The CEO's Publicist

Penelope: The Granny Panty Extrordinaire

    The sun stings my eyes as the alarm on my phone goes off for the nth time this morning. And by morning, I mean one in the afternoon. I woke up five hours late!

            My phone alarm blares once more before I whip my arms like rubber bands towards my bedside table, only to end up knocking my phone off on the floor. And like a live fish inside sushi, I roll under my covers and land awkwardly on the floor, finally pressing the button on my phone alarm and ending the suffering of my aching ears.

            As I squint my eyes, my room looks like a masterpiece of a sociopath that’s the antithesis of the lovely and organizing extraordinaire, Marie Kondo. My auburn red three-inch heels are floating inside my aquarium, my even redder cherry dress is on top of the hanging lights on my kitchen, and my purse’s contents scatter all over the floor just in front of my bed.

            I could have been robbed or vandalized, but the only thing I want to do right now is going back to bed. Until I slip on my lipstick as I try to stand back up and land hard on my butt again.

            This is why I hate being disorganized!

            And I guess there’s no better way to wake someone up than applying blunt force on their body because I quickly sit on the bed as I massaged my aching butt.

            With some semblance of waking consciousness, a throbbing head, and an aching body, I try to piece back the events of last night. My breath smells of tequila, I’m completely naked under the bedsheets, and a certain cologne wafts into my nose as I lie back down on the bed.

            And then it all comes back to me.

            I just had a reckless one-night stand with the sexiest, cockiest, and most arrogant man I’ve ever met. He even had the audacity to show off to some stranger about how he could chug two bottles of champagne at the same time.

            But boy, was he hot. Chiseled jawline, a strong nose, blue eyes that made me wanna swim in them, and that rocking body that pushed all of my buttons.

            “I should probably tell the office that I’m gonna call in sick today,” I whisper to myself as I roll to the other side of the bed where my phone is. But when I read the first message, I quickly get up out of bed and call the office.

            “Harmony Inc., this is Madelyn,” she greets when she picks up the call.

            “Madelyn! Are you messing with me right now?”

            Madelyn’s voice suddenly sounds worried, “Penelope? Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you!”

            “Something came up, but is this text you sent me earlier this morning for real? Did CJ and Lamar really go to Mckenzie’s?”

            Madelyn replies somberly, “That’s why we’ve been looking all over for you, Penelope. They wanted to talk to you but left after waiting for an hour.”

            I slap my phone onto my forehead three times before replying, “So they really did sign with that a-hole.”

            “I’m so sorry, Penelope,” Madelyn somberly replies, “I tried to stall them for as long as I could.”

            I really can’t stay mad at Madelyn for doing her job, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Madelyn. It was my fault for not being there.”

            Madelyn sobs, “I tried to ask Marc or Jacob to sub in for you, but they said they were too busy.”

            I’m not surprised; ever since I became the youngest and first woman PR specialist in the company, the other guys haven’t been welcoming towards me. Probably out of fear or jealousy of my stellar rise in the company.

            “It’s okay, Madelyn, really. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Listen, I’m not feeling well, so I think I’m gonna call in––“

            But Madelyn interrupts me, this time with a more enthusiastic tone, “Oh! But I do have some good news for you.”

            Thank God, “Lay it on me, Madelyn.”

            “A client just set up an urgent meeting later at four o’clock, and I got you them to meet up with you.”

            An urgent meeting? These guys are paying top-dollar! “Great! I’ll be there in a few. Any deets on the whale?”

            Madelyn almost giggles as she replies, “This might be it, Penelope, your Moby d**k. Get this; it’s from Cartwright Corporation.”

            Cartwright Corporation was a misnomer. It is currently the largest mega-corporation with branches in almost all forms of profitable industries. Agriculture, Sports, Media, you name it, and Cartwright probably owns one or part of it. I’m definitely going to need the biggest spear in my career if I’m going to bag this Great White.

            “Holy cow, this is big, Madelyn!” I exalt as I quickly head to the bathroom to take a bath, “But can you be more specific?”

            “Well, the client said that he wanted to be anonymous, but that he was an athletic, social media celebrity.”

            My mind races to put a face to the description Madelyn gave me. But in today’s sports culture, sports superstars with a social media following are a dime a dozen. But even a dime like that could rake in millions for the company, and I don’t think Harmony has ever had a client of that magnitude.

            “Say no more, Madelyn. I’ll be right there,” I bid her goodbye before quickly taking a shower. The cold water drizzles down my body and immediately relaxes me down.

            Unfortunately, the soothing sensation also makes my mind wander back to last night’s frivolous tryst. My hands touch the part of the slightly painful area on my hips where he grabbed me as he last night as we made love, and I loved the strength and size of his hands.

            And that goddamned cologne! I can’t get it out of my mind, as well as his confident smile. Had he stayed over, I might have stayed in for the next three days locked up in my apartment. I probably wouldn’t mind getting a pay cut.

            And how the hell would you pay for this crappy apartment, Penelope? I remind myself as I snap back to reality and finish showering as soon as I can.

Luckily, this is why one-night stands exist, so a girl can get on with her life and her job as soon as it’s over. I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if I just quit my career to be a housewife and settle down.

Women have dreams that are more than just staying at home and feeding the baby. And I’m going to fight tooth and nail to achieve it.

With a rekindled flame in my heart, I dry myself off with a towel and head for my closet, excited to wear my lucky suit for the first meeting with this big bucks client. I’ve never had a deal bomb whenever I’ve worn it, and I’m definitely not going to be taking any chances with this, especially after losing my best two clients.

But all my enthusiasm flickers away when I can’t find the suit and remember that my best friend borrowed my lucky suit for a job interview.

            I quickly call up Leila on my phone, trying to calm myself down.

            “Hey, P!” Leila greets me on the phone, “What’s up?”

            “Leila! Oh, thank God, you’re there! Do you still have my suit?”

            Silence fills the line for a good ten seconds. I heard the same kind of silence whenever I asked my high school boyfriend if he made out with the cheerleader at a party the night before. The eventual answer was almost assuredly going to end badly for both parties involved.

            But I needed the suit now.

            “Leila?” I ask again, with my voice starting to tremble in frustration.

            “Listen, P. I need to tell you something, but promise you won’t be mad?”

            Just like high school, “Leila, what did you do?”

            Leila mumbles as she speaks, “I spilled coffee on the suit when I was being interviewed yesterday.”

            Surprised at her answer, I breathe a sigh of relief, “That’s not a problem; just take it to the cleaners.”

            “See, here’s the thing, P. I didn’t have money to take it to the cleaners, so I did the next best thing.”

            “Leila…oh no,” I grumble. As much as I loved Leila, the way our clothes match all the time way back in Uni, and her determination to solve problems by herself, she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and her doing the next best thing usually doesn’t even pass as a good thing for most people.

            “I accidentally bleached the suit, and it’s ruined,” Leila admits.

“That was my lucky suit, Leila!” I say with a raised voice, no longer able to contain my frustration.

“I don’t think it looks that bad, P!” Leila argues before sending me a picture of the suit to my phone.

I can almost hear my heart stop as I see the horrible gash of white blots all over the suit as if somehow suits could contract malaria or chickenpox.

“I think you can still wear the suit, P,” Leila chimes in.

“Oh, sure, Leila. I could definitely wear it if I were trying to dress up as a zebra who just got promoted to Executive Vice President for Halloween!”

“But aren’t zebras white horses with black stripes, P? Just saying, because your suit has a dark color in it with white stripes of bleach.”

“That’s beside the point, Leila! I was sarcastic because you ruined my lucky suit! What am I going to do now?”

 “I’m really sorry, P. But on a lighter note, I got the job, and I promise I will pay you back for the suit––I’ll do you even better and buy you a new lucky suit!”

            “That’s not how it––,” I complain as I massage my throbbing temple before realizing the futility of it all and just sigh, “Goodbye, Leila.”

            I have half a mind to throw my phone at the nearest wall but decide against it after seeing a note on top of the fridge. And as I rip it from the fridge cover, it takes me only a second to realize who’s it from as soon as I read it.

Dear whoever owns this apartment,

            Thanks for a great time last night. I think you were lying to me about being ‘experienced’ last night. You orgasmed three times, and that was before we made it to your bedroom. I also find it hard to believe you ‘usually wear silk or lingerie.’ Your drawers are all full of cotton granny panties—Sincerely, The best man you’ve ever f****d.

            I crumple the note as soon as I finish reading it, “That smug a-hole.” I aim at the nearest trash bin, but before throwing it, the scent of his cologne emanates from the crumpled note, making me seriously question how much cologne do men need to wear these days.

            “Maybe I’ll throw you later,” I say to the crumpled piece of paper before stashing it in my purse and clean the rest of the mess on the floor.

            I quickly put on my cleanest blue pants, a long-sleeved white fleece shirt, and a jacket with the nearest blue shade that I can find. I wrap my blonde hair in a ponytail and make sure my face is blemish-free before making a pledge to my reflection that never again shall I go on a bender like last night.

            And if I ever meet that handsome bastard I met last night again, it’ll be too soon. And after practicing my best smile, I head off to my favorite drinking hole to cure myself of my throbbing hangover. Coffee never fails to fix a bad start for any day after all.

            If only d***s come without men attached, maybe I wouldn’t have been in this position.

            Wouldn’t that be something?