Page 17 of The Emerson Effect
I think about that for a second. She’s right, of course. Wewouldbe ruined. All credibility would be gone. But that can’t happen if there’s no proof to find.
I stiffen my spine and say as much. “So we get rid of the evidence. We’ll delete all of our direct messages so far, and from now on, we only discuss the plan through voice and video calls. And when we do message or text each other, we do so only in character.”
“In character?”
“We’re both playing a part, right? The roles of two incredibly hot strangers making a connection and falling in love via BingBang videos?”
She arches one brow in the cutest way. “Incrediblyhot?”
I chuckle. “You heard me correctly.”
“No issues with self-image, I see.”
I laugh, and she smiles back at me through the screen. She doesn’t mention that I grouped her in with that flattering remark, but I can see the slight sheen of a blush riding high on her cheeks. I make a mental note to remember that Twila Greene blushes at compliments. The soft, pink color looks good on her. Really good.
“Fine. I’m in,” she says suddenly, and I’m jerked back into the conversation.
“Really?” I ask, my voice an octave higher than usual as a wide grin explodes across my face.
“Really,” she says, smiling back at me. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. I’m nervous as hell about all the lying and faking, but it’s a good idea, Emerson. A really good one.”
And now, my face is heating. Apparently, I have a thing for compliments, too.
“But if this goes sideways, and people figure out what’s really happening, I’m throwing you right under the bus for manipulating my tender and veryrealromantic feelings for you,” she says, and I laugh again.
“Deal.”
That’s not going to happen, though. This is going to work. I know it will. And we’llbothreap the benefits. I want this for Twila as much as I want it for myself. I want her to succeed.
She lifts a martini glass and takes a sip of a cloudy, yellow-tinged drink, and I cock my head, asking, “What are you drinking?”
“A lemon drop martini,” she says as she sets the glass down somewhere outside of the camera’s frame.
“No margaritas tonight?” She flinches and blushes deeper than before. “Aw, Twila. Does drinking margaritas make you think of me looking sexy as fuck in a tuxedo?”
She narrows her gaze, and I hold up my free hand in surrender before changing the subject. Grabbing my tablet from the bed beside me, I tell her we should look through her content so we can plan out the Easter eggs for my videos. She seems to accept the sudden shift and nods before looking down at what I can only assume is her own tablet or maybe a laptop.
“Oh, I have a red hoodie the same color as the one you wore last week in that lip gloss promo,” I say.
“You don’t think that’s too obvious?”
“Hold on,” I say, before navigating to other pages in the app. “Okay. Chandra Harper wore a red hoodie in one of her videos two weeks ago, and she’s one of the other creators that’s been guessed a lot by my viewers.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding thoughtfully. “Maybe you could wear yours and stare off to the side while rubbing the materialbetween your fingers. Oh! And there’s that viral sound––Thoughts of youorThinking of Youor something like that.”
“I know the one you mean,” I say, making another mental note. “Good idea.”
That baby-pink blush is back, and Twila clears her throat. “And what should I do?”
“Nothing, yet,” I say. “We need to drag this out for a bit, get them really hungry for the big reveal, and when I finally confirm it’s you, you can start posting.”
“Okay, that sounds good,” she says slowly.
I want to tell her that doing it this way will protect her if it doesn’t fly as well as we hope it will. I’ll be taking all the chances without ever bringing her into it until we know for a fact it’ll get us where we want to go.
“So, the way I see this going,” I say instead, “is that I’ll post a series of videos interspersed with my usual content. Each one should make it a bit more obvious that’s it’s you I’m crushing on, leading up to the big confirmation video. Then, you can post a video with your reaction.”
“My reaction?”
