Page 7 of Well, Actually
My head snaps up so hard my teeth rattle.
“What?”Aida and I crow in unison. My gaze flicks to hers, and she looks as bewildered as I feel.
“Which word did you not understand, dear?” Landry asks calmly, looking off to the side like she’s reading an email, bored with our ineptitude.
“I mean, I have a working definition of all of them separately,” I say. “But strung together in this context has me a little…”
“Shocked,” Aida finishes, voice cracking.
“Shocked?” William’s cool facade cracks for a moment like the word offends him. His gaze pivots to Aida, and even I start sweating from the intensity of it. “I would expect the talent to lack foresight, but I’d hope one of our head media producers would have better instincts than to beshocked.”
Aida’s expression shifts from bewilderment to defiance. “Excuse me—”
“I guess I’m hung up on the wordthrilled,” I interrupt, scared of the bloodbath that would happen if she finishes that sentence regardless of William being our new boss. Aida’s favorite ranting topics are nepo babies and men, and William checks all her boxes. “I thought you were going to fire me.”
“Fire you?” Now it’s Landry’s turn to look shocked. “My dear, we would be fools to do anything but utilize this excellent opportunity you’ve created for us.”
My blank, balking stare doesn’t earn me any further respect from Landry, and she tuts in annoyance.
“Eva, you are the face of a satirical celebrity interview segment,” she says slowly like she’s talking to an exceptionally dense child. (Me. I’m the dense child.) “That segment does fine but it is not a household name. It does not have steady subscribers. It is fun, fluffy filler on that little tab at the top of our website that saysPop Culture. Are you following me?”
I manage to close my gaping mouth and nod.
“Your guests are decreasing in status and value as a result ofSausage Talkbeing filler, thus perpetuating a stagnation that doesn’t condemn your segment but certainly doesn’t lend itself to much growth. The value of your videos is based on viewership,” William adds, picking up the condescending cadence of his mother. How precious.
“Overnight,” Landry continues, “you not only put your personal account front and center of said viewership—having them foaming at the mouth at this tasty little story that completely destroys the persona of a highly popular social media personality—but also, by association,Sausage Talk. Our engagement has spiked since this took off. We are going to use that spike for all that it’s worth. Because that, my dear, is what we in business call an opportunity.”
“Use it how?” My cheeks are on fire, spine crushed to dust.
William offers me a gleaming smile, all teeth, like his happiness expands as I grow more and more embarrassed. “As we speak, our people are reaching out to Rylie Cooper’s.”
“What the fuck for?” I cry, immediately slapping a hand over my mouth as I realize what I said to my boss. Aida makesa choked noise from her corner of the screen. “I’m sorry. So sorry,” I rush out. “But… butwhy?”
William’s glee is full force. “Because you’re going to do an interview. A live, in-person interview…”
No. Please godno.
“With Rylie Cooper.”
Chapter 3
I think I’m having an aneurysm. Or hallucinating. Or was hit by a biker walking home yesterday and this is some deep, dank circle of hell because there is no way they’re serious.
“We’re serious,” Landry says, like she can read my thoughts. Or maybe I spoke out loud. Hard to tell since I’ve lost all sense of mind, body, and spirit.
“But why?” I echo, stuck on that pesky little question.
William rolls his eyes but Landry laughs, a light, tinkling sound. “Because it will make great content, and that makes us money, my dear.”
“Landry, are you… are you sure that’s a good idea?” Aida asks, voice quiet. I could kiss her for that small kindness of challenging this terrible idea.
“Positive.” Landry’s black bob sways with her nod. “It was William’s idea. He’s been looking for new ways to invigorate our viewership. Then this perfect nugget fell right into our laps. We’ll do the whole schtick. The hot dogs, bitchy Eva, Rylie can bring his bedazzled mic for all I care. What matters is we get them in the same room and we move quickly while we have our audience in a chokehold. There will be drama and banter while these two dig at this paltry hookup. Viewers will eat it up.”
William looks so smug my gut lurches.
“Isn’t this kind of—” I slam my mouth shut, scared to challenge this smart, accomplished woman whom I’ve always admired.
“Kind of what?” William says, something sharp and predatory in his eyes.
