Page 79 of Sparks Fly
Max had definitely let himself get lost in Stella, and he surely had slacked on his brotherly duties.
“Alright, sure,” Max said, closing his computer. “Let’s go grab a drink. I need food, too, though. I’m starving.”
“Say less, bro,” Miles said, clapping Max on the back. “I got you.”
Somehow they ended up at a fancy steak house in Midtown that proudly claimed to have the best Wagyu in the city.
“So what’s going on?” Max asked once they’d ordered.
Miles blew out a frustrated breath.
“Alright, you know how I mentioned giving my staff an incentive to use Sparky,” Miles started.
Max nodded. “Yeah, Rashid told me you were making them use it for Sprint Week.”
“Oh, good, so you’re caught up,” Miles said. “Well, I get the results, and I’m fucked because this one girl decided not to use Sparky for the contest and she fucking won.”
Max knew it didn’t make sense to ask who it was, but he had a bad feeling in his gut he already knew.
“Who was it?”
Miles took a swig of his water and frowned.
“Someone named Stella,” he said, disgust lacing his voice. “I don’t even know who she is, obviously. Just another content writer. But seriously, do you know how bad this looks? I planned on using this opportunity to show new advertisers that Sparky was about to change the game for Yellow Sparks’ output and engagement and then she goes and does this.”
“So what did you do?” Max asked. He was almost afraid of the answer. If his brother fired the woman he was dating, he couldn’t see how their relationship would recover from that.
“I’m not giving her the prize, obviously,” Miles said. “I couldn’t hide the results either. I’ve unfortunately built a platform that’s all about the numbers, and her posts were already slapped with viral badges before I was informed of the issue. So I announced the results, noting her as the winner, but made it clear she wouldn’t be receiving any prize money.”
“And did she say something about that?”
Miles’ face scrunched up in confusion.
“What do you mean?” Miles asked. “What could she say? She didn’t follow the rules so she doesn’t get a prize. It’s that simple.”
“And you don’t think she’ll have a problem with that?” Max asked.
Besides his personal involvement in this messy situation, Max was genuinely curious. As someone also running a business, he could see this being an issue he’d want to handle before it became a bigger problem. It was astounding to him that Miles wasn’t the least bit concerned.
Miles shrugged. “Even if she does, what difference does it make? Legally—shit, I don’t even know if this is a legal issue, but whatever—legally, she didn’t follow the rules so she’s not entitled to anything. And if she asks, it’s not like she’d come crying to me. I’m not her boss.”
Max needed a moment to process all of this. It was like he was seeing a side of his brother he’d never seen before. This version of Miles was cold and, to be frank, a bit of a dick. Still, Max tried to help Miles find reason.
“Right, but this is your company,” Max said. “And your contest. And you just told everyone that the winner of your contest isn’t going to get anything, not even something smalllike an extra day off or anything, just because she what? Wrote the posts by herself without using Sparky? Don’t you think that’s going to look bad?”
“Even if it does, they’ll get over it,” Miles said, unbothered. “Especially the ones who did win money. Although they haven’t come to collect it yet, but I’m sure they will.”
Max squinted at his brother, not truly believing what he was hearing. He loved his brother, but he was beginning to think he wasn’t all that bright.
“Miles, you don’t think the writers who didn’t claim their prizes aren’t tied to the fact that you refuse to give Stella anything?” Max asked like the answer was obvious, because it so clearly was.
Miles waved this off. “Sure, they may be throwing a bit of a tantrum right now or something, but once I make it clear that they have until the end of the day tomorrow to claim their money, I’m sure they’ll come running right over. They’re not going to give up thousands of dollars to make a point.”
“You’re really willing to bet on that?” Max asked. He leaned forward and stared his brother down. “Seriously, Miles, are you willing to bet on that? Because if you’re wrong and they’re planning something, what then?”
“What could they possibly be planning?” Miles said. “And why are you this pressed about it? Look, I just wanted to vent, not get a lecture. I know what I’m doing.”
Max didn’t believe that for a second, but he also knew he’d pushed as far as Miles would let it go. As much as Max always wanted to be there for his little brother, Miles often resented it, believing that he didn’t need anyone’s help, and especially not Max’s.
