“Because you’re only one bad PR day away from a major image crisis,” Sarah piped up, reminding Trent how things could go south very quickly. Sarah was a powerhouse in the marketing department. She’d gotten Trent started on social media, posting his trips and adventures. A celebrity client had liked and shared one of the posts, then told her followers to order from GOA like she had, and the company had been on a more-or-less upward trajectory ever since.
“Well, I can’t get any bad PR, considering I never leave this place.” Trent gave Sarah a nod. She’d been working overtime on his public relations, and keeping up appearances for Trent, at least on Instagram and Facebook. “Thanks, by the way, for making it look as if I get outside once in a while.”
“It’s all about perception.” Sarah grinned. “On Instagram, you’re not pushing paperwork and discussing public offerings, you’re climbing mountains and discovering trails.”
When was the last time he’d done either of those things? It seemed like forever ago. Here he was, pushing forty, and stuck inside an office all day. He’d never thought of himself as a big-business kind of guy—more like a rebel with a surfboard. But then he’d had that idea for eco-friendly outdoor gear and apparel, and one thing led to another. Now here he was, talking IPOs and PR campaigns and longing for what used to be. Was this his future? Spent in an office watching the world go by without him?
He said, “I think I want to live in Instagram.”
Sarah laughed a little, then leaned forward, her features sobering. “Here’s the thing, Trent. Nothing on social media is real, so you don’t want to live there.”
True. The life Trent portrayed on the internet was far from his real life. When had that happened? When he’d left Hudson Falls and the garden center business his parents had wanted to pass on to him, he’d vowed to be a free spirit, enjoying life on his own. He had the “on his own” part down, but the rest…
Trent drew himself back to business. “So, what do you suggest, Jeremy? I really don’t want to delay the IPO. That looks worse than one bad quarter.”
Jeremy propped his leg on the opposite knee, forming a six-foot-five man triangle. As he did with most things, Jeremy paused before speaking, weighing all sides of his answer. “Well, you could, as Sarah said, change the investors’ perceptions about GOA.”
“How? I don’t think your average investor is reading my latest Instagram story.”
“There’s the book,” Jeremy said. Beside him, Sarah gave an enthusiastic nod. “For one, it’s a giant advertisement for the authenticity of the brand and the humble roots that formed GOA. For another, those public appearances are a great way to get the message out that GOA is strong and here to stay.”
A year ago, Trent had worked out a deal with a publisher to write a memoir. Everyone was interested in how the wunderkind had taken an idea he’d had on a mountain trail and turned it into a multi-million-dollar business. He’d started writing, then set it aside as one to-do after another filled his hours.
He’d kept thinking he had lots of time until the deadline. He searched his memory but couldn’t remember what he’d promised the publisher.
“The book? But that’s not due until—”
“First week of April.” Sarah shared a worried glance with Jeremy. “You remembered the deadline, didn’t you?”
“Honestly, I forgot about it entirely. I’ve been working so much and…” Trent shrugged. “I won’t be turning it in by then.”
Her eyes widened. “We, uh, thought you were on it, Trent. As it is, the schedule is tight. Like super-tight, because normally a book needs months to go through production before it’s published. The editor promised to turn it around right away, so we can have that public launch at the end of May. It’s a great public relations move right before the IPO, and can get investors excited again.”
The schedule was tight because Trent had moved the delivery date. Twice. Every time he thought he had time to work on it, his attention was yanked away. Then he’d forgotten about the book, gotten busy, rinse and repeat. “We can reschedule that, can’t we?”
Sarah shook her head. “There’s a book tour planned. Several venues rented. You promised last time that you would deliver no matter what, and everyone started putting the publicity pieces in place. Rescheduling would…”
“Look very bad,” Jeremy finished. “And the last thing you need is more bad press. Some of the media have speculated that the drop in sales is because the company has become too big for one man to run, and it’s losing the personal touch that set it apart. This company was built on you being honest and transparent and there, Trent. Your presence and personal touch are important.”
Trent ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated gust. As if he didn’t have enough to do and worry about right now. Why had he thought this was a good idea last year?
“I don’t have time to finish the book. I can’t make the deadline. We’re going to have to cancel and somehow minimize the bad press.”
“There is another option,” Sarah said. She paused a second, reluctance in her eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice was almost a whisper. “You can hire a…a ghostwriter.”
“Hire someone who pretends to be me as the writer? Sarah, our company slogan and the book title is Be True to Your Nature,” he said, remembering the idea he’d worked out in the publisher’s office, something that had seemed easy at the time. “It’s supposed to be an honest, unflinching look at how I got here, written by me. I have built my reputation on being as transparent as these walls.” He waved at the glass that separated him from the workhub of GOA. “A ghostwriter who pretends to be me and writes the book is sort of like lying, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but…” Sarah shifted forward, in her PR element, running with the idea she’d had and molding it to fit what Trent needed. It was why he’d hired her, and why she was so brilliant at her job. “The ghostwriter signs a nondisclosure agreement. They can’t tell anyone ever that they wrote the book. It’s entirely secret.”
“Forever?”
Sarah nodded. “For-ev-er.”
Trent sat back in the chair and considered his options. Well, option, singular. He’d been so busy lately that he’d barely had time to spend five minutes outside, never mind do anything else. A book was a massive, unwieldly project, and just the thought of trying to corral his thoughts and notes into a reasonable manuscript…
He glanced at the big bright world outside his building. A world he might have time to enjoy, if someone else did the heavy lifting on the book. That way he could meet the deadline, go forward with the launch and build goodwill before the IPO. Win-win-win all around. Trent pivoted back to his team. “How do we find a ghostwriter?”