Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Twila
“Hey. Get in here,” I say, pulling Joey through the door and wrapping her in a tight hug.
“I’d say you’ve missed me, but it’s only been a few days since we last saw each other,” she says with a chuckle as she squeezes me back.
I release her to close the door, then lead her into my living room. She jerks her head toward the bottle and two stemless glasses I left on the coffee table earlier before slumping onto the couch.
“Wine? This must be serious.”
I laugh at her dark tone as I make a show of unscrewing the cap on the wine. “Not so serious. It doesn’t even have a cork.”
“Eh. Corks are pretentious little bastards, anyway.” She shoots me a smile of thanks as I hand her a half-filled glass before pouring my own. “So, what’s up? Why did I need to rush over here for cheap wine on a Monday night?”
“Can’t I just want to hang out and sip a little Pinot with my best friend?”
“Sure,” she says, narrowing her eyes, “but I sense there’s more. I’ve got that bestie tingle.”
“Ugh,” I groan, setting my glass down. “Never say ‘bestie tingle’ again. It sounds obscene.”
“You wish,” she says with a smirk.
“Well,” I say drawing out the word as my eyes track down and back up her body.
A laugh bursts out of her, then she shakes her head. “Spill it, T.”
“Okay, fine,” I grumble in an exaggerated capitulation. “Remember that video I showed you of Emerson and the margarita?”
“Yeah,” she says, drawing out the word like a question.
“Well, I was right. It was for me.”
“Okay,” she says like she’s waiting for the punchline.
“It went super viral, and it gave Emerson an idea. He wants to keep making videos like that and, eventually, admit it’s me so we can start a fake relationship to boost both our accounts.”
Joey manages to swallow the drink she’d been taking as her eyes flare wide. “A fake relationship?”
“Yeah. We’ll flirt back and forth for a while, then we’ll meet in person and film some content together before eventually splitting up. Amicably, of course.”
“Of course,” she says, her tone edged with sarcasm.
“What? You don’t think it’s a good idea?”
“No. I think it’s a great idea.” She shakes her head. “No offense, but I just don’t see you going through with something like that.”
“Why not?” I ask, the teensiest bit offended.
“Because it’s out of your control,” she says like it’s an obvious deterrent.
And for me, maybe it is.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to admit it out loud to anyone.
“You think I’m a control freak?” I ask.
“No. Of course, not,” she says, shaking her head. “I just meant that this influencer gig is everything to you, and letting someone you’ve had… less than pleasant feelings for take the wheel just seems unlikely.”
“Point taken,” I say, slumping in my seat and picking my glass back up to sip some more wine. “But I have to do something, Jo. I haven’t really talked to anyone about this, but my views and engagement have been dropping recently.”
“They have?” she asks, her face wrinkled with concern.
“Nothing to worry about, yet, but it’s the trajectory that scares me. My account needs a boost. This could be that boost.”
Grabbing my phone, I pull up the BingBang Emerson posted this morning and hand the device to Joey. I watch her expression as my mind replays the eight second video I’ve watched at least a dozen times.
Emerson, in his red hoodie, staring off to the side as he rubs the material through his fingers. A song about thinking of the one you’re obsessed with plays as he daydreams, and at the very end, he looks directly at the camera. One corner of his mouth tilts up into a sexy smirk.
“Holy shit. That’s hot,” Joey says, yanking me out of the reel playing in my mind.
“You and everybody else,” I quip. “Look at the views and comments. It’s been up for less than eight hours.”
“Holy shit,” she repeats, this time drawing both words out into long syllables. Her finger swipes up the screen. “You’re tagged here multiple times.”
“Me and a half-dozen other women,” I say, taking the phone as she hands it over. “The hoodie is a hint. Like an Easter egg. I wore one like it recently in one of my videos.”
“Nobody’s made the connection, yet?”
I shake my head. “Someone will find it, soon, though. The BingBang detectives are relentless in their sleuthing.”
“And if they don’t?” she asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “When Emerson eventually confirms it’s me, people will go back and make all the connections he’s sprinkling into his videos.”
“Making them feel like geniuses,” she says, nodding. “It’s kind of brilliant.”
When she goes silent and thoughtful again, I blurt, “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just still surprised you agreed, and you’re letting Emerson take the lead here. I mean…don’t you hate him?”
“Yes?”
“Is that a question?”
“Yes?”
“Twila.”
“Fine,” I huff. “I guess I’ve just realized he’s not the person I thought he was. He’s actually really smart. And nice. And…nice.”
“Nice twice, huh?” she teases, and I shoot her a frown. She responds with a wide grin and humor in her eyes as she says, “ The Emerson Effect , indeed.”
“Stop it,” I say, unable to hold in my own laugh. “It’s not like that. I just meant he’s a decent person. We talked, and––”
“Wait,” she interrupts. “You talked to him? Like actually talked ?”
I nod. “Video chat.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “That’s…cool.”
I don’t want to know what word she actually started to use there. Time to get back to the point.
“Anyway, it was easy to hate him when I thought he was some dumbass who was riding my coattails because he couldn’t come up with his own content. But he’s not a dumbass. He’s really smart, and he wants to do this for us both. Not just himself.”
“So, he’s generous, too,” she says like it’s a fact.
“Yes.”
“And nice.”
“Yes.”
“And a total smoke show.”
“Y–– Wait. What?” I stutter, and laughter peals out of her.
“Oh, my God! You have a crush on him!”
“No.”
“Yes, you do,” she says, still laughing.
“No, I don’t. You just tricked me, is all.”
“Jesus. Raven was right.”
What?
“What are you talking about?” I ask aloud.
“At girls’ night, she was talking about Callie and Royal and Dallas and me, and she predicted you’d fall for someone you hate on BingBang.”
I’m shaking my head before she even finishes. “No. Nope. Not gonna happen. This is an act , and that’s all it will ever be.”
“If you say so,” she sing-songs, then she settles into a more serious tone. “So, what is Emerson going to do next?”
I pull up a video I created a few days ago and turn the phone screen toward her. “See that painting on the wall behind me? The one of the daisies?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he’s going to make a video while holding a bouquet of them.”
She nods like she likes it, then her face falls into a frown. She holds my gaze for a long moment, then licks her lips before speaking.
“Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to go to prison for murder because someone hurt my best friend.”
“I will be. I promise.”
And I mean it. I will be careful.
I’m going into this with my head, not my heart. No one, not even the charming Emerson House is going to have a chance to wound me where it hurts the most.