Love, Comment, Subscribe by Cathy Yardley

CHAPTER 10

Lily usually followed a religious posting schedule: film and edit on Saturdays, Mondays, and Wednesdays; post and promote on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. She ran her schedule like a Swiss watch.

But now she sat at her computer, staring at her own face, and felt a deep, dread-filled feeling of wrongness.

“The key to perfect interview makeup,” video-her said in a calm voice as she applied foundation, “is not being too dramatic. Well, depending on what job you’re going for, I guess. But you want the statement to be about you, more than about your makeup.”

She grimaced. There was nothing technically wrong with the video. She’d come a long way in her YouTube career, improving her cameras and microphones and lighting equipment. She knew how to flag her good takes. She probably ought to hand off her editing to someone else, really—she was a content creator, not a video or audio editor. But the last two editors she’d hired had disappointed her, either by returning work late or by not performing up to her standards, and she had trouble leaving the quality of her channel in somebody else’s hands.

Control freak,she could imagine Tobin saying.

He wouldn’t be the first. But she wanted things the way she wanted them, and it had gotten her this far. She wasn’t going to apologize for wanting to be the best.

She kept editing, frowning at the thought of Tobin. Ever since her ill-advised little jaunt to Ponto Beach on Saturday, she’d been in a bad mood, which hadn’t helped anything. She should have just called, she told herself for the thousandth time. What had she been thinking?

His voice echoed in her head: I just don’t think it’s a good idea.

He was right. It wasn’t a good idea. It was crazy, just this side of stupid. He drove her up the wall on good days. Working together? She’d probably go after him with a golf club. No, better that she do this on her own, or find a more appropriate collaborator to work with.

She sighed, trying to focus on her video, organizing the media files she’d be using, editing the audio, smoothing out the levels. Then she added on-screen text and added the royalty-free music she’d found. Normally the spa-like sounds were calming, but today she found them grating. She finally went through the whole thing one last time, like she always did before rendering and exporting it.

“And there you go,” video-her said with quiet resolve, as she covered the final face with finishing powder. “Nothing too flashy, nothing too sexy. Utterly professional, and totally appropriate. Just what you want to make your way up the corporate ladder.”

She blinked. Then she stopped the video and winced.

Ugh.Seriously.

Interview makeup?

Make your way up the corporate ladder?

What was she, eighty?

It was, literally, not sexy. It said so right there in her monologue! If it were any more boring, it could be used as a tranquilizer!

She put her face in her hands. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream.

She looked at her watch. Six o’clock. That meant she’d been filming and editing all day. If she scrapped all of this video and audio, she’d be starting from scratch. She’d need to pull an all-nighter to try to catch up, to stay on schedule. And she had not been late on a video in five years. She wasn’t going to let that slide now. Boring or not, she had to post this. Didn’t she?

For the past week, she hadn’t been able to come up with any new ideas, although she’d been banging her head against the proverbial wall trying. She’d posted on Sunday, the earth-tones post, and she already knew that was boring. Now, she felt like she was sliding into a pit of meh, and if she posted this stupid video, there was no way she’d be able to claw her way out of it.

Besides, what else would I post about?If she’d had a better idea, she would have filmed that.

That was the biggest problem. The one that was making her want to yank her hair out.

Her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it, eager for the distraction. It was a text. But it wasn’t from Mikki or Val, or even Emily . . . who she still hadn’t texted, now that she thought about it.

It was Tobin.

She considered, briefly, being petty and ignoring it . . . maybe even deleting it without reading it. But she was too curious. She opened it.

TOBIN: U busy?

She grumped privately, then texted back.

LILY: Editing. What do you want?

She hated it when people used text shorthand. Maybe that made her weird or old fashioned, but it just bugged. And yeah, her text was sort of rude.

Tough shit,she thought unrepentantly.

TOBIN: I wanted to talk to you about the collab.

She blinked. Well. That was unexpected.

LILY: I thought it was a bad idea?

TOBIN: Probably is. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it.

He added a bunch of crying-laughing emojis at the tail end.

Now she was really confused. He’d made it clear that he thought their collaborating wasn’t going to help. What had changed between Saturday and now?

TOBIN: I’m in town. Let’s meet and talk, K?

Her mouth dropped open. Without thinking, she hit call. “Hey, Lily,” he said, his voice sounding rueful. “Got a minute?”

“You’re in LA?” she asked. “Why?”

“Meeting with my agents,” he said. “I talked to them about you, and . . . well, they think that a cross-collaboration might be a good thing for both of us. If we hit on the right idea, anyway. I thought maybe we should discuss it in a little more detail.” He paused. “I mean, if you’re still interested, and if you have the time.”

She glanced at her watch again. She couldn’t post this damned “interview makeup” video—it was wretched. But if she went and talked to Tobin, it would eat up time she didn’t have. Not if she wanted to keep to her schedule. The posting schedule she hadn’t deviated from once. In five years.

She took a deep breath.

“I could spare a little time,” she said and felt a brief wave of disorientation hit her.

You can always post on Friday.

“That’s great!” he said, oblivious to her brief existential crisis. “How about we have some dinner, talk it over?”

“Fine. I’ll text you my address,” she said. There was no sense in both of them fighting for parking spots or paying for valet.

“Great.” He sounded enthusiastic. Like a puppy, she realized, then remembered his “I’m a dog, you’re a cat” analogy. “See you in, like, half an hour, okay?”

“Okay.” She hung up. Then she looked at her clothes. She hadn’t asked where they were going, she realized. She looked down at what she was wearing. It was casual, just a pair of sweats and the tank top she usually did makeup videos in, a plain ivory that didn’t detract from the cosmetics. She frowned.

She wasn’t dressing to impress Tobin, per se. It wasn’t like it was a date. It was a business dinner. She just needed to look professional. Then she grimaced, remembering her “interview makeup” fiasco.

Maybe . . . maybe she could be a little sexy. Not because she was going to seduce Tobin or anything weird like that. It was just like war paint: it could only help her confidence.

And Tobin wouldn’t know what hit him, she thought, smiling for the first time in hours. She just had to get ready, that’s all. Then they’d get down to business.

Actual business,she chastised herself, before rushing to the shower. If she had only half an hour to get ready, she was going to be in a hurry.