“What the fuck? Why did you ghost me? I’ve been trying to talk to you all night.” Sonya sounded annoyed, but if the shoe was on the other foot and she was busy, she wouldn’t have stopped to message me, either.
“I didn’t ghost you. I just had things to do.” I tried to keep the petulance out of my voice.
“What things? And why are you still awake? Wasn’t your bedtime hours ago?”
I ignored the first part of her questions because she would want a play-by-play of everything Caz and I talked about, and I didn’t have that energy right now.
“It is past my bedtime, and that’s why I’m trying to get to sleep. But you called so…” Hopefully, that would guilt her into letting me go.
“What have you been doing?” I should have known she wouldn’t think of anyone except herself.
“I’m getting ready for bed. What are you doing?” If I could get her to talk about herself, it might satisfy her.
“I’m playing Call of Duty, but that didn’t answer my question.” Typically, she was oblivious, but now she was Enola Holmes?
“I was getting stuff ready for my meeting with Caz tomorrow. She has a lot of questions she needs me to answer. I’ll fill you in more after I talk to her.”
“Hmmm.” Her response was suspicious, but I hadn’t a clue as to why.
“What does that mean?” I should have fought the urge to inquire more, but my curiosity wouldn’t have let me sleep if I left that unanswered.
“It doesn’t mean anything. It was just a comment.” I could hear her button smashing in the background, and I would take her for her word that she was distracted, and it wasn’t directed at me.
“Okay. Good luck with your game, and I’ll talk to you later.”
“K. You better call me.” She mumbled some curse words at her game.
“I promise. Goodnight.”
“Night, cuz.” Her expletives were louder now, probably assuming I had ended the call for her, which I finally did.
After I had settled under the covers, my mind thought about tomorrow's events, and I should have been more anxious. It wouldn’t take Caz long to know I was out of my league with Ember, which might cause her to back out. But then I remembered all the encouragement she had given me, and I smiled.
Even if she was doing this for ratings, she seemed committed to the process, and I needed all the help I could get.
Chapter 7Caz
“I’m meeting Shiloh before I come in today,” I screamed into the speakerphone while getting dressed.
“You don’t have to yell. But make sure you record it, and if it doesn’t seem like it’s going anywhere, I have a backup in place.” Matrix still thought I should work with Shiloh even after I told him about Sonya, but I had finally convinced him that there was a good chance this would go tits up.
I should have been happy that he came up with an alternative, but I had messaged him before I had a chance to text Shiloh. The truth was, after our hours-long conversation, I didn’t want to give up on her—I felt compelled to help her.
She had a way about her that made me feel instantly comfortable and at ease, which was hard to resist. She was reserved but slipped inconspicuous sarcasm into the conversation, making me laugh. I genuinely enjoyed our chat, which was why I hadn’t realized we had been going back and forth for so long. Working with her would hopefully be fun and seem less like a job.
“Sounds good. Just so I know, what’s Plan B if this doesn’t work out?” Not that I thought it wouldn’t.
I believed I could assist Shiloh because she already had a lot going for her. I didn’t need to do much—just give her a boost. She had the elements of a She’s All That makeover with her simple look that could be elevated with little effort. And she was the girl-next-door pretty. She reminded me of Joey from Dawson’s Creek—attractive but aloof. She seemed to hide her light, as if she were scared to be seen.
All I would need to do was scope out who she liked and figure out the best way for her to strike up a convo. And once she had her foot in the door, she could surely close the deal. If not, hopefully the other woman would at least take pity on her and not embarrass her on the show.
“The Pepper Parade,” he said, shaking me from my internal visions.
“What is that?” I stared in the mirror at my hair and realized it would be a hat day.
“Well, you start with a pepper at zero Scoville Heat Units and work your way up to two million.”
Was he kidding? He didn’t sound like he was, but he must have lost his mind.
“Right. Let’s take that out of the rotation unless someone else is doing the testing because I’m more of a sadist.”
He laughed, but I was serious—at least about the first part. “I get it, but it was all we could come up with at the last minute that would be easy to incorporate without needing extra hands or videos. We could do it right in the studio. Unless you have something else, we’re going with that.” He seemed apologetic, but that didn’t change my thoughts.
“I’ll make sure the Shiloh thing works out. I’ll see you in a few hours.” As long as she was receptive, I figured we could get a decent piece for the audience. It would have to be good enough because I wasn’t about to have a burning ring of fire.
We hung up, and I finished getting ready. I didn’t know if I would meet Shiloh’s crush today, but I wanted to look presentable. I wore a white tank top and black skinny jeans with a red and black flannel tied around my waist. After donning my black slouchy cap and slipping into my trusty Vans, I wasted no time leaving.
I hadn’t ever been to the place Shiloh suggested we meet, so I ordered a ride. I didn’t want to get lost and make a terrible impression. However, we seemed to be over the niceties. Last night, we bypassed much of the small talk as I shifted into interviewer mode. I only hoped she didn't feel I had put her on the spot. But now that I knew how much my ass was literally riding on this, I would wingwoman the hell out of it.
The car dropped me off in front of a strip mall. I didn’t immediately see my destination, and I turned around to say we were in the wrong place, but he sped off before I could stop him.
Since I couldn’t leave, I moved to the sidewalk and searched the storefronts. When I was about to give up, I saw what I was looking for: a tiny sign that read, “Sprout and Sprigs.” The moment I opened the door, a cacophony of unappealing smells hit me, making me wrinkle my nose.
I looked around, and a woman with pink hair and an eyebrow ring approached. She was far too happy to see someone, and I wondered if I was their first customer—not that I would ever shop here.
“Hey! Welcome to Sprout and Sprigs, your one-stop shop for vegetarian cuisine. How may I assist you today? We have some delicious new meals prepped and ready for consumption, or we can set you up with Shy, our menu planner, who can give you ideas specific to your tastes and needs.”
As she bombarded me with information, my mind performed mental gymnastics, trying to find a polite way to express my severe disinterest.
