Public Relations

Chapter 7: Brett

She looks torn between delight and disgust.

I try not to let this dampen my spirits, partially because I'm ready to kick ass and take names. But some part of me is hoping she's loosen a few of the airtight screws that currently hold her together, to let some of the air out of her lungs that she's been holding in for years. I'd give anything to see a crack of her personality, even if it just bolsters the cold, calculated one I've come to know.

"C'mon, girl. Get a sip of that espresso and we'll talk."

"Call me girl again and I'll rip off a toenail while you sleep."

I hold my hands up in surrender. "Good lord, my sincerest apologies President Mia."

She shakes out her limbs, almost imperceptibly, allowing the sunlight to pour into her bones. I can feel the morning breeze lifting her, and I consider for a moment that she must spend most, if not all, of the sunlit hours indoors.

Reluctantly, with a glare that could annihilate armies, she picks up a putter and a hot pink ball in one hand. She sips from the mug in her other before setting it down carefully on the coffee table beside the golf balls.

"I'm appeasing you because I'm a good publicist. But I'm not one for shenanigans, particularly yours."

I beam at her. "Just wait 'til I show you my tomfoolery."

Mia shoots me another look and I know not to push my luck. "Let's go! I'm dying to know your media management plans."

She follows me to the furthest hole. It's straight forward - a slightly curved mat maybe fifteen feet in length, with a neon yellow flag to mark the hole at the end. I gesture to the gray dot on the mat where you're supposed to set the ball. "Beauty before age."

She huffs, something dramatic and cranky. As the noise comes out, she seems to hear how whiny it sounds, and she squares her shoulders to compose herself. "Brett, can we just sit down and talk?"

"After nine holes. It'll take thirty minutes, max. When's the last time you did something fun?"

I watch the question roll through her mind, watch her wrestle and grapple with it like she can't admit that she doesn't do fun things. It almost feels harsh, until she sets the ball down and positions her putter.

She gives it a solid whack and overshoots the hole by several feet, the ball rolling off the mat and stopping short in the grass. 

"Not bad," I say, almost approvingly. She's still making her irritation as obvious as possible. I tee up my ball, if you can call it that, and knock it gently towards the flag. It stops just in front.

I turn to Mia. "Now, kick us off."

She waves the putter in her right hand, weighing it, like she could give it a good swing and KO me right here. I wouldn't be too surprised if she tried.

Instead, she sways over to her ball, a garish spot in the grass. "Forgive me if I'm off my game here." She gives it a significant tap, and it rolls straight into the shallow cup. "My meetings aren't usually so... juvenile."

"Par was one, so seems like you're struggling with the juvenility."

"I'm going to ignore you," she says as I steady myself to putt my ball in next. I point her to the next round, a few steps beyond, and she acquiesces by heading over without protest. "Avalon hasn't posted anything new. The original video is doing slightly worse than it initially was. This is likely because it was first pushed to her own fanbase and followers, but now that it's a scandal, people are coming from all ends of the internet to see what she has to say."