Page 196 of Just for the Plot

“Either way, you told them?” Gretchen confirms.

Bennett nods. “I did.”

“Do they understand that what you told them is private information and that it’s not to be repeated, and did you highlight that fact with OC?”

“They know whatever we talk about in the group stays in the group,” Bennett says.

She eyes Bennett. “Do you want me to check with OC just in case?”

“No, I think he understands.”

Gretchen purses her lips. “I’ll check with him.”

She whips out her phone and starts texting. When she’s done, she turns back to us and says, “Now that that is settled—” She pauses when her phone buzzes. She looks down at her screen, reads a text that I’m sure is from OC, and then rolls her eyes, muttering, “He’s such a fucking idiot.” She quickly types away and then puts her phone in her bag.

“Is he good?” Bennett asks, looking concerned now. “Did he tell someone?”

“No. He’s just…you know how he is in text messages.”

“And in person,” Bennett adds.

“Yes, you’re right about that.” Clearing her throat, she looks between us with the cold, hard stare of a woman on a mission. “So why am I here?”

“We want to talk about the book club,” Bennett says. “From what you’ve said, there has been a lot of interest.”

“A lot, to the point that I want to hire a social media manager for it because we have traction, but we’re not capitalizing on it.”

“I can do it,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Really?” Bennett asks, surprised. “I don’t want you to have to take on more work.”

“I can handle it while I’m running errands in the car. Plus, I already have experience since I’ve been posting my own quick book reviews. It wouldn’t be much different.”

“Great, then that’s settled,” Gretchen says.

“Wait.” Bennett turns to me. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” I say. “And when the time comes, I can start doing collab posts with The Whimsy Wagon.”

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Gretchen says. “We were able to skirt by this month without a bookstore to work with, but to really get the community involved, we’ll need to have it up and ready by next month, or we don’t have a deal and will have to work with someone else.”

“I’m not working with anyone else,” Bennett says.

“Well, we can’t wait that long either. What you need to understand about social media is that you have to capitalize when you start to trend, and right now, we’re sitting ducks. We don’t have any content, we don’t have community involvement, we don’t—”

“I can handle it,” I say. “I can, uh…I can set up a small in-person, ticketed event with Bennett. We can find a venue and celebrate our first book club night. I can theme it out and have a lot of fun with it, and we can announce the partnership then as well.” My mind starts to race with all the ideas. “We can make it baseball themed and intimate.”

“We’ll have to have security present,” Gretchen says.

“Oh yeah, of course.”

“And I’d say twenty people at the most, VIP bags, no drinks. We can’t have fans getting rowdy, but we can serve mocktails. VIP bags should consist of the book—try to get signed copies from the author—a gift card to The Whimsy Wagon for next month’s pick, maybe some NSFW art print, and one of Bennett’s favorite things. Like a snack. We should try to find local small businesses to sponsor the event as well for the swag, reach out and we can use it as a promotional tactic—” She pauses and looks at me. “Why aren’t you writing this down?”

“Oh, sorry,” I say, pulling my phone out and taking notes, writing as fast as I can to keep up with her.

It takes about fifteen minutes of Gretchen rattling off a laundry list of things to do for the event as well as creating invitations, establishing the venue, and deadlines she needs to be met before she gathers her things and is out of Bennett’s apartment.

When he shuts the door, he turns to me, concern in his eyes as I stand and grab my bag.