Page 53 of Just Can't Fall for the Enemy

I froze. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “If you’re leaving tomorrow, then we only have tonight for this conversation, so I’m skipping ahead to the good part. It’s people who matter. Not careers, not goals or collaborations or your follower count and statistics.”

I went to her side again and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “You overheard.”

“Hard not to. You left the door open a crack, and you aren’t as quiet as you think you are. Listen—when you spend all that money in your bank account, and your hairline recedes, and your partnership with this famous man is long forgotten, all you’ll have left is the people who love you. Every follower in the world can’t fill the hole one good partner can.” Her eyes crinkled in the corners and she frowned slightly. “Trust me on that.”

“Mom,” I said softly. “You have us, and you always will.”

“Except you won’t come back unless I end up in the hospital,” she said, unable to hide a smile.

“Then I’m going to fix that. I promise to come back for every major holiday—maybe even weekends in between to surprise you. But will you make me a promise in return?”

“Name it.”

I kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep. I’ll be right here if you need me, tonight and always.”

She closed her eyes and let herself sink into the bed. “You have yourself a deal.”

I’d been sitting here in the restaurant for nearly an hour already, yet I couldn’t stop looking around the massive room in amazement. This had to be the fanciest place I’d ever seen—and I’d been to alotof restaurants. The sight before me transcended anything I’d experienced in Paris or London.

Every inch of the restaurant’s walls and ceiling was made of glass and much of the floor, which looked down upon a courtyard full of tourists. Even the tables were a delicate glass, which made me set my champagne glass down carefully. My plate was big enough to feed a horse, yet the actual food—marinated steak beneath a fancy pastry covered in sauce—was only a few inches round. Despite its small size, only a few bites left me feeling full. My companions at the table barely touched their food either, my brother included. Ben watched me now and cleared his throat lightly. A reminder to listen. I pulled myself back to the conversation.

“. . . already have several high-end sponsors I’ll have to convince,” Guy was saying. “But I’m fairly confident I can bring them around when they see your numbers from that Huckleberry Creek episode. It’s odd, though—I couldn’t find it to send them the link on the way here.”

“I deleted it,” I told him simply.

Everyone at the table—Guy, his marketing manager, his attorney, Jill, and Ben—all looked at me like I’d turned into a Great Dane.

“You . . . deleted it,” Guy repeated in disbelief. “An episode that broke the YouTube record for most views in a day.”

“There were some legal complications with some of the content,” Ben jumped in. “He, uh, did that on my recommendation. He’ll be more careful in the future.”

“See that you do,” Guy’s attorney said. She reminded me of my sixth-grade teacher, stern and strict. “There’s no such thing as casual mistakes in this business. You could have lost your entire channel.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, practically shuddering at the thought as they sat at our fancy glass table.

“But everyone will remember it,” Jill piped in. “And he still has all those new subscribers.” Her eyes met mine, and I was struck again by the cold focus they held. She only cared about closing this deal because she’d get half. She wouldn’t even need another job after this.

Guy dabbed at his lips with a thick white cloth napkin. “It was emotional, to be sure. I have to applaud you, Tanner. I didn’t think you had it in you, but the feedback I’m seeing from your subscribers is excellent. I usually don’t recommend using such tactics, but it certainly worked for you.”

“Tactics?” I repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

Guy laughed. “Oh, you know. We all choose the persona we portray on camera. If one thing doesn’t work, we try something else. It requires a deep understanding of what our viewers want and giving it to them. Your supposed story this week was one of the cleverest stunts I’ve ever seen.”

I ignored my brother’s warning look. “Every second of that was authentic, just like my other episodes. I don’t pull stunts on my channel.”

“Of course, of course. That’s what I tell people as well.” He winked. “There was this one old lady whose dying wish was to appear on my show. If I helped her out, she’d add me to her will and kick off her only son. So I inserted her at the very end, inherited her estate when she croaked, and sold it for half a million. Don’t you love this business?”

I gaped at the man. Was he really so calculating?

Was I looking at a future version of myself?

Guy raised his glass. “To our new, ‘authentic’partnership.”

Everyone lifted their glasses. “To the partnership,” they said in near unison.

I flexed my fingers, lifting them toward my glass. Then I balled my hands into fists.

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