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Ben sighed. ‘So, anyway, she’d been on two shows, and she was thin and TV quaffed. She started getting endorsements, modelling stuff, and then more shows… You know how it goes. Anyway, then theLove Prisonthing happened.’

Alex searched her memory banks for what he might be talking about. Nothing.

Jake’s voice dropped. ‘The Chunk Junk incident.’

It hit her then. Her housemates laughing their arses off about someone onLove Prisongetting very drunk and getting intimate. But before it could progress to its logical conclusion, the woman had gotten sick all over the man’s still-clothed crotch. And he’d stood and yelled, ‘You blew chunks on my junk!’ It had trended under #ChunkJunk.

‘Ah,’ Alex said.

‘Yeah. People love a catchy rhyme. So, anyway, that made her very, very famous. Took her into the stratosphere.’

‘I see.’

‘Yeah. Booking after booking. It seemed like she was set up. But then she got married two years ago to this tanned tosser she met on the set ofCelebrity Serial Daters. Sam Manning.’

Alex took a swing. ‘Does he have blinding teeth and orange skin?’

‘You’re describing half the pillocks on that show, but yes. He was obviously bad news, but Holly’s self-esteem never really caught up from her big days. Men were horrible to her then. It messed up her man-picker. He definitely married her for her money.’

Alex could fill in the gaps from there. ‘So, now they’re getting divorced?’

‘Yes. He spent all her cash, the tangerine twat, and now he’s decided he “Needs some time to think about his own needs.”

‘What a dick,’ Alex said sincerely.

‘She knows she’s been used. She’s paranoid. She’s worried about what people will think. If people blameherfor this divorce and public opinion turns against her, she could lose a lot of money in endorsements. She’d be back to square one. And we’ve had all these sharks begging for her business, publicists, and all that. But she doesn’t trust anyone.’

‘Publicists?’ Alex looked around her at the crap hole she currently worked in and made a decision. ‘Did you knowI’min PR now?’ she asked Ben.

Ben was stunned. ‘Are you?’

Alex was, but only as of five seconds ago. ‘Yes, and I happen to have a friend rate, which is free.’

Ben was surprised, but he took the hint. ‘Oh, well, maybeyoucould…’

‘…Meet with Holly? Absolutely.’

That very afternoon, Alex got some cards printed withAlex Walker - PR Consultanton them and went to see Holly, who did not look like she did inHeatmagazine. She was in stained sweats, her hair unwashed, roots grown out, nails chipped to shit. She explained how Sam had walked out the minute her bank balance was at zero and left an STI as a parting gift.

Alex thought the answer was simple. He just needed to be exposed as the shitbag he was. People could only sympathise with Holly when they knew conclusively that she’d married a rat.

‘You don’t think people would think I was an idiot?’ Holly asked anxiously.

‘He’sthe idiot. And everyone’s gonna know it when I’m done,’ Alex assured her.

Holly gave Alex Sam’s new address, and Alex called in sick to work so she could stake the place out. It took three days of living in her car, but Alex was right there to see not one buttwogirls leaving his place for a walk of shame one morning. Sam kissed both of them on the doorstep. Holly captured the beautiful moment and sent the shots to the tabloids. People left, right, and centre called Sam a scumbag and Holly a saint for putting up with him. It was a nice cherry on the cake that it was true.

Holly was thrilled with Alex’s work. She offered payment, but Alex asked only one thing.

‘If any of your friends need PR help, could you direct them to me?’

Holly did better. She sold her story toHeatmagazine and talked about Alex and how she was a ‘Feminist hero.’

That’s when it started. Calls from moderately famous women in the middle of damaging relationship drama. It started with a couple of C-list actors, as well as an influencer, all trying to get out of bad relationships without losing face.

Alex ran with it. She didn’t want to marketstuffanymore. She was pivoting to market people, with a specialism in ‘crisis communication.’ What that roughly translated to was that C-listers knew who Alex Walker was and that she would do anything it took to wipe the shit off their name.

She quit the day job, got a business loan, rented a nice office in a well-situated building, and got herself a fancy and effortlessly cool, twenty-two-year-old receptionist/social media manager/whatever called Baker. Baker was a sour guy, but he was good at his job and his fashion-forward approach to business casual brought a certain something to the vibe of the office.