Page 145 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘Really, Damien! I get the message.’ She pushed his hand away. ‘You’re trying to stop me talking.’

‘Yes.’

Frances giggled as she let him pop the biscuit in her mouth.

‘Mmmm, very good,’ she said crunching rapidly and swallowing hard. ‘So about my channel. It’s called Sassy Yankee. I do a virtual tour of London, but it’s not about places of interest – it’s about people. I chat to the demographic of a particular area and get their POV on a variety of topics. I ask the same question to a woman in Knightsbridge as I do to a woman in Dalston. It’s interesting to see how their opinions vary.’

‘Yes. Always fascinating,’ Damien responded with feigned enthusiasm.

Frances had exhausted him with her relentless digital evangelism. He stifled a yawn.

Come on, Damien.Don’t fall asleep, the Voice said.The poor girl is trying her best to impress you.

‘Am I boring you?’ she asked.

‘No! Not at all,’ he lied.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So, I start by asking light questions such as, “If you could spend the night with a celebrity who would it be?”. Things like that. A bit cheeky. But the advertisers like it. Pulls in the views. Then I tackle deeper issues; politics, social injustice: “Do we need the royal family?”, etc. Anything that seems relevant at the time. Nothing really planned.’

‘That’s great,’ Damien said sarcastically. ‘Any little buzz that comes into your head that you can ask to random strangers. And just a few clicks away it’s transmitted to your followers. Hail, Frances, Queen of Trivia.’

‘That’s not true. I have a deep sense of justice and empathy for people who are struggling in this difficult world and I try to educate my followers. Tell them what I have experienced. Give them my views. Bring them closer to the truth.’

‘Yes, Frances. Your truth. Just so long as it brings in the sponsors.’

‘Come on! You have to admit the web is a fantastic marketing tool,’ Frances said taking another biscuit. ‘These really are moreish. Why don’t I post your recipe on my blog and we could do a little info on your hobbies as part of your bio? And I can help you set up your own Insta profile. Damien Spur, Renaissance man. I bettya you’ll sell a ton more books.’

‘No, no, no! Frances, stop! I don’t want or need an Instagram, Facebook or Twitter account,’ Damien snapped. ‘Every time I publish a new novel it sells out worldwide in three months online with multiple reprints, and first editions go for hundreds of pounds. I don’t need your social-media puff.’

Damien wondered why he had hooked up to a crazy American who spent her life with her head in an iCloud.

‘Can I tell you something?’ She leant forward and gave him one of her fixed listen-up looks.

‘If you insist.’

‘Whatever you say, social media is where it’s at. There’s no point in you hiding your head in the sand. Don’t you want to pull in new blood? That’s who’s going to keep the fire burning!’

‘Frances, I’ve had enough of this. You don’t have to tell me how to run my professional life. And to be honest, I don’t give a damn about my legacy. I couldn’t care less who reads my books when I’m dead.’

‘I will,’ she vowed, like a bride at the altar.

Well, that came out of the blue,murmured the Voice.

Damien was touched. She had expressed her loyalty to him with such sincerity. He felt a pang of regret that he’d beenso cruel, unravelling her passion and dedication to the New World.

You have to be careful, said the Voice.This girl could be easily hurt. And if it doesn’t work out, there may be trouble ahead. Never trust a blogger.

‘I think I should go now,’ she said. ‘I have a lot of work to do before the morning.’

‘Well, thank you for a sparky afternoon.’ He walked her to the door. ‘See you soon,’ he said.

Damien watched her leave, swinging her bag on her shoulder. For a brief moment, she looked back. He gave her a wave and shut the door.

‘Okay, what shall I do?’ he asked himself.

You’ve only known her for a few days, the Voice said.I suggest that instead of you doing the seduction bit, let her make the moves. You play hard to get. That way, if things don’t work out in bed, you won’t feel guilty.

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