The Publicist Book One and Two (21 page)

The Publicist: Book Two
SHELF LIFE

To George, for telling me I could. And for the “other” Starchild, thanks for loving this story as much as I do, and thanks for always making me shine.

Prologue

The floor was uncomfortable and cold; Kate hoped at least it was clean. She bent down farther, her face almost touching the tile and her deep brown hair brushing the floor. She tried not to think about how many germs she was being exposed to. She could see a sliver of light under the door and knew that Chelsea was standing just on the other side. Why the hell couldn’t anyone find the key? Oh, right, she couldn’t tell them her author had locked herself in the green room minutes before she was going on one of the top national morning shows. Of course, this couldn’t happen on some small, podunk station in the middle of nowhere. It had to happen in New York, and it had to be national. No one could find out that Chelsea was in full red-alarm-pre-TV-interview meltdown.

Kate could hear sobbing. She wondered if the last thing she would remember on her deathbed would be the sound of one of her authors crying or wailing. God knows she’d heard enough of it to last her a lifetime. Kate scooted closer to the door,
No
, she thought,
likely it would be Mac finally telling her he had left his wife.
Sure. Perfect timing. She could hear him now. “Sorry you’re dying. Guess what? We can be together now.” Just her luck.

The sobbing from the other side of the door grew louder.

“Sshhh, Chelsea, keep it down. We can’t have people knowing you’re having a panic attack.”

“I’m not having an attack!” she screamed. Well, so much for that. Kate heard footsteps in the hallway, which made her jump to her feet.

“Hi,” she said, louder than necessary. “I just dropped, eh, my….”

“Is she nearly ready?” The producer interrupted, stepping toward her. He was clearly not interested in why Kate had been on the floor. “We’re on in ten and I have to get her mic’d.”

Kate threw him her best ‘I’m-the-publicist-and-in-control’ smile but her green eyes showed a glint of worry. “Of course. She’s just, eh, meditating.”

He shook his head, “Sure, whatever. You have five minutes.”

Crap.

The producer escaped back into the studio, so Kate pulled a small pill from her purse, then dropped to the floor again. The day before the segment, Chelsea’s manager Francine had shoved a pill bottle in Kate’s hand. At the time, Kate was a bit confused. Valium? Francine said it was for “just in case.” Francine was always annoyingly chipper and, at the time, Kate didn’t really give it another thought. Francine assured her it was hardly necessary. Right. But right now she didn’t care. Valium would save the day. She wrapped it in a tissue and shoved it under the door.

“Chels, you take this and then unlock the door; otherwise the entire segment will be canceled.” Kate took the chance that this would only increase her panic, but then she saw the pill disappear under the door and heard the crying subside.

Within minutes, the door unlocked, Chelsea stood there, face swollen and tear stained. Nothing that some heavy makeup couldn’t fix. Kate pushed her back into the green room and started digging in her purse for the emergency stash of concealer she kept for just such an occasion. She considered investing in the company that created this stuff or, hell, developing her own. She’d create a line called “Panic” and sell it to other publicists. She could make a fortune. She pushed Chelsea into the chair and started smearing it on her face.

Chelsea pinched her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” she said in a gentle voice.

Kate had a feeling she meant it. Kate wished that Chelsea’s manager had warned Kate that her author had an intense fear of being on camera; it could have saved her a lot of trouble booking her on TV shows. She would have pushed her to magazines, gotten her the number for a good therapist, and called it a day.

“Ready?” the producer asked, clearly annoyed that things were taking so long.

Chelsea threw him her brightest smile, and he—like every other breathing male on earth—melted.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” he beamed, clearly hoping for more. Kate rolled her eyes. Another crisis averted and it was only 6:30 a.m.

Chapter One

After Chelsea’s segment, Kate stopped by the City Bakery for something frosted; she didn’t even care what. She needed sugar and caffeine. The segment had almost gone off without a hitch, but she noticed Chelsea had started to giggle and slur her words toward the end. Probably some Valium allergy. Now that the segment was done, Kate could focus on the rest of her national television campaign, or, rather, convincing her manager to accompany her on future segments. Kate didn’t feel like playing rescue maiden or pharmacist again.

Initially, Kate objected to drugging her authors. Although, she soon realized that sometimes it was doing them a favor—like when a parent forces their kids to eat broccoli. There were many benefits to eating “broccoli,” and after the Skinny Saundra escapade, she needed to be sure that Chelsea could pull off her morning show commitments without another meltdown. As for Saundra, things had died down quickly and there had been minimal fallout from the book, although Edward had been critically pissed off and Mac had only marginally avoided getting fired. Kate was fairly certain that if
The Continued Promise
hadn’t been looming on the horizon like a shiny brass ring, Mac would be among the missing.

“I’d like your double fudge chocolate cake and a double espresso, please.”
Ten thousand calories in one glorious cake,
Kate thought as she ordered.

The bakery was bustling; it was a hot New York attraction, even in January at this early hour. Kate took her order and found a seat upstairs. She shrugged out of her coat and sat down. She saw a woman drinking tea and it made her think of Grace. She had blamed not seeing Grace much lately on the Saundra mess, although she knew Grace was getting suspicious. She needed to come clean soon and she knew Grace wouldn’t be happy. Grace wanted her friend to dump her married lover, although the likelihood of that happening was decreasing with each passing day. Then there was Nick. Sweet, handsome, single, Nick.
Single.
What was her problem? Kate took a forkful of cake; it was heavenly, melting on her tongue and sending a sugar surge through her system. Suddenly the morning seemed more tolerable. As if on cue, her phone buzzed with a text from Nick.
It’s 80 here today, the sun is shining, and I’m missing you.

She shoved her phone in her purse without replying and sipped her highly caffeinated drink. She was almost tempted to have one of Chelsea’s leftover happy pills but instead decided on another bite of cake. How had her life gotten so wildly complicated? Of course, the crown jewel was Allan Lavigne’s book. Brilliant, exquisite, poignant, and entirely unpublishable.

Chapter Two

Mac leaned back in his chair and observed Rebecca, a fellow editor, as she walked in and sat down.

“So how is it to be back?” he smiled, knowing the answer.

“It’s hard to leave a newborn,” she sighed. “It’s even harder when the minute I get back to work, Edward’s insisting we sign nothing but porn.”

Mac laughed, “Well, he tactfully called it ‘erotic romance’ but yeah, same thing.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, “I hate
Fifty Shades
. Well, I hate what it’s doing to the industry. This hideously written book is being marked as a game-changer. I have to wonder if anyone who actually read the book said this. It was a repetitive and boring pile of crap. I want more literature. I was hoping to come back and do more children’s books and instead I’m ‘encouraged’ to sign porn.”

Mac spotted Kate walking past his office, “Katie, come in and say hi to Rebecca. She’s back from maternity leave and mad as hell.” Mac’s light blue eyes were on her; as usual, she heated up instantly. A smile rose from his lips, crinkling those eyes set off by his dark, thick hair. She wished she could run her fingers through it.

Pull yourself together
, she thought. She took a deep breath, walked in, and sat down.

“Good to see you back. You’re not mad at me, are you? Chelsea did great this morning.” Mac’s eyes were still on her, burning into her. Kate shifted in her seat.

Chelsea was one of Rebecca’s authors, Kate wondered if she should tell her that she had to drug her up. It looked like her coworker had enough on her mind; Kate decided to wait to share Chelsea’s fear of national television.

Rebecca shook her head, “It’s not Chels, though I do appreciate the update. It’s the memo Edward sent around this morning.”

“I didn’t see it.” Kate was puzzled.

“It only went to editors,” Mac began, “encouraging us to sign more erotic books. ‘It’s what the readers want,’ Edward insisted.” Mac tapped a pen on his desk, clearly impatient with his boss.

“Shocker.” Kate threw Rebecca an encouraging smile, “I’m sorry, but you know this will wane. At some point housewives will get tired of reading about red rooms and being tied up.”

Rebecca laughed, “You’re right, I know we need to jump on trends. It was one thing when we were trying to sign young adult after the Potter craze, but this takes the cake.”

“I know,” Mac said supportively, “but you know Kate’s right. Edward will lose interest once something else shiny pops up on his radar screen.”

Rebecca stood, “You’re right, Mac, thanks for listening.” She turned to Kate. “Glad it went well with Chels this morning, I’ll catch her segment online.”

After Rebecca left, Mac turned to Kate. “So,” he smiled a broad sexy smile that drew her in, “how did it really go this morning?”

Mac observed a tiny muscle flicker near her eye. It always happened when she was stressed. She’d smile, her poise never wavering, but Mac knew. He could always tell when she was feeling ready to punch someone.

“I had to drug her to get her to go on. Her manager told me that she gets nervous from time to time, but it’s nothing major. Nothing major my ass! She was in a full-blown meltdown and there I was, shoving a pill under the door.”

Mac laughed so hard, he rocked his chair back. “Katie, world class publicist and author rescuer saves the day, again.”

A tiny smile slipped across her face. Mac was right; she was often less of a publicist and more of an author 911. She shook her head. “I have to call her manager and tell her that she’s either here for the rest of Chelsea’s TV gigs, or I’m pulling them. I barely got her to go on air this morning.”

“I think as a general rule, all authors should be sedated from the moment we sign them.”

Kate stood up. “It sure would make my job easier.” Mac’s laughter followed her down the hall.