With a long and drawn-out sigh, he walked over and picked it up.
It would probably hurt him more than help him, but damn if he wasn’t desperate for something to fill his time. From the look of the schedule Mick had included, the entire thing would take about three months between the organization and planning phase—which he fully intended to be a part of—and the actual campaign itself. There would be speaking engagements, commercial shoots, print ads… It would certainly fill his time and get him into the public eye in a positive light.
Maybe.
Dylan wasn’t comfortable talking about the struggles he had endured in learning to read when he was young. He knew there was no shame in it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to share it with the world. A man was entitled to keep some parts of his life private, wasn’t he? But by sharing it, it could potentially help the cause—help him be more believable in his role for the cause.
Great. Now he was looking for a way to work the thing to his own advantage. How selfish was that? Unfortunately, it was the nature of the beast. In his world—or at least the world where his public persona lived—you never did anything that didn’t ultimately serve your own interests. Sad but true.
Another sigh escaped as he sat on the sofa and began to read the documents. All of them. All twelve pages. His eyes hurt, his brain hurt, and he wasn’t quite sure he understood half of what he had read.
At the bottom of the last page was the name of the contact person—Paige Walters. She was probably some spinster librarian who was trying her best to drum up interest in reading to keep her local branch of the public library open. He chuckled at the image. Tomorrow, he’d take the first steps and reach out to her. He’d explain who he was and how he wanted to help and, hopefully, do it all without having to bring up the community-service angle. And if it did come up, he’d simply pour on the charm.
And how hard could it be to charm a sweet, old librarian?
* * *
“Okay. You got this. It’s all good. Be firm. Be strong.” Paige studied her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. These mini-pep-talks were coming with more and more frequency and yet she wasn’t feeling any more confident.
In ten minutes, she was due to make a presentation on the status of the literacy campaign. It had been her brainchild, and to say that she was the only one excited about it would be an understatement. Reading was Paige’s passion, and when she had gone to her monthly book club meeting and the topic of doing some fund-raising for the local libraries had come up, the ideas for something bigger began to spring forward in her mind. And, of course, once she started talking about it with her group of friends, it became obvious that she should be the one to head the campaign.
Public relations, marketing, and promoting were in Paige’s blood. Her father owned a very successful PR firm in LA—PRW—and she had been wandering the office halls since she was a toddler. Now, as one of the senior account managers, she was free to pick causes and pitch them to the board and know she would be heard.
Or at least somewhat heard.
Okay, they only partially listened and then someone else would step in and take over, but still…if it meant she could finally be working on a campaign she was passionate about, then she’d deal with the petty behind-the-scenes nonsense.
But this one was her baby. No one else was going to want to swoop in and steal her thunder because it wasn’t glamorous or trendy. It was reading. And if there was one thing Paige knew about her family, it was that none of them read for pleasure the way that she did. Other than her book club, she didn’t know anyone else who read as voraciously as she did. And for all the hours—years!—of pleasure reading had given her, she was ready to give something back.
Yes, she had ideas—so many that it made her brain hurt—but that didn’t mean she was going to shy away from the challenge. Reading programs. Tutoring sessions. Storytime for all ages. Her heart began to beat faster as she thought about all the possibilities. If everything went smoothly, she was going to have a roster of distinguished authors in all genres and present them to the world as ambassadors of reading—well-spoken individuals who would show all the ways in which reading could enrich a person’s life! They’d start at the preschool and elementary-school levels to help build a foundation, and then move on to find those who still struggled or who had gotten lost in the school systems.
This campaign was her way of saying thank you to the thousands of authors who put their work out there and found ways to put their books in readers’ hands—and encouraging the world to pick up a book even if they struggled with reading.
“Whew!” she whispered with a chuckle as she fanned herself. It all was so exciting that she just knew, in a matter of minutes, everyone on the board was going to feel it too.
“That’s not what you’re wearing is it?”
Paige turned as her sister, Ariel, walked into the ladies’ room. Ever the glamor gal, her sister looked impeccable—porcelain complexion; long, silky, pale-blond hair; blue eyes; and, at five feet ten, her willowy frame towered over Paige’s mere five feet four inches.
“What’s wrong with my outfit?”
Ariel gave a delicate snort as she faced her sister. “Do you see my suit?”
Hard not to, Paige thought and then nodded.
“This is an Ann Taylor suit.” She struck a pose and smiled serenely. “And the shoes?”
Another nod.
“Manolo Blahnik.” She pointed her foot for emphasis. “This is how an executive dresses, Paige. You need to throw out your wardrobe and let a stylist help you. It’s time to stop dressing like your office is at a coffeehouse. It’s not the image Daddy or any of us want for PRW.”
Paige sighed. “The only one who seems to have an issue with my wardrobe choices is you. No one has said a word to me about it.”
“Actually, they have. To me. This is me telling you—from everyone—that you need to start dressing the part.”
For a moment, all she could do was stare. “Um…excuse me? What?”
Carefully, Ariel leaned against the countertop and then made a pinched face at her suit touching the surface. “Look, you’re an executive now, Paige. College is over. I mean…honestly. If you weren’t my sister and I saw you walking around here, I’d swear you were an intern.”
Looking down at herself and then at her reflection, Paige still didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. “I’m wearing a skirt!”
With an eye roll, Ariel studied her. “It’s a knit skirt. And clingy. And…are those tights you’re wearing?”
“Um…yeah. Why?”
“Oh God,” Ariel murmured and smoothed a hand over her hair. “Okay, let me try another approach. Turn and face the mirror.” They both did. “Look at us side by side. What do you see?”
“That genetics clearly favored only one of us?” Paige joked.
Ariel didn’t smile. She rarely did. She thought it caused wrinkles.
“Okay, fine. I’m looking.”
“And?”
“And I see that you are wearing a suit and I’m wearing a skirt and sweater.” She shrugged.
“You’re overaccessorized,” Ariel pointed out. “The scarf, the bracelets, the giant watch, and don’t even get me started on those clunky boots.”
Okay, now she was getting pissed. “Look, I happen to like all these accessories, and there’s nothing wrong with any of it. I’m not you. I’m not going to wear a suit or stilettos. That’s not who I am! And even if I went out and copied your entire wardrobe, I can guarantee you it won’t look the same on me as it does on you.”
“Obviously.”
“Why are you always like this?” Paige asked wearily. “It’s like you purposely choose the worst times to pull these stunts.”
“Stunt? What stunt? I’m trying to help you, Paige! You’re about to go in front of the board with your whole…book thing. I ju
st want you to put forward the right impression. Gosh, excuse me for trying to be a good sister.”
And there it was—the start of the martyr act. If she had a dollar for every time Ariel…
“I mean, every time I try to do something nice for you, you get mad and make me feel bad. I don’t know what else I can do to prove to you that I have your best interests at heart.”
Okay, she is still going…
“Remember when we used to play together and you would tell me how much you wanted to be like me when you grew up?”
Um…no.
“What happened? What did I ever do to you to make you so ungrateful?”
“That’s enough,” Paige said finally. “I’m not ungrateful. I’m not. I’m sorry you feel that way. It’s just that I’m stressed enough right now, and if you were really concerned about my choice of wardrobe today, you could have told me sooner than three minutes before the presentation.” She did a quick double take at her watch and gasped. “Three minutes! Oh crap!”
“Language, Paige,” Ariel said with disdain. “Daddy would have a fit if he heard you cursing like a sailor.”
Seriously? That was cursing like a sailor? Then it was a good thing her father wasn’t in her head right now because he’d probably have a stroke.
With one last glance at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but be self-conscious. Her hair was a mess compared to her sister’s. Where Ariel’s was pale blond and silky, Paige’s was more of a honeyed blond and wavy. Even tied back like it was now, it didn’t look neat. And she wasn’t kidding on the genetics comment. Besides the height difference, Paige was…curvier. And not in a way that made her feel like a model. Her curves were… Well, they were everywhere and tended to make her look chubby rather than shapely.
Dammit.
This is exactly what always happened. She’d be feeling good about herself and then her sister would walk by with some stupid comment and undo the girl-power pep talk she had just given herself.
Straightening her glasses—oh yes, she wore glasses too—she resigned herself to going in front of the board looking less than executive worthy and hoped everyone would be more focused on the facts and figures of the campaign than her choice in fashion.
One could hope, right?
As they exited the ladies’ room, Paige immediately switched gears and went into work mode. “Okay, did you send out those invitations I asked you to for participants?” Paige had given her that simple job in exchange for helping Ariel negotiate the fine points of the Hernandez contract. Invitations were one of Ariel’s strongest points. No one liked to refuse her. That’s why Paige hadn’t assigned the task to one of their assistants.
Ariel nodded as she glided elegantly down the hall. Paige had to take two steps to her sister’s one. “I did. And I even reached out to several more. This way if anyone backs out, we have substitutes at the ready.”
“Perfect. Good job. Thanks,” Paige replied. “Have you gotten any responses yet? I mean to the new ones?”
Ariel nodded again. “It’s all in the folder.”
“What folder?”
“The one I gave you.”
Paige huffed loudly as they turned and made their way toward the corner conference room. “You didn’t give me a folder, Ariel.”
“Well, I put it on your desk,” she said flippantly, and then her entire face broke out in a smile as their father stood to greet them. “Hi, Daddy! You’re looking handsome today!”
Ugh. Seriously?
“Hey, Dad,” she said with a smile after Ariel had stepped aside.
“There’s my girl,” Robert Walters said proudly. “All set for your big presentation?”
“I am. I was just…”
“Didn’t you forget that folder on your desk?” Ariel asked sweetly, and Paige wanted to kick her.
Their father looked at Paige expectantly.
“Um…thanks for reminding me. Give me five minutes.” She took two steps back, then turned and did her best not to run from the room.
Of course, once she was out of the conference room’s line of vision, she bolted. Down the hall, around the bend, and she almost tripped and fell as her assistant, Daisy, jumped out from behind her desk.
“Hey! Where’s the fire?” she asked and then gasped. “Oh my God! Is there? A fire? Are you coming here to warn everyone? Should I make an announcement? Everyone—!”
“No! No!” Paige quickly interrupted. “There’s no fire. I just forgot a folder I need for the meeting. Ariel said she put it on my desk.” Walking past her assistant, she went into her office and began a frantic search of her desk. There were papers and files and calendars and Post-its but…no folder. The one she had given Ariel was a pretty pastel blue with the logo she was thinking of using for the campaign on it. “Where the heck…?”
“You know, if you cleaned that surface off one in a while, you’d be able to find things much easier.”
“Uh-huh… Where could she have put it?”
“In the conference room.”
Paige instantly stood. “Excuse me?”
“The folder? The pretty blue one with the logo you think looks good but needs to be tweaked because it’s too generic for something like this? Personally, I think you should go with something—”
“Daisy! Focus! Where is the folder?”
Sighing, Daisy replied, “In the conference room. You had already left when Ariel floated in here on her cloud of superiority, and I told her you weren’t coming here before the meeting. But did she listen? No. So after she left, I took the folder to the conference room for you. It’s on the little podium stand and everything. Oh, and I left you a bottle of water and a little thing of hand sanitizer.”
This time she didn’t bother hiding that she was running and simply sprinted down the hall and back to the conference room. Her footsteps echoed as she entered the room and all eyes were on her.
Dammit.
With a quiet clearing of her throat, she apologized and took her seat at the table and then waited for her father to do as he always did—go over their agenda and open the floor to any new projects—and then he’d let her get up and do her thing.
Relief swamped her as she got comfortable and realized that no one was particularly paying attention to her and she could take a few minutes to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. She just wished she could have grabbed the folder to glance through it before she had to stand up and present. Her curiosity was piqued about who else Ariel had reached out to. For starters, she didn’t think her sister knew of any other authors who would achieve Paige’s goals.
Paige followed along on the agenda and made notes where she knew she’d need to step in and finalize details and finally—finally!—her father called her up.
At the podium, she smiled and immediately started sharing one of her favorite stories about when reading had become so important to her. She had been eight, and it had been storming and she couldn’t go outside and play. Her mother had suggested sitting quietly with a book. That book had been Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. For several minutes, Paige described how it felt to be transported to another world, where she could forget about the storm and about her disappointment about not being able to go outside and instead enjoy the wonders of the written word.
When she looked up, she saw some interest, some boredom, and her sister filing her nails.
Clearing her throat, she straightened and went in for the hard facts and figures. “The statistics haven’t changed much in the past decade. Thirty-two million adults in the United States are functionally illiterate. Over twenty percent of adults read below a fifth-grade level. And it’s not getting better, as schools are graduating teens who can’t read. Libraries and schools want to change this. With the introduction of projects such as International Literacy Day, we have brought this problem more into the spotlight, but it’s
not enough. We may not be able to help everyone, but I believe with the right campaign, we can put a dent in this alarming statistic.”
Opening the folder, she only gave it a cursory glance before continuing. “I’ve been actively working with Literacy Now for some time on a personal level, and when they came to me and asked for help with a new campaign, I knew we could do something amazing for them. My plan is to bring on a host of A-list authors for promotional spots on TV and in newspapers and magazines to talk about the issue. On top of that, they will go to schools and talk to teachers and students, to encourage them not only about the importance of learning to read, but also to share the joy and wonders of how reading can enrich their lives.”
“Who have you recruited so far?” her father asked, and Paige was thrilled to see the genuine interest on his face.
Pulling out the list, she was about to read it and then stopped. What the…? She glanced over at Ariel, who was now texting on her phone. “Ariel?”
Her sister looked up. “Hmm?”
“What is this list?”
“The one you asked me to work on.”
“Uh…no, it’s not. This is not a list of authors. I have no idea who these people are. My list had New York Times bestselling authors from multiple genres—Marta Hayes, Mitchell Blake, Stephen Cane… Who are these people you’ve contacted?”
Robert Walters looked over at his older daughter and waited. Paige knew immediately that the waterworks were going to start and the excuses were going to fly.
“That is not what we talked about, Paige! You said you wanted big names. You didn’t specifically say authors.”
“It’s a literacy campaign! Who else would we need? And, need I remind you, I gave you the list. All you had to do was reach out to their agents. I didn’t ask you to contact anyone new.”
“Oh, that’s just great! I do you a favor by finding you better people—more famous people—and this is the thanks I get?” Ariel cried and then looked at their father. “Honestly, Dad, I was trying to make this campaign a success. No one will pay attention to people they don’t know talking to them about things they don’t care about. There was no one famous on her list!”
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