#PleaseRetweet

Chapter 1

My job is to show the world the best side of a person. I'm specifically talking about the kind of person who given half a chance (or half a drink), will show the world their worst side. C and D list celebrities mainly; the loose cannons of the group. The ones who lash out, fall apart, reveal their prejudices at the slightest provocation and spew their guts across the Twittersphere.

Is it their fault? Are they particularly weak? Or are they just normal people being abnormally scrutinised? I don't have time to answer these questions because it turns out it's a very busy line of work.

Six months ago I took on my first five clients. They were, and remain, a mix of low profile soap stars and one hit wonders. My task is to keep their fans updated with their news. I use the word 'news' lightly. Mostly I'm tweeting about what shoes they're lusting over or what they're having for breakfast. I spent the first month cringing a lot and telling my friends I'd sold my soul to the devil. It's getting easier though. I no longer wince when I bang out five exclamation marks in a row or churn out a line of emojis. In fact sometimes I even catch myself adding xxx on automatic to my @SparkyMay tweets. Luckily I'm quick on the draw, hitting the delete button within seconds of release. My personal followers aren't into cute.

A steady stream of emails from my clients means I'm always informed about the minutiae of their lives. Why don't they just share stuff themselves? Friends ask. Well, like I said, they're loose cannons. Once they start tweeting they can't stop themselves, and it doesn't take long before they've either managed to embarrass themselves or offend half their following.

Up until now it has always been clear when it's a PR person tweeting for them (me), and when it's the client. That's about to change. After much talk, we have launched the Platinum Package, which is for clients who want their fans to think it's them being active online. That it's them tweeting and retweeting and responding, when really it will be me.

I've had some sleepless nights over it. I mean, it's highly deceptive. When Craig first outlined the plan, my exact words were: Are you asking me to be a professional liar?

He argued that it was not lying, but 'repackaging'. We were just helping decent people who had flawed communication skills. We wouldn't be hurting anyone. Alone with my thoughts, I reasoned that tweeting on behalf of a few needy stars was probably a lot less misleading than most of the advertising on telly. Meanwhile my growing credit card debt told me it didn't matter whether I agreed or not with what we were about to do, I was simply not going to find another job this well-paid in a hurry.

My phone is buzzing and I hold up a finger to Craig who has called the meeting.

"May Sparks speaking."

It's DJ Buzzya's agent, Malia. She's concerned about a rumour going around on Twitter that her client was seen snorting coke at a charity fundraiser for young offenders. She hasn't been able to get hold of him. I'm guessing because the rumour is true and he's in a comatose state somewhere. To sum it up in hashtags: #fail #idiot #whoinvitedhim?

Buzzya, real name Emmanuel, was my second ever client and despite being on our silver package, expects premium treatment. I'll have to send a firmly worded email later. For now, I reassure his agent, get off the phone and log into my social media manager from my tablet.

Craig is used to these interruptions and turns to the Nespresso machine to top up on Caramelito. He's a sweet tooth and punishes himself for it with an hour on the treadmill every morning. Behind their backs he laughs at them, but the way he keeps his tan topped up and his suits sharp, it's obvious my boss fancies himself as a bit of a celebrity himself.