Page 13 of The Emerson Effect
I bite my lip as I deliberate for a bit. This idea is a little out there and riddled with risk, but it could also yield great reward. What’s the harm in agreeing to think about it?
“Fine. I’ll think about it. But that’s all I can promise.”
Emerson replies almost immediately, like he was already typing a response to my inevitable agreement. Or maybe he’s just using the voice-to-chat option.
“Yes! Thank you. Let me know when you decide. I’ve already got some great ideas, and we can brainstorm more together.”
“What makes you so sure I’ll say yes?”
“Because you’re a smart woman. And you care about your business. You’ll realize this is an awesome idea. I have no doubt.”
Something inside me tingles at the compliment. I brush it aside and tell him I’ll get back to him. He responds with a heart emoji, and with that, the conversation ends. I stare at that emoji for a long time, my mind racing.
This could be really great for my brand.Reallygreat. It could also be catastrophic.
What am I going to do?
EIGHT
Emerson
I’ve been waiting three long days for Twila’s response, and I’m on the verge of psychosis.
I went back to posting my regular reaction videos, and while there has been an uptick in views and engagement, people are flooding the comments section with questions aboutMargarita-Gate.
Yes. The mystery behind that video and who it was meant for has a BingBang-official name.
I need Twila to make a decision so I can post more content before interest completely dies out. I figured I’d start with some Easter eggs––like the margarita––things people can speculate over butnotbe able to actually prove it’s her. Then, when the truth is finally revealed, the hardcore internet sleuths would be able to look back and follow the breadcrumbs.
A necktie that matches a dress she wore in a previous video. Me, holding a flower that’s printed on the label of one of the beauty products Twila posts about. Stuff like that.
But I can’t do anything until she agrees.
“Has Twila given you an answer yet?” Mason asks as he walks into the kitchen where I’ve been staring at the wall for the last five minutes.
It’s like he can read my mind.
“Not yet,” I say on a sigh.
“Dude, just ask her if she’s leaning toward a yes or a no.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to push it. To pushher. If she feels pressured, she might reject the idea completely just to be done with it. And I need her to sayyes.
“Come out with us tonight,” Mason says, changing the subject. “You need to get out of your head for a while.”
“I don’t know,” I say, hedging.
I don’t want to go out, but even if I did, I’m not sure I should. It doesn’t happen often, but peopledorecognize me when I’m out in public. If someone were to take a picture or a video of me speaking to other women, no matter how innocent the conversation, my viewers would never believe I’ve got a solid crush on Twila.
And if…no,whenshe says yes, I don’t want there to be any roadblocks.
When I tell Mason as much, he just laughs. “I think you seriously overestimate your level of recognizability.”
“It happens more than you think,” I reply with a shrug. Hell, it happened at the club on Friday night, but Mason didn’t see it because he was on the dancefloor with Stone with a crowd of women around them. Then I add, “Who goes out clubbing on a Wednesday night, anyway?”
“Lots of people,” he says, then rolls his eyes. “Come with us. You can play wingman all night for the rest of us. Plus, if someone does hit on you and a viewer catches it, they’ll also see you brush her off. It’ll only solidify the idea that your heart is elsewhere.”
I still don’t like the idea, but I nod, anyway. I need to get out of the house and stop obsessing over Twila’s answer. Like Mom used to say,a watched pot never boils.It means time drags ass when you’re expecting something to happen.
