Page 19 of The Emerson Effect
“Because it’s out of your control,” she says like it’s an obvious deterrent.
And for me, maybe it is.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to admit it out loud to anyone.
“You think I’m a control freak?” I ask.
“No. Of course, not,” she says, shaking her head. “I just meant that this influencer gig is everything to you, and letting someone you’ve had…less than pleasantfeelings for take the wheel just seems unlikely.”
“Point taken,” I say, slumping in my seat and picking my glass back up to sip some more wine. “But I have to do something, Jo. I haven’t really talked to anyone about this, but my views and engagement have been dropping recently.”
“They have?” she asks, her face wrinkled with concern.
“Nothing to worry about, yet, but it’s the trajectory that scares me. My account needs a boost. This couldbethat boost.”
Grabbing my phone, I pull up the BingBang Emerson posted this morning and hand the device to Joey. I watch her expression as my mind replays the eight second video I’ve watched at least a dozen times.
Emerson, in his red hoodie, staring off to the side as he rubs the material through his fingers. A song about thinking of the one you’re obsessed with plays as he daydreams, and at the very end, he looks directly at the camera. One corner of his mouth tilts up into a sexy smirk.
“Holy shit. That’s hot,” Joey says, yanking me out of the reel playing in my mind.
“You and everybody else,” I quip. “Look at the views and comments. It’s been up for less than eight hours.”
“Holy shit,” she repeats, this time drawing both words out into long syllables. Her finger swipes up the screen. “You’re tagged here multiple times.”
“Me and a half-dozen other women,” I say, taking the phone as she hands it over. “The hoodie is a hint. Like an Easter egg. I wore one like it recently in one of my videos.”
“Nobody’s made the connection, yet?”
I shake my head. “Someone will find it, soon, though. The BingBang detectives are relentless in their sleuthing.”
“And if they don’t?” she asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “When Emerson eventually confirms it’s me, people will go back and make all the connections he’s sprinkling into his videos.”
“Making them feel like geniuses,” she says, nodding. “It’s kind of brilliant.”
When she goes silent and thoughtful again, I blurt, “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just still surprised you agreed, and you’re letting Emerson take the lead here. I mean…don’t you hate him?”
“Yes?”
“Is that a question?”
“Yes?”
“Twila.”
“Fine,” I huff. “I guess I’ve just realized he’s not the person I thought he was. He’s actually really smart. And nice. And…nice.”
“Nice twice, huh?” she teases, and I shoot her a frown. She responds with a wide grin and humor in her eyes as she says, “The Emerson Effect, indeed.”
“Stop it,” I say, unable to hold in my own laugh. “It’s not like that. I just meant he’s a decent person. We talked, and––”
“Wait,” she interrupts. “You talked to him? Like actuallytalked?”
I nod. “Video chat.”
