Page 4 of Well, Actually
I’m about to tap out of his profile completely when I notice something that makes my stomach bottom out and little black dots float in my vision.
Rylie Cooper now follows me.
Fuck.
Okay. Well. That was definitely not the case last night. I’m a vain, obsessive creature and I would have noticed if someonewith a blue checkmark was following me. No, this is new. And this means he’s definitely aware of my video.
My phone buzzes with a call, and I shriek, tossing it like Cooper himself just caught me stalking his page.
Taking a few deep breaths, I process that it’s from Aida, which is a huge red flag in its own right. Aida usually texts me like a normal person, or FaceTimes when it’s something important like her cat taking a nap or when she’s drunk and sappy. We email and GChat for anythingSausage Talkrelated.
A phone call only comes when it’s work related and it’s bad, bad news.
Shit. Okay. This is okay. I’m sure this is not at all related to the video. She’s probably… wanting to get brunch. Or… or…
Fuck. This is definitely about the video.
I consider letting it go to voicemail, but I wouldn’t put it past her to hop on the train and bang down my door if she gets the sense that I’m avoiding her. With a deep breath and my drollest voice, I answer, “Hey, bitch. What’s up?”
“Don’t you darewhat’s upme,” Aida snaps. “Did you tell the world last night that you fucked Rylie Cooper?”
“Okay, that wasdefinitelynot the point of my story.”
“And you’redefinitelymissing the point of what I’m asking.”
I try to think of something to say, but all that comes out is a tiny, pitiful whimper as my hungover brain tries to organize the past few minutes.
“Eva…” Aida hisses. “What the hell is happening?”
“I don’t know,” I whine, nibbling my thumbnail. The tipcracks between my teeth, and I grip my hand into a tight fist. “Everything is happening so fast. I—”
“Okay, first things first: Did what you said actually happen or does Soundbites need to loop in legal for a potential slander case?”
“Legal?”Anxiety drenches my spine. “I did it on my personal account.”
“Covering my PR bases here, babe,” Aida says, her tone lacking patience. “Is it true?”
“I mean… yeah?”
“All of it?”
I throw up my hand as I scoff. “Well, I think he lasted more than three pumps. No more than six, though. The essential point still stands.”
Aida doesn’t even give me a courtesy snicker. “Eva, this isn’t a joke.Landryis requesting we all hop on a call ASAP.” She says our boss’s name on a breath of fear. Panic curdles in my gut.
“About this?” I squeak.
“No, about the weather. Yes, this!”
Landry Doughright, Soundbites’ founder and CEO, is brilliant and poised and everything I aspire to be. A well-respected journalist of her day, she’s now lauded as making news and media more accessible and digestible to younger generations. I have a massive career-crush on her, and have been secretly praying for a meeting where I can wow her with my drive and convince her to give me a chance at more serious topics. Having to explain to her my drunken internet ramblings about a guy I dated six years ago does not top the list of topics I want to speak to her about.
“There must be some sort of employee protection against talking to your boss about your sexual history,” I say, throwing off my sheets and pacing the limited floor space of my bedroom.
“I think it probably has more to do with you being a recognizable face of Soundbites and sparking a massive amount of controversy with a beloved social media personality and less about the fact that you’re still bitter about not getting off six years ago.” She makes it sound so rudimentary when she phrases it like that. “In fact, I am begging you to not mention your sex life at all on this call. No more four-hump-dump talk.”
“Three-pump chump.”
“Eva!”
