Page 6 of Well, Actually
I watched his solemn, pinched expression melt into that vibrant smile that made butterflies erupt in my stomach.
“You won’t regret it,” he’d said, shooting me a wink and sauntering out, my chest feeling like it would burst open from the wild, happy rhythm of my heart.
I sigh, tapping the corner of my phone against my forehead as I remember how banal the rest of our story is: the handful of truly terrible dates, the bullshit, the needy feelings I still admitted, the immediate ghosting that carried him to graduation.
What a fucking joke.
Another text pops through from Aida:LOG ON TO THIS CALL RIGHT NOW OR I WILL MURDER YOU IN THE MOST GRUESOME WAY POSSIBLE.
My pulse spikes, nerves tripping up and down my skin… But I still manage to text her back:That’s such a sweet offer, thank you <3.
Rifling through my closet, I grab a sweater to throw on over my braless form and clip my hair back into what I hope is a chic, messy updo and not a ratty, greasy mess. As I wake up my computer and launch the meeting, my camera tells me I’m definitely in the latter category.
My shitty internet finally connects, and my thumbnail pops up with the others, Aida on the upper left, Landry on the right, and the disinterested expression of some white man I don’t know next to me. I wonder if he’s from HR… Oh fuck, am I about to be fired?
“Good of you to join us, Eva,” Landry says, the slightest purse to her perfectly polished lips. I shift in my seat, pushing at my tangle of hair as I scan Landry’s sleek and smooth black bob.
“Sorry for the delay,” I say, steadying my voice, taking on the slightly deeper pitch I use forSausage Talksegments. I don’t want a powerful woman like Landry to smell my fear. “I was trying to get as firm a grasp of, uh, what’s happening on social media as possible before we talked.”
Aida cringes, but Landry surprises me, her perfect, icy pout pulling into a smile, not a wrinkle creasing her flawless skin. “Ah, yes. You seem to have had a fun time on the internet last night.”
“A forgiving way to phrase it,” the random man mumbles, disdain dripping from every word.
I let out an involuntarymeepof embarrassment, scrambling for something professional and crisis-mitigating to respond with. I end up just choking on my spit.
“Eva, this is my son, William Doughright. He’s been overseeing our European operation for the past several years, and is now integrating into North American operations.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, not sure I mean it. He’s handsome in a brutal type of way—closely cropped hair, harshly carved cheekbones, eyes the color of coal, and a sardonic curve to his brows. He’s young, probably mid-thirties, but there’s nothing youthful about the taut set of his shoulders and firm line of his mouth.
He continues to stare at me coolly. “Congrats on the, uh, integration,” I say, needing to fill the awkward pause. The silence stretches so long, my skin prickles with it. I glance at Aida, but she’s pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Eva,” Landry says, voice soft but commanding, a knife wrapped in velvet. “Would you like to explain what’s happening or would you rather we all continue to waste our time staring at each other?”
Right. Fuck. That’s my cue. “I, uh, I’m sure you’ve seen the video by now since we’re having this meeting—”
“A not-insignificant percentage of the population has seen your little video accusing one of social media’s favorite personalities of being horrible at sex and hurting your feelings,” William interrupts.
I flinch. “Yes. Unfortunately. I, er, I didn’t intend for this to go so… so viral.”
“And yet, here we are,” Landry responds. My shoulders hunch, my feeble attempt at confidence shriveling into shame.
Aida’s video snags my attention, and I glance at her. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she sits up in her seat, letting out a calm, controlled breath, her eyes meeting mine. It’s likea virtual hug, a slap upside the head, a reminder to get my shit together and fake all the poise I don’t feel.
“I’m sorry that this video has inadvertently become associated withSausage Talkand Soundbites as a whole,” I say, voice firmer. “That was never my intention. Honestly, I had no intention behind this video besides an impulsive, drunken therapy session that I truly believed no one would notice.”
“They’ve noticed,” William says in that cold, flat voice of his.
“No kidding,” I say back, catching us both off guard. He tilts his head, one eyebrow arching just a millimeter, encouraging me to continue like my snapping intrigues him. Something about that silent nudge of respect spurs me on.
“Everything I said was true,” I continue. “I mean, as true as a person’s completely subjective feelings about something that happened years ago can be. But we did go on some dates, we did hook up, it was terrible, he did ghost me. I know there’s some concern about slander, but I didn’t lie. And that’s the long and short of it. I didn’t plan this out, I didn’t mean for it to blow up like this, and I definitely didn’t mean for my employer to somehow be dragged into the mix of it. Again, I didn’t really think anyone would see my video or care.”
Everyone is quiet again, Landry’s eyes boring into me with a calculating heat I can feel through the computer screen, while her son’s cool expression sends a chill down my spine.
“Your intentions with the video don’t signify,” she says at last. “What matters is you’ve created a spotlight of attention on yourself, one that illuminates your segment as well. Our organization as a whole.”
I hang my head. She’s going to fire me for being a dumbass on the internet. Why does this end not feel more shocking?
“And we’re thrilled to capitalize on it.”
