“We will film the content for you, edit it, and post it all. You don’t have to do any of the backend work.”
“So, acting off screen?” My shoulders fell. I was exhausted. I needed to sleep. “I’m not entirely sure I follow. That’s not my usual content.”
“We know. We did consider your brand and that your established fanbase likes videos of you relaying information above all else. But if we announce atemporary takeoverwhile you film and put the videos and clips into organized playlists, our team of experts think your channel will grow, rather than lose followers.”
I scrunched up my nose. I was hesitant to hand over my business. While I didn’t need the money, as my mom had left me quite a sizable fortune,The Body Count Bimbowas my baby. I’d worked hard to grow my career.
On the other hand, posting new content would keep my channel relevant. The hiatus was slowly killing my account with each day I didn’t post.
Stacey continued. “You’ll be compensated for all of it. The channel revenue, your working hours, everything. That’s why the lawyers and your agents are here.”
I glanced at Antoinette. “You like this idea?”
She gave me a tight smile. “Well...it’s a smart idea. The algorithm loves active channels.”
I looked around the table, and my eyes zeroed in on Kate, the intimacy coordinator. “Wait. Why are you here?”
Her eyes went wide. “Well—I—well...”
“We want to really ham this up. Handholding, embracing, kissing,” Stacey interjected. “We want the off-screen chemistry to look so real, so hot— people will feel the need to see you two screwing on camera.”
“That’s not professional,” Kate said softly.
“Sorry.” Stacey snickered. “I just wanted to rip off the Band-Aid.” She reached for a folder and pulled out two thick packets, offering them to Sebastian and me. “The studio is prepared to pay handsomely for all of it.”
“Why?” I asked, skimming the contract. It was all here, kissing, with and without tongue, hand holding, hugging, butt touching. What I’d post on my channel. Who I’d speak to. How much I’d get paid.
Anthony C. Hopkins.
The zeros at the end were...a lot. I looked up, shaking my head. This didn’t make sense.
“I’m a nobody.”
“You’re Lita Reyes’s daughter. Your name is gold.” Stacey grinned. “It’s why you were cast. No offense.”
“Not just your name. You performed well in the chemistry test.” One of the other PR people stood—a Black man who was dressed as if ready to go golfing. “It’s why we wanted the test in the first place. This isn’t some sudden idea we had in the middle of the night. We’ve been waiting for the right pair to take this on. We think you’re it.”
The room fell silent as they waited for us to speak.
“I’d...like time to look this over.” I stood, grabbed the packet, and fled the room.
Antoinette followed, and together, we took a golf cart back to my trailer. Once inside, I tossed the papers aside and paced.
“This is not a good idea. There’s too much...”
“Chemistry?” Antoinette crossed her arms.
History.
“Evie, we don’t have to do this. But as your agent—who also practices law—the contract is a good one. We can negotiate whatever you’d like. More money, less touching, any of it.”
I stopped and stared. She actually thought this was a good idea. I couldn’t believe it. In the room with all the PR people pressuring us, sure. But here, one on one, she still wanted to do this?
Even if we took my channel’s life out of the equation, there was still Sebastian. If we pretended to be in love, I might just…
There was a loud rap on the trailer door, and we turned.
“Come in!” I shouted.
