Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Twila
Emerson’s excitement is contagious, but there’s a little voice in my head telling me I need to rein it in. Maybe it’s realism. Maybe it’s pessimism. Hell, maybe it’s fear.
This idea might seem to be working, but this is still the guy that spent the last year or so mocking my videos for his own gain. Even if it was “just business,” I can’t let myself slip into thinking this could be an actual friendship. This plan we’re enacting is just business.
And I’d be smart not to forget it.
“I have an idea,” I say, putting my marketing cap on.
“Shoot,” he says, his voice filled with equal parts eagerness and trust.
Like he believes in me. That he knows I have concepts to bring to the table even though he’s mostly been running this show on his own so far. My chest and my throat tighten at the realization.
I clear the emotion from my throat before I speak.
“I have a few videos set to post this weekend, and I thought I could send them to you first. You can pick one and make a corresponding video that has a little hint in it like the sweater or the flowers. Nothing too overt. You should make it difficult to find the connection, but it’s there if someone looks hard enough.
Then we can plan a time and post them both simultaneously. ”
He nods slowly, his eyes unfocused like he’s lost in thought. After a few seconds, his lips part in a wide smile that shows off his teeth.
Why have I never noticed that endearing, crooked canine before?
“Twila,” he says, and I snap out of my musings.
“Yeah?”
“I love it. And, God, wouldn’t it be great if some of the BingBang sleuths really do figure it out? They’d go nuts when I refuse to confirm or deny their guesses. And you’ll see a huge influx of eyes on your videos, too, looking for the other clues I’ve sprinkled in.”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and I see his eyes drop to track the movement. As if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, he licks his own lips in response.
“You really think it’s a good idea?” I ask, blurting the words to distract me from his mouth.
“It’s brilliant,” he says. “And you don’t need to send me multiple videos to pick from. Just send the one you want to use, and tell me what you want me to do.”
There goes that tightness in my chest again. I know Emerson wants me to trust him, and his trusting me is the perfect way to bring it full circle.
“Okay,” I say, and my voice cracks, so I cough to cover it, then repeat the word. “Okay. I have one I plan to post tomorrow that could work. Let me download it and send it to you really quick.”
“Hurry,” he says, and a chuckle bubbles out of me, making him grin.
I grab my tablet and open BingBang. After navigating to my drafts folder, I download the video and open my messaging app to send it to Emerson. I hear a chiming sound through my phone’s speakers, and I watch as he grabs his tablet and opens the video message.
I stay quiet as he watches the footage of me saturating my hair with coconut oil as a deep-conditioning treatment. I specifically wore a teal t-shirt when I filmed it this morning, but Emerson doesn’t need to know that. I keep my tone cool as I start to speak.
“I was thinking about it,” I say, and his gaze darts back from his tablet to his phone screen, “and I think you wore a Hawaiian shirt in one of your videos a while back that has coconuts all over it. Do you still have it?”
“I do,” he says, nodding. “And the background colors are white, back, and teal, so it’s perfect that you wore that color shirt.”
“Oh, really? Huh. I didn’t remember that part. Lucky,” I say, fighting to keep my voice neutral.
Liar, liar, pants on fire. I remember that shirt with perfect recall because he’d left it unbuttoned in the video. I’d gotten an eyeful of a six-pack I tried like hell to convince myself was grotesque and not sexy at all.
“This is perfect , Twila. Seriously. It’s so obvious, yet so subtle at the same time.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat at his praise.
What is wrong with me? I do not actually have a crush on Emerson House, and I do not blush at his approval.
Emerson snaps his fingers, breaking me out of my momentary bout of self-flagellation. His eyes are wide and twinkling like he’s just had the most brilliant idea ever.
“I just got the most brilliant idea,” he says, and shit. Are we reading each other’s minds now?
“Lay it on me,” I say.
“What if, for the next phase of the plan, we text-flirt and post screenshots. We could change our contacts to show cutesy nicknames.” He pauses and bites his lip.
“I could change your name to something that has to do with the videos I’ve made about you.
I’ll start posting the screenshots first, and then, after your identity is revealed and confirmed, you could post some, too.
People would be eager to see how you have me listed in your phone, right? ”
I nod slowly. “That’s a good idea.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” he says in a deep voice that I think is supposed to be an impression of Elvis.
“Don’t quit your day job,” I say with a laugh, and he grins back at me.
“Fine. Don’t name me Elvis in your phone. But you could change my name to something like…” He pauses like he’s thinking really hard, then snaps the same way he did before. “Hot Stuff.”
He says the two words so confidently, I can’t help but laugh. “No. No way.”
“Muffin. As in, Stud Muffin,” he all but growls, and I laugh again as I shake my head.
“Sweet Cheeks? Cutie Pie? Hubba Bubba?”
“Hubba Bubba?” I cut in. “Where are you getting this stuff? No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. But I will ask, why do you need a nickname in my phone if we’re not sharing my side of the text messages until after we’re out and confirmed? Everyone will already know it’s you.”
“Because it’s rom- antic , Twila. You do want people to think our fake relationship is romantic, don’t you?”
“I guess,” I say, laughing at his overly passionate tone. “I’ll put some thought into it and find the perfect, most romantic nickname for you, Emerson. I promise.”
He chuckles at my fake earnestness and shakes his head. “Good. And I’ll come up with some ideas for our coconut video and post it tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
He bites his bottom lip, then blows out a long breath. “I should probably let you go. That perfect nickname isn’t going to come up with itself.”
“Yeah,” I say, adopting both a serious tone and expression. “I need to focus on the task at hand, or this whole thing might fail.”
“Glad to see you’re finally taking it seriously,” he says with an adorable smirk.
Wait. Nope. Annoying. I meant annoying, not adorable.
Fuck. Who am I kidding It’s adorable .
“Bye, Emerson.”
“Good night, Twila.”
The call ends, and I tap on his name in my contact list. Letter by letter, I delete his name. I stare at the flashing cursor for a few moments, then my lips tug up, and I type in a new name.
There. Perfection.