Page 41 of The Emerson Effect
“I was too embarrassed.”
“She’s your bestest bestie,” he says slowly. “She would understand. And I’m sure she wouldn’t judge you, either.”
“I know,” I breathe. “Maybe I will tell her. Eventually.”
“Good girl,” he says, deepening his voice.
I roll my eyes, and he laughs.
“God, I’m an asshole,” I say without thinking, and his laughter dies.
“Why are you an asshole?” he asks.
“I judged you,” I say, then shake my head to cut off his next question. “I was so irritated that you ‘rode my coattails,’ so to speak, and the whole time you had these noble intentions to be a hero to your mom and sister. I am. An. Asshole.”
“Nah,” he says lightly. “Don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know me. You didn’t have any reason to believe I was doing it for any reason other than dollar bills and clout.”
“Stop being so nice to me. I’m trying to wallow, here,” I grump, and he grins.
“I can’t help it. I’m a nice guy,” he says, and I shoot him a soft smile.
“Yeah. You are.”
TWENTY-TWO
Emerson
I’ve had three video chats with Twila in the last five days, and each time we talk, I like her a little bit more. Okay. Alotmore.
And while actually liking her will make our “romance” that much more believable, it’s also dangerous. Letting my heart run away with my head is a blueprint for heartbreak. I keep reminding myself that this is nothing more than a business transaction, but it’s hard to keep that in mind when Twila is making me laugh.
Or even better, when she’s laughing at my jokes or taking the bait when I casually flirt with her.
It’s like we’re feeling each other out––for real––when there should benofeeling anything. Physical or emotional.
The problem is, attraction aside, I feel like Twila has become an actual friend to me. I care about her, and I get the sense that she feels the same. So, what’s going to happen when we meet in real life and have to pretend to be hot for each other?
Or, as the case may be, she’ll be pretending while I’mpretendingto be pretending so she won’t freak out and call the whole thing off.
God, this is complicated.
But that meeting is at least a few weeks off, so I have time to get my head on straight before then. As for right now, I think it’s time to push this thing to the next level and confirm what everyone on BingBang already thinks they know.
People are starting to get frustrated in the comments at my evasiveness. After I posted a video with a screenshot of our text message exchange, they’re frothing at the mouth to find out who “Daisy” really is––or at least the confirmation that she is, in fact, Twila Greene. Most of them are convinced it’s her after a few clever people figured out all the hints I’ve left for them and posted videos highlighting the trail of breadcrumbs.
Making the decision, I initiate a video call with Twila, and she answers right away with a wide smile. No doubt because her own numbers have climbed radically since half the site is convinced she’s my Daisy. Or maybe she’s just happy to hear from me?
“Hey, you. What’s up?” she says when I don’t speak.
Locking down my wild imaginings, I clear my throat and say, “It’s time.”
She doesn’t need an explanation. She just nods.
“I agree.”
We’ve talked about our big reveal a few times, both of us throwing out ideas that we think will make the biggest bang. I want to do something romantic, but Twila thinks it should be fun and catchy so that even viewers who aren’t already invested in my secret crush will stop and watch. I think we’re both right, and I came up with an idea after the last time we talked.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” I say.
