I wish I could talk to her, tell her about it all, but I’ve already missed the last two days of work and I need to get on top of things today while holding vigil at the hospital.
“I’ll call you on the weekend,” I say firmly and end the call.
The traffic back to Alexander’s from the hospital this afternoon proved to be a nightmare. The road leading up to his place was blocked on one side for tree cutting, adding twenty minutes to what should have been a fifteen-minute journey.
I’d attempted to dial into the Zoom meeting at 5 p.m. from my phone, but the reception was so bad heading up into the hills that it rendered my attempt to be on time pointless.
Pietro’s been accommodating to a point, given everything that happened with Andrew, and has allowed me to work from the hospital. But he’s still expecting me to be available when needed, which includes this post-campaign breakdown call with the Brewed team.
“Sorry to be late, I’ve just got back from the hospital,” I say as I finally get on the Zoom call.
Everyone is spread across the screen in their little boxes.
“How’s your housemate?” Pietro asks.
“He’s critical but stable,” I state matter-of-factly, wanting to move on quickly.
“We’re keeping you both in our thoughts and prayers,” Caryn says, rubbing her gold crucifix.
“Thank you,” I respond.
“Is your camera working? We can’t see you,” Chloe adds.
“Sorry, my laptop’s been playing up the past few days. I haven’t had a moment to try and get it fixed.”
Another truth-adjacent story. Itisplaying up, but I don’t want to blow my cover that I’m actually at Alexander’s house. Or thatAlexander’s sitting beside me, wanting to listen in on what they’ll say about the campaign.
“That’s okay, we can carry on without it.” Paul is clearly in a rush.
“Did you all get the report that Olly sent round earlier?” I ask.
Olly has been an absolute godsend the past couple of days, and a mile apart from Sara and her lazy ways. I’m not sure if it’s his Southern hospitality, but no task has been too small. His proactiveness in terms of getting everything together, with little direction, has been a real help.
“We did,” Chloe answers, and the rest nod in agreement. “The numbers look really impressive.”
“Yes. The viral videos with Jools, Jesus, and Santa have exceeded even our expectations,” I say, pulling up the report. “We’ve had over a hundred thousand unique posts using the Brewed Challenge hashtag, and as you can see on pages four through seven, we picked up a lot of big influencers who jumped on the trend as well as some big media looks, from the likes ofThe New York Times,The Washington Post, andThe LA Times, and a load of regional media.”
I stop momentarily when Alexander slides a written note across the dining table.
Ask them about the Oklahoma girl.
“Is there any more on the Oklahoma woman?”
I wait and wonder who will take the bait.
“The media have been biting my arm off to get an interview with her,” Caryn says. “She’s a bit reluctant to go on national television and talk about her story, but I think she can be convinced. The fundraising page is already over two million dollars. We just need to act quickly because we’ll lose interest in the story soon. And with Thanksgiving tomorrow, we’ve really only got the next few hours.”
My head drops as Alexander’s fists clench and I pat his arm.
I know Caryn means well, I really do, but I wish she’d not given that answer.
“Want me to put in a call to her?” Paul says. “I’m sure I can offer her something to push her over the line for you. Throw in something from Alex, perhaps.”
My hand flies over Alexander’s mouth to muffle his response.
His face is almost as red as his jumper.
Thank God, the camera is off so they can’t see. I mute the microphone and tell him to go cool down. His eyes are full of rage and his nostrils are flared. The warmth of his breath hits the palm of my hand as he fights to unleash a string of profanities.
