Page 20 of Common Grounds

“And if she can’t do it, she has to respond to letters to the editor for two months,” Josie says, a little gleefully.

“Oh, shit,” Violet says, her eyes wide. “Isn’t that, like, the worst assignment?”

“Sure is!” Josie giggles. “Sorry, Em. I really am rooting for you.” She gives me a little simpering pout.

“I know.” I sigh deeply.

“So that’s why we’re here. We offered to help Emery come up with a viral pitch so she can shove this in Randall’s stupid face,” Ethan says smugly.

“The only problem is it’s next to impossible to predict what will go viral.” I deflate slightly. I’m nervous about this, but I can’t show weakness now, even to my friends. Whatever I decide to write about, I need to approach it with confidence. “He wants one million clicks on the article. I don’t think anything this magazine has ever published has had one million clicks.”

The whole table hums sympathetically, then falls silent. The teenager, who has been poking around on his phone throughout the entirety of the conversation, finally takes off his apron, hangs it up, and makes his way to the back room, presumably to grab his things. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor comes from behind me, but I still refuse to look.

“I liked the nursing home beauty pageant idea,” Josie mutters. Cass snorts.

“I’d click on that just to see the pictures,” Violet says.

I point at her, an eyebrow raised. “See? It could have worked.”

The table falls silent again, the only sounds coming from Trevor, who I can see from the corner of my eye is starting to close up shop behind the counter.

Suddenly, someone clears their throat pointedly behind me. Mike, I’m pretty sure his name was, speaks up.

“I have an idea,” he says slowly. Everyone gives him their attention. Josie and Ethan swivel around so their backs aren’t to him. I turn, too, and try not to scowl.

“I couldn’t help but overhear about your little dilemma. I think there’s a story right under your nose that could be…” he trails off, pretending like he’s thinking of how to phrase what he wants to say. “Mutually beneficial.” He grins at Trevor, his eyes gleaming.

A pit of dread starts to grow in my belly. This is going to be bad.

“Our friend Trev, here, is having a little trouble with this shop.” He’s still looking at Trevor, who is standing there dumbly, clutching a towel.

“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously as I admittedly have to tear my gaze away from Trevor to look at Mike. There is something incredibly sexy about a man in an apron holding a towel. It’s an objective fact. It’s not like I’m thinking about what he might look like wearing only an apron, and what he might be able to do with that towel.

Thankfully, Mike’s voice pulls me out of that particular thought. “Last I heard, our buddy here is about two months away from having to shut this place down. He can’t compete with the big guns down the street.”

Is that true? If so, it’s a shame. I will probably never come back here because of the circumstances, but it’s a cute place, and the coffee is admittedly delicious. I arch an eyebrow at Trevor, who shrugs. Must be true, then.

“How does this help me?” I direct the question to Mike.

“You said your target audience is Millennials? If I know Millennials—and I think I do—there is nothing they like more than a damn-the-man situation. Fight the corporate power and all that. What if you did a story on Trev’s little shop here? Encouraged people to stop by. Shop small. Support a local business.” He turns to Trevor, then, the expression on his face saying, Not a bad idea, huh?

“It would help me out,” Trevor says with forced nonchalance. He goes to lean against the counter but must misjudge the distance and stumbles into the air. Mike shoots him a look like, Real smooth. I have to press my lips together to avoid laughing.

Ethan suddenly gasps, and I jump. I had completely forgotten he was there.

“You could do a series. Randall said a million clicks on one pitch, but he didn’t say it had to be only one article. One post per week, with the history behind this place, a profile of this very photogenic shop owner.” He winks at Trevor, and I cringe at the blatant objectification. He carries on, “All culminating in coverage of…” he trails off, considering.

Josie snaps her fingers. “An event! A grand re-opening after a refresh. Your articles will lead up to this event, drumming up interest and publicizing it.” She looks around the table. “Oh my gosh, it would be so fun.” She’s practically vibrating with hope as Violet and Cass nod.

Can I let this happen? It’s not a bad idea, and Randall might even go for it, but can I really write about my one-night stand’s coffee shop for weeks on end? Does anyone on the planet actually think this is going to end well?

One glance at Trevor, and it’s clear from the set of his jaw and the light in his eyes that I found the one person on the planet who does.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “Randall isn’t the type to give more space to these fluff stories than one page.”

“Because everyone hates writing them, and no one has ever pitched one like this. But you totally could. He wants something fresh and new. Why not also use a new format?” Ethan suggests.

I tilt my head back and forth, humming. I hate that it’s such a great idea, and I don’t have much time to come up with a better option. When I shoot Trevor a questioning look, it appears he’s barely breathing.

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