Page 12 of Best Served Hot

“Ooh, that looks good. Is it from downstairs? Maybe I’ll get one,” she said, making no move to get up. “By the way, I started planning my party! Or really, my business launch. I’m going to send invites to everyone in the local animal rescue community. I bet their animals are particularly stressed and could use some yoga.”

“I bet,” I said.

“Maybe I’ll donate some hours pro bono to local shelters.” She pulled out her phone. “That’s what I was doing before shopping: making a list of everything I still need to get done.” She blinked at me prettily. “Do you think my dad would get mad if I swiped his address book and sent invitations to, like, his famous friends and colleagues? If a big actress or singer or someone showed up at my launch and posted about how they couldn’t wait to get their pet a yoga lesson, I’d be swamped with business!”

I did my best not to shudder in horror at what Mr. Decker’s expression might be if he learned I’d given out the top secret email addresses of the actors and actresses and assorted other big names he’d worked with at LBC. Even if it was to his own daughter. Even if I’d secretly noted down Tina Fey’s and Amy Poehler’s email addresses just in case I had a brilliant idea for a comedy one day and was willing to get fired.

But again, I couldn’t come out and say no. Because again, boss’s daughter. “It seems like you’re doing a great job with the planning!” I non-answered instead, hoping that I hadn’t sounded patronizing.

She looked at me the way I’d looked at her the time she’d told me all her friends who were trying to be influencers were doing it full-time, because having jobs took up too much of their focus, and I should try out the same thing if I wanted to succeed. “Of course I know what I’m doing,” she told me. “I was the head of my sorority’s event planning committee.” She perked up. “You can help me, if you want! I’d be happy to teach you some of my tricks!”

“That’s so nice of you, Emerson Leigh,” I said. “I wish I could, but my schedule is packed right now.”

She nodded gravely. “I know you’ve been busy. Dad told me about the broken TV on his Florida yacht that you’ve been trying to get fixed. Things are rough.”

“Okay,” I said.

She popped up. “Well, I guess I’ll head out,” she said. “There’s a big sample sale downtown I’m dying to go to. Don’t forget to save the date for my party! You got the email with the details, right?”

It was somewhere in my inbox. “Yup,” I said. “Have fun at the sample sale!”

Once the door had closed behind her, I swiveled back to my computer. Heart thumping, I waved the mouse to clear the screen saver and entered in my password. Finally, my email was back up. I ignored the one from the TV repairman and clicked on Bennett’s and read, holding my breath. Then stopped holding my breath, because it was kind of a long email.

Julie,

I attempted to “DM” you as you requested, but unfortunately you’ve blocked DMs from people who aren’t following you, and I can’t follow you, as I don’t have a personal account. So I asked Emerson Leigh for your email, which she so kindly sent me.

I’m going to trust that you won’t post this email online, though I’m not sure why I’m trusting in you, considering you posted our conversation online. Honestly, I’m annoyed by that. And I’m not writing to apologize, unless you want to apologize first. You were, after all, the one who fired the first shot, if you will.

What I am writing to you to do is to propose a partnership. I’m sure you’ve seen your numbers jump from your association with me and the Scroll. What you may not have seen was that our social media following jumped as well, and, as you so kindly shouted at me at the food festival, print subscriptions are falling and online engagement is rising, so my editor and the other higher-ups here are very happy about that.

I don’t particularly want to spend more time shouting at each other, but perhaps a partnership could be mutually beneficial. My editor suggested that you and I go to the same restaurant, and we both talk about our differing takes. He hopes it will lead to more engagement for the both of us. Let me know your thoughts.

Best regards,

Bennett Wright

I rolled my eyes at the ending salutation. “Best regards”? Really? Somehow I doubted he was actually offering me his “best regards.”

My first instinct was to roll my eyes at the actual proposal, too. Continue our conversation? No, thank you. I didn’t want to give myself a heart attack by thirty.

But then again . . . it was hard to deny the increase our interaction had had on my numbers. I clicked back to my profile. I’d gained another couple thousand followers since I’d last checked. Each thousand followers meant an increase in ad revenue. If I could get enough legitimate followers and publicity, I might actually be able to quit my job and do this full-time like Jada Knox. That wasn’t even speaking of the actual paying publications like the Scroll that might come knocking if I became a name. Like, Jada Knox did her social media thing full-time, but she supplemented it with articles in various food magazines and online publications (though not the Scroll, of course), which got her name out there more and shined her with prestige.

I hesitated with my fingers over the keyboard. It was tempting to wait and think on it and reply later, but, having been involved in social media for so many years, I knew the public’s attention was short and fickle. By tomorrow, they may very well have moved on to some newer, more interesting scandal, and the Scroll might feel safe rescinding their offer once they were out of the spotlight. No, thank you. So my fingers danced over the keys, then jabbed the enter button to send.

Bennett,

For someone who’s not interested in social media, you sure seem to mention a lot how you aren’t on it. Are you sure you’re not compensating for something?

I don’t particularly want to spend more time with you, either, but I have to admit our interaction was beneficial to me and my following. How exactly are you proposing we do this? We don’t have to go to the restaurant together, do we? I’d prefer it if we could do this without having to see each other.

By the way—you said I may have seen my numbers jump due to our interaction and the association with the Scroll. I submit that you saw your numbers jump due to your interaction with me. Just saying.

Julie

I probably should have gone right back to my email to talk to the TV guy—you would be surprised how difficult it could be to get a yacht repairman in Florida off season—but I couldn’t stop my eyes flicking to the number in parentheses beside my inbox. Every time it jumped, indicating a new email, I clicked over to my inbox so fast my mouse juddered under its force.

Julie,