposition for you.”
Her words are enough to make me halt what I’m doing and raise my eyebrows at her across the counter while I lift another glass to the beer tap.
“Breaking our rules already,” I tease. “Rebel. I like it.”
“No, not that kind of proposition, perv. Those rules are very much still in effect.” She waves her hand in front of her face, dismissing the notion of us ever hooking up again. It wasn’t that ridiculous to assume, and I feel a twinge in my chest that sucks my breath out for a moment, not unlike a mild punch to the gut. “It’s a business opportunity. Well, business for me. I’m still unclear as to what’s in it for you, but based on the conversation I overheard in the restroom, I’m assuming that this will benefit both of us. A symbiotic relationship if you will.”
I flash her a quizzical expression. Recognizing my confusion, she elaborates.
“You know, symbiosis. I’ll be the little barnacle that eats up all the gross bacteria off your back, and you’ll be the whale that takes me where I want to go.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate.” I cock my head at her. “And do I have to be a bacteria-ridden whale in this scenario? Is there no other option I can choose from?”
“Yes. And no. That’s how the symbiotic relationship works, I’m positive. Didn’t you ever learn that in elementary school?” She smacks her hands down on the bar, before announcing what it is she came to propose. “I know for a fact that you need help improving your reputation so you can take down the ‘corporate elite’ or whatever.” She says the last part of that sentence with finger quotes. “I think we can help each other. Let me be your personal PR guru.”
