Collateral Attraction

Emma Brooks's 7:45 AM alarm shattered

the silence of her Brooklyn brownstone like

an urgent press release-blaring, insistent,

impossible to ignore. She lay still for a

moment, letting the soft glow of dawn filter

through the thin curtains, before rolling onto

her side and silencing the buzz. Another

day, another round of invisibility

In the polished glass-and-steel tower of

Hart Media Group at 42nd Street, Emma

occupied a cubicle on the twelfth floor,

sandwiched between two oversized

marketing displays and a yawning corner

window with a tarnished view of the East

River. To her colleagues, she was "the

reliable one": quick with a social-media

statement, meticulous in proofreading

shareholder updates, and always ready to

cover for someone else's missed deadline.

But "reliable" didn't translate into

"recognizable." Every morning she punched

in at 8 AM, drank stale office-house coffee,

and began her marathon of drafting

boilerplate press releases for product

launches no one would read.

She tapped her badge against the scanner

and slipped into the communal kitchen,

where the aroma of reheated bagels

mingled with stale office politics. Across the

counter, Jason from Investor Relations was

already posting smug tweets about

yesterday's stock uptick. Without looking

up, Emma fetched her travel mug, filled it

half-way with lukewarm coffee, and

retreated to her desk.

By 8:15 AM, her inbox had already

accumulated twenty-three unread

messages-five marked "urgent," two

flagged by Madeline Hart herself, and the

remainder buried under threads of

passive-aggressive commentary. Emma

exhaled, straightened her posture, and

opened the first memo:

> From: M. Hart

Subject: Q3 Crisis Drill

Priority: High

Emma-prep a scenario plan for an

executive engagement announcement. I

want options on my desk by noon.

Madeline Hart, the iron-fisted heiress who'd

inherited the media conglomerate from her

father, was legendary for her

zero-margin-for-error leadership style. She

orchestrated mergers and brand overhauls

with surgical precision, and she expected

the same of everyone on her team. Emma's

heart rate spiked. A "scenario plan" for an

"executive engagement announcement"

could mean anything from a bestselling

political alliance to a marriage contract

designed purely to leverage headlines.

She glanced at the clock. Four hours until

high noon. Four hours to convert herself

from a timid note-taker into a strategic

architect. The stakes felt impossibly high.

At 8:30 AM, Emma settled into the daily

stand-up meeting in Conference Room B.

Screens glowed with spreadsheets, and

colleagues chimed in with status updates

on brand partnerships, digital KPIs, and

pipeline projections. When it was her turn,

Emma cleared her throat.

U-uh, good morning. For the Q3

engagement announcement, I've outlined

three scenarios," she began, voice barely

above a whisper. "One, a low-key executive

partnership with our new Asia-Pacific

venture; two, a high-profile chaperoned

meeting with a top-tier artist; and three, a

full-blown media spectacle aligned with

Fashion Week. I can flesh out any scenario

you choose by noon.

A flicker crossed Madeline's eyes, an

almost-imperceptible narrowing that felt like

steel glinting under fluorescent lights. Then

she said, "Expand number two. Draft a

timeline, supplier list, media-buy

recommendation, and crisis-management

addendum. I'll review at 12:00." With that,

Madeline rose and swept out of the room,

leaving behind a silence that tasted like

expectation.

Emma exhaled, straightened her spine, and

turned to her laptop. She had a framework:

a high-stakes, artist-driven spectacle. Now

she needed substance-vendors, timelines,

budgets, messaging. She would need

Nova's insider notes on luxury event

production, Kai's input on Jordan Blake's

PR sensitivities, and a crash course in

celebrity-brand alignment. And she had four

hours to deliver.

Her first stop: Nova Sinclair's office, two

floors up. Nova, the globe-trotting events

wizard, worked in a glass-walled suite

stocked with mood boards, mood lighting,

and an ever-changing playlist of electronic

beats. When Emma knocked, Nova looked

up from her mood-board collage of Dubai

rooftops, champagne flutes, and rose-gold

drapery.

"Emma! Just the person I-oh." Nova's

eyes softened. "Sorry, I didn't realize you

were on deck for Madeline's drill."

"Scenario two," Emma replied, voice

steadier than she felt. "I need your vendor

contacts, ballpark budgets, and any intel on

coordinating around a live performance.

Nova swung around in her swivel chair.

"You're thinking a full-scale,

runway-meets-concert hybrid? I love it. Let

me send you a dossier. Check out my files

on the Morgan Hotel's duplex terrace, and

I'll introduce you to Leo-he handles A-list

sound staging."

"What about press coverage?" Emma

asked. "And paparazzi mitigation?"

"Leave that to me," Nova said, pressing a

few keys on her tablet. "I'll block rogue

photogs, secure exclusive outlets, and get

you prime placement in Vogue Digita

Emma thanked her and sprinted back to her

cubicle, heart drumming like a baseline.

She launched a new deck, pasted in Nova's

supplier list the moment it pinged, and

sketched a nine-point timeline:

1. Morning Rehearsal: Artist soundcheck

and photo-op.

2. Afternoon Messaging Workshop:

Executive bullet-points for interviews.

3. Evening Gala: Semi-private audience

with hand-picked press.

4. Midnight After-Party: Pop-up

performance for digital influencers.

By 11:45 AM, Emma had budget estimates,

risk-assessment tables, and even a

crisis-response flowchart for possible leaks.

She clicked "Save," took a deep breath, and

marched to Madeline's office.

Madeline's inner sanctum was a study in

obsidian minimalism: black lacquer desk,

nickel-plated pens, white orchid in a clear

vase. Emma handed over the printouts

without a tremor.

"Good," Madeline said after a measured

glance. "Now prep a media-training module

for our talent. Expect questions around

'authentic partnership' versus

'manufactured spectacle.' I'll review your

module at 4:00."

"Understood," Emma replied, nodding. She

turned to leave-but before she could,

Madeline added, "And Brooks? Don't fail

me.

Back at her desk, Emma felt the familiar

knot in her stomach: adrenaline laced with

doubt. A few weeks ago, she would have

crumbled under this pressure. Forgotten

deadlines, public missteps, invisible

mistakes-they were her norm. But today,

she had a plan. She drafted bullet points for

a two-hour media workshop:

Key Messages: "Synergy," "Long-term

Vision," "Mutual Growth"

Hot-Button Questions: Engagement rumors,

power dynamics, brand authenticity

Mock Q&A Scenarios: Unexpected

curveballs from tabloids, policy

misinterpretations, viral soundbite pitfalls

At 3:50 PM, she zipped the module into a

PDF and shot it over to Madeline's digital

assistant. Then she checked her watch: 10

minutes to 4:00 PM. Ten minutes to find out

if she'd just flopped or skyrocketed.

In the conference room down the hall,

Madeline presided over an impromptu

review session, Jordan Blake at her side,

arms folded. Emma stepped up, set her

laptop on the table, and projected her slides

onto the screen.

For the next twenty minutes, she led them

through messaging strategies, role-play

exercises, and crisis-containment

pathways. Jordan's gaze, initially wary,

gradually softened as Emma deftly

navigated a mock Twitter

scandal-demonstrating not just theoretical

acumen but practical agility

When she finished, the room held its

breath. Madeline tapped her finger on the

table once, twice, then looked up.

"Comprehensive," she said. "Strategic.

Even Jordan here is impressed."

Jordan inclined his head, offering Emma a

small, genuine smile. "You've got instincts,

Emma."

Hot flushes warmed Emma's cheeks.

Standing ovations were rare in the PR

world, but this felt close.

Madeline stood, signaling the end of the

session. "Get some rest this weekend," she

said. "We'll go public with engagement

Scenario Two on Monday. Good work."

---

Back in her cubicle as the city lights blinked

on, Emma allowed herself one small

moment of triumph. The "background blur"

was dissipating, replaced by a nascent

sense of authority. She packed up her

laptop, straightened her navy blazer, and

headed toward the exit, her steps lighter

than they'd been in months.

On the sidewalk, the skyscrapers loomed

overhead like titans of possibility. Emma

tucked her shoulders back, squared her

chin, and whispered to herself, "This is just

the beginning."

Tomorrow, the world would see Emma

Brooks not as "the reliable one," but as the

architect of a narrative that could shift

headlines-and perhaps her own destiny.

And for once, she believed she was ready

to deliver