Chapter 5 #2
I reach up and run my hands through my hair in frustration. It’s a bad habit, and I’ll probably end up losing all my hair because of it. My body and my mood drop as I sit down on one of the lounge chairs, releasing the groan of a defeated man. “Can we change the subject?”
“Fine.”
I love that he lets this drop. He knows I’ll try to apologize. I don’t know if Stephanie will listen, but I’ll try.
Just once, I’d like a woman to withhold judgment until she actually got to know me.
The situation with Stephanie has always gotten under my skin because she was the first woman in so long that I was actually interested in.
She’s not only a pretty face; she’s smart, funny, athletic, kind, doesn’t seem to care how much money someone does or doesn’t have, and knows how to make everyone around her feel important.
Well, everyone but me—I seem to rattle her even when I don’t mean to.
She’s everything I want in a woman but had given up hope of finding—and she wants nothing to do with me.
Deacon claps his hands in a let’s-put-that-behind-us-for-now kind of way. “Let’s move on: Why are you here?”
“What do you mean, ‘Why am I here?’” My eyebrows draw together, my brain stalling on the answer I thought was obvious. “You said Frank needed help with the fundraiser.”
“I didn’t expect you for a day or two.”
“Maverick and I pushed through to get here as soon as possible. You said Frank was pretty upset.”
Frank was our first client when Deacon and I started our marketing and public relations firm right out of college. Even though we stopped working when we sold our firm a few years ago, we’d still do anything for Frank.
He’s an eccentric widower and the quintessential Texas billionaire.
He made his money in oil, has an accent thicker than the sludge he drills, and is hardly ever seen without a ten-gallon hat, a gigantic belt buckle, and cowboy boots that probably cost more than a mid-sized car.
His wife, Ruth, passed away too young from early-onset Alzheimer’s.
For the last twelve years, he’s hosted a fundraiser in her honor and donated the proceeds—which are in the upper tens of millions—to Alzheimer’s research.
The first year he hired us, it was for publicity.
He liked what we did so much that he both used his influence to bring us more clients and hired us to become the exclusive marketing and PR firm for all of his companies.
We also coordinated the entire fundraiser every year after that—until we sold our firm just over three years ago.
Frank helped us build our company to the point that Deacon and I each made a stupid amount of money when we sold it.
He’s become a sort of eccentric uncle-father-grandfather to both of us over the years.
We vacation with him and his family, he calls us both son (not in a condescending way, but because that’s how he sees us), and he says I have an open invitation to marry his daughter, Adeline, whenever I want to (I adore her, but everyone knows we’d be terrible together).
A few years before we sold the firm, we tried to pay him back for his generosity by doing pro bono work for him.
It ended up causing a few fights that almost came to blows when he realized we weren’t going to let him pay us.
One of the only times I’ve seen him without his ten-gallon hat on was when Deke ran his check through the shredder right after he’d handed it to us.
Frank was so furious that he took his hat off, stomped on it, and stormed out of our office.
He still won the fight, though, because he simply paid us more than triple our rate the next time.
So we stopped trying to fight with him. Frank tends to get what Frank wants, and we love him for it.
Deke takes a seat next to me and leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees.
“The production company Frank hired this year told him they’d booked Bruno Mars as the main act, so that’s who Frank’s been promoting for months.
The problem is, they promised Bruno before they actually booked him.
In the end, they couldn’t get him due to scheduling conflicts. ”
“Are you kidding me?” Deke nods in confirmation. “What idiots promise Bruno Mars before he’s confirmed?”
“Big idiots who won’t be getting business from anyone else, if Frank has any say in it. He’s asked us to see what we can do to find him a headliner act. Someone comparable to Bruno so that no one is disappointed when it’s not him.”
“Do you know how short that list is?” I run my hands through my hair again, this time dragging my fingernails along my scalp.
“This fundraiser is what Frank lives for, and I told him we would do our best.”
With an exasperated sound, I let my body fall back until it hits the back of the chair. “What’s his theme this year? Is it going to limit our options even more?”
Every year, Frank builds his event around a theme.
One year the theme was “Let’s Make Alzheimer’s Disappear.
” The decorations, food, and entertainment were based around magic.
He brought in David Copperfield to do a magic show and made one of Frank’s jets disappear.
He also brought in Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint to talk about their experience doing the Harry Potter films and then opened it up to questions from the audience.
For the silent auction, he had things like Harry Potter movie props straight from Warner Brothers, original scripts from each movie (signed by dozens of cast members), and other items that only Frank can find.
Needless to say, Frank does nothing small when it comes to this fundraiser.
“It’s ‘Reach for the Stars,’ so as long as it’s a big name, we should be fine.”
“So,” I brace myself for what I’m about to say, “we have seven weeks to find, book, prepare, and present a show that will be headlined by an as-of-now unknown star that is at least as popular as Bruno Mars?” Deke nods his head.
My mind spins in a million directions, thinking of every contact we’ve ever made in the entertainment industry as well as the necessary timelines, contracts, technical issues, and travel arrangements we’ll need to go over.
This is a lot to process, and we have too short a time to do it.
“Okay. Let me get some food in my body so that my brain can function. Then I’ll try and smooth things over with Stephanie.
After that, we can get to work. Why don’t you start by calling Pollstar and some other agencies to begin gathering a list of possible names.
” As I stand up to go inside, I turn back to Deke. “Where’s the fundraiser this year?”
“Exactly where you’d want it to be.”
“Austin?” The word comes out like a prayer.
“Yep. At The Whitmore.” Deke smiles, knowing how happy this would make me.
I grew up in Austin and love to visit every chance I get. It doesn’t hurt that three of the best-looking women I know happen to be there right now and that I might be able to squeeze in a few dates while I’m there.