The Wolf of Los Angeles

Chapter 26: High-Stakes PR

“Here’s your large cola,” said the server as they placed the biggest cup on the counter.

Amanda grabbed the cup, removed the lid, and took a sip.

Behind her, Sasha approached the counter and ordered, “I’d like a large cola, no ice, please.”

Amanda casually walked down the aisle toward her boss, blending in like any ordinary customer.

Hawk, hearing the sharp click of heels, glanced slightly in her direction.

“Ten thousand dollars!” Caroline’s red lips moved as she made the high offer, trying to seize Hawk’s attention.

At that moment, Amanda drew closer, her eyes quickly flicking to Hawk’s laptop. Her knowledge of electronics immediately pinpointed the location of the hard drive.

Meanwhile, Sasha circled around from the opposite side, ready to grab the camera bag as soon as Amanda made her move.

PR wasn’t just about spinning stories or media management—it sometimes meant "cleaning up" the source of the problem altogether. If you could remove the people or items causing the issue, the problem itself would disappear.

Amanda adjusted her steps, approaching Hawk’s table while pretending to sip her cola. But as she neared, she seemed to stumble over something, losing her balance and falling toward Hawk.

Her cola tilted precariously toward his laptop.

A large hand shot out, catching Amanda’s arm mid-air.

Amanda’s arm jerked outward, spilling the cola in an entirely different direction—straight onto Caroline.

The sticky liquid drenched Caroline’s face and chest, soaking her hair and turning her sheer blouse transparent, revealing the black lace beneath and accentuating her curves.

Hawk’s other hand swiftly moved his laptop out of harm’s way, just as he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He turned sharply, flashing a warm yet unsettling smile at Sasha, who froze mid-step, her body stiffening as if Hawk might pull a gun at any moment.

Unable to take another step, Sasha halted.

Amanda, staring at her cola-soaked boss, stammered, “I...I’m so sorry…”

Hawk packed up his laptop and slung his camera bag over his shoulder.

“You’re going to pay for the damages!” Caroline barked, wiping cola from her face and gesturing toward her drenched Hermes bag and Chanel blouse. “This stuff costs more than you’ll make in a lifetime!”

Even in her disheveled state, she didn’t forget her role. Pulling out her phone, she threatened, “I’m calling the police—”

“Please do,” Hawk interrupted smoothly. He glanced at the two cola-wielding women. “I’m sure the media and public will find your little team effort fascinating. The LAPD will have no trouble piecing it together.”

Caroline stood slowly, cola dripping from her clothes and skin.

“Call them or don’t. I don’t care.” With that, Hawk strode out of the restaurant.

Once he was gone, Amanda hurried to wipe the stains from Caroline’s clothes with napkins.

Caroline waved her off. “Let’s go.”

The trio left, drawing stares and whispers from onlookers.

Outside, Caroline grabbed a towel from her car to dry her hair and retrieved a brand-new Chanel jacket to change into.

“What’s the plan now?” Sasha asked.

“This is out of our hands. I have a feeling that bastard has no intention of selling out quietly,” Caroline replied as she buttoned up. “Next, we move on two fronts. We pressure the media while convincing the client to pay for the photos. At the same time, we prepare for damage control in case the story breaks.”

She admitted, “We made a mistake. We underestimated him. He’s not a rookie.”

Sasha quickly apologized, “I’m sorry.”

Caroline wasn’t disheartened. PR was a messy business, filled with irredeemable situations and plenty of futile efforts. She clapped her hands. “Get to work!”

Sasha and Amanda split up, making calls to media outlets and clients.

Meanwhile, Caroline opened her Hermes bag, discovering its interior soaked with cola. The micro-recorder was ruined, and her Sony Ericsson phone was no longer functional—a significant loss.

She cursed under her breath and grabbed a spare phone from her car, dialing James.

“You’re incredible,” James snapped. “In under five minutes, you managed to ruin my deal! Now he refuses to negotiate with me, and you owe me compensation!”

Caroline shot back, “Compensation? What do you want me to do—spread my legs? I guarantee you’ll only have two balls left to play with!”

“Just feed me some inside info,” James muttered, defeated, before hanging up.

Meanwhile, Hawk loaded his camera bag and laptop into his car. From the glove box, he retrieved a storage drive and checked it.

This kind of scoop demanded multiple backups stored in various locations for peace of mind.

James called just as Hawk finished.

“I’m sorry,” Hawk said. “Our five-minute window expired. I’m meeting with another publication.”

For high-value celebrity news, the market favored the seller.

“Five thousand dollars,” James blurted. “I’ll take it.”

“I’m meeting someone now. I’ll call you later,” Hawk replied without committing.

At the next meeting location, Hawk, wary after the earlier fiasco, opted to meet the buyer in his car rather than a coffee shop.

Two minutes later, Jerry, a bearded editor from National Enquirer, climbed into Hawk’s car.

After a brief introduction, Hawk turned his laptop toward Jerry, showing him the photos.

“Clear and explicit,” Jerry remarked, impressed.

Hawk wasted no time. “An Oscar-nominated actor and a breakout TV star nominated for an Emmy. Married man. Married woman. Scandal gold.”

Jerry understood the story’s value. Even just the images of the couple topless and affectionate would boost the paper’s circulation significantly.

After a brief pause, Jerry said, “Five thousand dollars.”@@novelbin@@

Hawk snapped his laptop shut. “Don’t insult me. You might underestimate me, but not the story’s value. This is national news—headline material.”

Jerry asked, “How much do you want?”

Hawk didn’t hold back. “Fifteen thousand.”

“If it were two A-listers, I’d pay twenty,” Jerry replied pragmatically. “Downey’s a B-lister at best, already infamous. One more scandal won’t shock readers. Sarah Parker’s hot now, sure, but she’s just a TV star.”

Hawk countered with a critical detail. “You might not know this, but Sarah’s husband, Bro Derek, is the producer of Downey’s new film The Singing Detective. And for the record, Sarah’s hit show Sex and the City got her an Emmy nomination last year.”

He added, “Also, Derek is a producer on a project Downey’s vying for, Phantom Men. The ripple effects...”

The weight of the story clicked for Jerry. He quickly verified the connections via a call to his most informed source.

National Enquirer, one of North America’s largest tabloids with vast readership, could afford the price.

Jerry ended the call, nodded, and offered, “Ten thousand for exclusive rights.”

“Deal,” Hawk agreed but added, “It must be published—no burying it due to PR interference.”

Jerry assured him, “We’re buying it to put it on the front page.”