Secret Triplets(52)
That was something her father almost always brought up at parties—that his daughter had always had her life and her priorities straight. Of course, Audrey didn’t feel like that now.
“Must be pretty cold up there still, huh?” Audrey asked.
Her father laughed. “It’s always on the brisk side, but you know this suits your mother. She always hated California and that heat. I know you don’t get it in the Bay as much, but in Marine, when you were growing up, it seemed sweltering sometimes. Never got a break. Plus, the different landscape and everything makes us feel like we have this whole new life open to us. Our friends back home are getting fat and bored. Not us!”
Audrey laughed appreciatively, wishing more than anything that she was locked away with her parents in their cabin, hiding from the rest of the world. “I’ll have to make plans for a visit,” she said.
“Once everything at work calms down, I’m assuming?” her dad asked, sounding understanding yet a bit sad.
“Right,” Audrey said, feeling her heart sink in her chest. “This new client—the Sheikh—is a handful. Even Mom knew his bad reputation, and you guys are hidden from the rest of the world. I have my work cut out for me.”
“If anyone can do it, honey, it’s you,” her father said.
“Is Mom around?” Audrey asked, hoping for some of her mother’s soft, poetic words, which always caused her tense muscles to ease.
“She went out to the store,” her dad said. “Always gets caught there for an hour or so, chatting to whoever she can find. She’ll never change. Always has a friendly word.”
Audrey sniffed, disappointment making her stomach feel heavy. She told her father she loved him, that she’d call again soon, and then made an excuse to hang up, knowing it was time to call a few more journalists and writers and hop back into work mode. Before she knew it, she was doling out the same old sly words to writers across the country, trying to mop up her mistakes. Already, she was sensing defeat.
Chapter Three
Audrey woke early the following morning, her body buzzing with fear for the coming day. Lifting herself from her soft, cloud-like pillow, she eased her laptop over to her, expecting the worst. Experience had taught her to view the world as a battlefield, especially as a PR agent handling top-tier clients. No matter the defenses she’d attempted to put up the previous day, she knew the journalists wanted nothing more than the Sheikh’s head, and she’d essentially handed it to them on a platter.
She wasn’t disappointed in the least.
The first headline she read was from the Lighthouse’s Monica herself, and it shamelessly announced, “Puppet Master PR Agent Plays Matchmaker with Sheikh.” The article said Audrey had catastrophically ruined her attempt to match the Sheikh with the “world-renowned actress” April Brevet, whose philanthropic efforts made her a model in the acting community.
“I’m sure Audrey assumed a brief date with April Brevet would boost her client’s ratings throughout the country and the greater world, but alas, the PR-whizz flubbed up, making a mockery of April Brevet—and of herself,” Monica had written.
It was worse than Audrey had thought.
She continued to read, finding articles in several New York tabloids, Chicago magazines, and lifestyle blogs from everywhere, including Miami, Paris, and London. The entire world had wrapped their sticky fingers around the story, and Audrey was thus a complete failure as a PR rep. She was certainly walking toward the death of her career.
It was nearly seven thirty in the morning. Sun blasted in through her tiny window, reminding her that the world and weather would continue while she withered away. Slamming her laptop closed, she entered the bathroom and scrubbed herself clean, dried her hair with a loud, roaring hair dryer, and then dressed in a prim black blazer and pencil skirt, wanting to look demure and professional as the Sheikh told her the news.
How on earth would she pay for her apartment? How would she find additional clients now that her name was plastered across countless headlines proclaiming her one of the worst PR reps ever to walk the planet? She would surely go broke, have to give up her apartment, perhaps move into that tiny, wooden-floored bedroom built off the side of her parents’ cabin in Alaska, joining them for their strange venison stews and long hikes in the woods.
Essentially, her life would be over.
It was strange, really, that the rain had halted on this wretched day. Audrey slipped her jacket from her shoulders almost immediately, feeling naked and free in just her work clothes and heels.