Chapter Six
Bastian
The Best Laid Plans
“It’s just good marketing,” Liam says. “It doesn’t matter how good your intentions, or your product. You can’t have a successful business without a killer marketing plan, Bastian.”
Liam Dunnigan leans across the boardroom table as he speaks, underscoring his statement with an outstretched palm. The Board recommended that I engage a publicist upon my return from France, and Liam handled a lot of big corporate names, as well as a few celebrities. That didn’t mean I had to like him or his ideas.
“I’m not arguing that point, Liam,” I say, trying to find some middle ground in the conversation. “That’s why I hired you. So, write the damn marketing plan and execute it. Leave me to run the business. I’ll do my job, and you do yours. Leave my personal life out of it.”
Liam draws back, retracting his hands to his midsection, clearly thinking up a different tactic to pitch his ideas to me. A true salesman. Overcome all objections. Make them see it your way. “A lot has changed since you’ve been away, Bastian. We can’t rely on conventional advertising channels anymore. The whole world’s gone digital, you know that. The fact is, there just isn’t enough interest in GeoRock as a corporation or a call sign on the stock exchange. We need to put a face on it. Your face, to be exact.”
“I’m not so sure the world wants to see my face,” I counter. “It just has more wrinkles.”
“That’s just it—we don’t want the world focusing on the negative, lingering mysteries of the past. The press and the public are fascinated with the rich and famous. They don’t care about your balance sheet or quarterly gains or your charitable donations; they care about the gory details of the reclusive CEO who has suddenly stepped back into the spotlight. They want to know who tailors your suits and who cuts your hair. And who you’re sleeping with.”
“I’m not sleeping with anybody.” I scowl. “And if I were, it’s nobody’s business but mine.”
“Well, that’s got to change,” Liam states, matter-of-factly. “We need to make it the public’s business—give them something to talk and gossip about. Be seen with a pretty woman, or several women, on your arm; at nightclubs and sporting events.”
I shake my head. “Not interested. I’m not putting on a performance for the public’s benefit, like a trained circus bear. I don’t have the time.”
Liam leans forward again, his face deadly serious. “Make the time. You don’t want anyone thinking you’re gay, do you? Because those rumors could start to fly too if we don’t make a big media statement to the contrary.”
“Well, coming out would certainly be a big statement,” I quip. “Bet there’d be lots of public interest in that.”
Liam gives me the stare. “That kind of big we don’t need. I meant a girlfriend. Or better yet, a fiancée. If you got engaged to a local woman, the tabloids would explode. The story of the day would be about you moving on with your life, and not about the unfortunate mine collapse that made you go into hiding all those years ago.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” I half-snap in defense. “Not from that. GeoRock accepted full responsibility for the accident, and those affected were generously compensated.” But it didn’t mean I wasn’t hiding for other reasons.
Liam shrugs. “Of course you did. You were a good corporate citizen. But like I said, the public doesn’t give a rat’s ass about reparations, or apologies. They just want the goods, the dirt, the inside story. Preferably a juicy sex story.”
I roll my eyes and get up from the table. “Well, there isn’t one. They’ll have to get their entertainment someplace else.”
“I didn’t say you had one. I said we should make one. There’s a difference.”
“I haven’t even been in town long enough to meet anyone,” I argue. Not exactly true. My strange encounter in the parking ramp this morning crosses my mind. In fact, it’s been on my mind all morning. I begin to wonder if it’s no coincidence that Mara Snow is the one starring in my erotic bathroom fantasies since I seem to keep bumping into her unexpectedly. I suppress a grin, thinking about her predicament. I was not so different when I was her age—struggling to get ahead and make ends meet. Contrary to popular belief, I was not born with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth. Any silver I owned had been dug from the ground, almost literally with my bare hands. I suppose that’s the reason I feel compelled to help her out.
Or is it?
“That’s not a problem,” Liam says with a sly grin, interrupting my wandering thoughts. “Haven’t you heard of executive dating services? Just name the height, weight, hair color, and bra size, and we’ll make it happen.”
I shudder inwardly and start pacing the room. I haven’t been on a date since Celine and I first started seeing each other. Sure, I’d kept company with a few women while living in France; seven years is a long time to go without companionship. But those were casual encounters, strictly temporary, noncommittal, and agreed on by both parties. My heart was still too raw to consider anything more serious, let alone remarrying. What Liam is suggesting feels like a betrayal to Celine’s memory.
“Sorry, Dunnigan. That’s a no-go. I just can’t imagine getting engaged to anyone. It’s not for me.”
The publicist draws in a huge breath and then exhales in a gesture of defeat. My punny response doesn’t amuse him. He rests his hand flat on the wide oak tabletop. “Alright. Fine. Maybe it’s too soon. But if you’re uncomfortable with putting yourself out there, I suggest we bring your son into the picture. Fly him over here, schedule some photo shoots at the zoo, or the beach. The paparazzi love pictures of celebrities with their kids.”
I stop pacing and round on the man. “Absolutely not! Don’t you even think it, Liam. I will not involve Mica in my business life, that’s not negotiable. If that suggestion even leaves this room, you’re done with GeoRock, understand?”
“Okay, okay. Understood,” he says flashing his palms in surrender. “If that’s not an option, then maybe you’ll reconsider the first alternative.”
“What? Proposing to some random woman off the street just to satisfy the public’s curiosity? They’d see through that in a minute.”
“It doesn’t have to be real, Bastian. Just make a few public appearances with a nice, good-looking, eligible woman and let my media team do the rest. We announce rumors of your engagement, and in a couple months, when it’s stirred up enough media frenzy, we’ll break it off and attract even more attention. We’ll get the exposure we need and no harm done to either side. It’ll be purely a contract situation, agreed to by both parties. I’m sure you’ve had much less palatable business arrangements. It might even be fun, if you’d let yourself enjoy it.”
I can see that arguing with him won’t extricate me from playing out some devious plan of his. My Board of Directors hadn’t just suggested I take Liam’s advice. They insisted on it. If I blow him off, I’ll be the pariah of the next meeting. They might even come up with suggestions of their own, and I shudder to think what those might be. They’ll definitely be worse than what a seasoned PR professional with a successful track record could devise. There’s no point in hiring a professional if you don’t take their advice.
It’s just a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. I’m jaded enough that a few months of living a lie won’t hurt me, but the potential damage of exposing Mica to the media machine could be irreparable. And in the long run, if this stunt generates the needed visibility and revitalizes the corporation, it benefits my son when he inherits everything I’ve built.
I return to my seat with my tongue in my cheek. “Okay. One date. That’s all I’ll agree to for now, providing…” I point my finger at Liam’s head. “… I like what I see. I want full background on all candidates, CV, criminal records check, genealogy, photos. And not just head shots, either. I want the works, or they’re in the discard pile, understand? No arguments, no listing of value-added virtues. I’ll tell you yes or no. “
Liam chuckles. “Sounds like a job interview, Bastian. I suppose you want references, too? From previous lovers?”
“Not a bad idea,” I say, calling his bluff. It doesn’t faze his confident grin.
“I’ll do what I can,” he says, pushing back from the table. “Don’t worry, these elite services are very good at screening. You won’t be disappointed.”
I give him a raised eyebrow. “I’m pretty easy to disappoint, just ask anyone who works for me.”
“Right,” Liam says, picking up his briefcase and turning toward the door. “I’ll see myself out.”
As he exits, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. It could be a crucifixion just as easily as a resurrection. But speaking of people who work for me, I remind myself to pick up the phone and dial Ernst Schilleman.