The PR Maven’s Game-Changing Weekend

You tell yourself it’s just another event. Another VIP tent, another tray of champagne flutes, another polite nod to people who have never worked a day in their lives but somehow have all the money. You tell yourself it’s business.

You’re lying.

You didn’t have to come. You could’ve stayed in the city, in the air-conditioned boardrooms where things make sense. But instead, you’re here, standing under a white linen cabana at Polo Hamptons, trying to act like you’re impressed by men in linen suits and women who have never once worried about paying rent.

The sun is too bright, the champagne too warm, the laughter too practiced. You sip, nod, smile—because this is what you do, what you’ve always done. Public relations is theater, and you, with your perfectly tousled waves and your carefully curated designer sundress, have always known your role.

But then he walks in.

And suddenly, the script is gone.

The Man Who Wasn’t Impressed

You notice him because he doesn’t belong here—or rather, because he does, but doesn’t seem to care. He moves through the crowd like he’s just passing through, like he has somewhere better to be. No effort to impress, no practiced charm. He’s in a navy suit, no tie, top button undone, looking more suited for a boardroom than a polo match.

And then he sees you.

“You don’t look like you want to be here,” he says, reaching for a flute from your tray of untouched champagne.

You smirk. “Neither do you.”

He shrugs, takes a sip. “I was told this is where deals get made.”

You tilt your head. “That’s the lie they tell us.”

His name is Jack Stratton, and he is exactly the kind of man you swore off years ago. Finance. Private equity. The kind of guy who turns everything into a transaction, including people. You’ve met a hundred versions of him before. You’ve dated a dozen, played PR clean-up for half of them.

And yet, you don’t walk away.

Because he’s not asking what you do. He’s not pretending to be impressed by your client list or throwing out buzzwords to prove he understands branding.

He just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. And for the first time in a long time, you kind of want to let him.

The Moment the Cabana Pays Off

At some point, you remember you’re supposed to be networking.

You tear yourself away from Jack and the magnetic pull of his half-smirk, slipping back into your well-rehearsed routine. You introduce yourself to the right people. You shake hands with a luxury hotel CEO who is suddenly very interested in your boutique PR firm. You laugh at the jokes of a beauty mogul who is looking for a new agency to handle her next campaign.

By the time the sun is setting over Fishel Estate, you have three new clients and an invitation to pitch for a global luxury brand.

This is what success is supposed to feel like.

So why are you scanning the crowd for him?

The Risk You Didn’t Plan For

You find him near the edge of the field, away from the crowd, watching the last chukker of the match. He doesn’t look at you right away. He just extends his champagne glass, an unspoken invitation.

You clink yours against his, take a sip, wait for him to say something.

“You’re good at this,” he says finally.

“At what?”

“The game.”

You exhale, watching the sun sink lower. “I used to think so.”

He turns to you then, really looks at you. “And now?”

Now, you don’t know.

But for the first time, you think you might want to find out.

For Tickets: www.polohamptons.com