Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Are you okay?” Francine asks.
“Well, I mean, it really sucks,” I say, grasping for something inside me to cling to. “I’ve always known that this was a possibility and that Drake had a great shot at it—and he’s deserving, of course. I’m happy for him.”
I smile, although it’s not quite full and bright. I am happy for Drake. He will kill it, and he works so hard and is so great at what he does. If it can’t be me, I wouldn’t want it to be anyone other than him. And celebrating him will be so much fun.
But I just wish it could’ve been me.
“I know it sucks, and I battled for you long and hard up there today. I want you to know that,” she says.
That only makes me feel worse. “Thank you. I know you did, and I appreciate you. You can’t always strongarm your way into everything you want—although you are pretty good at it.”
We share a chuckle, and I wish I could’ve been good enough to win this for us. Francine deserves it. I hope she doesn’t think she’s wasted her energy on me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my bottom lip quivering, which pisses me off. “I know this is disappointing to you, too, and—”
“Stop it right there. This is business. You win some, and you lose some. I’m proud of what we’ve put together. This isn’t the end for us. It just isn’t the door that we’re supposed to go through, if that makes sense.” She sighs softly. “By the way, please don’t share this with Drake. It’s not, by any means, a done deal. They’re taking their slow-ass time making a final decision, and I don’t want to get his hopes up if it goes another way.”
“Understood.”
“Now that the bad news is out of the way,” she says, a door shutting in the background of the phone. “I have some potentially great news.”
“Okay …”
“Canoodle is very impressed with you, and the success of your show—especially in the last few weeks—is creating a halo effect. The perception of the whole Canoodle brand is shifting, and the late teens to late twenties age group is flocking to you.”
I grin. “I do love it when people flock to me.”
“They want to talk with you about rethinking Gianna Knows Things and really making it a platform brand within the Canoodle family.”
What? “Speak to me in English, Francine.”
“Right. Sorry.” She laughs. “They basically want to create a network of spinoffs surrounding GKT, which is what they’re calling your brand. Think dating style shows, blind dates, shows focused on second chances, and fake dating—which is a direct tie to you.”
I get to my feet and pace the living room, trying to grasp what she’s saying. It sounds like a great option, but my hackles are raised. The people I trust least in the world are corporate executives, and to hear that those very people have ideas about my brand—that they’re already rebranding in their heads—has me worried.
“What happens to Gianna Knows Things?” I ask.
“More attention. A better studio. Tons of branded merch. They want you out there as the face of the platform because people know you and love you. So your job would be promoting the new line of shows. As far as content, they want more of your personal life—that sells. Maybe include your followers on your dating quests when this one with Drake ends.”
I stop moving as my chest trembles. “When this one with Drake ends.”
I don’t want to do either of those things—end things with Drake or talk about dating other people—and I definitely don’t want to do them with the world watching. My show is about entertaining people and giving them advice that they might not get from their friends. It’s not supposed to be about me.
When I dreamed of a big-time show, I wanted my name to be attached to a talking point. I didn’t want to be the talking point. I don’t want people judging me and talking about my love life like it’s a freak show. This past month has made that abundantly clear.
And I absolutely don’t want to be a corporate sell-out. I don’t want my voice used to spout whatever bullshit line that a bunch of men in suits somewhere on the top floor want me to say.
That’ll happen over my dead body. Haven’t they listened to my podcast? They’d know that if they had.
Each breath is a struggle, fighting against an invisible band stretched across my chest. There are so many interconnected moving parts that it’s hard to find one to focus on. So many pieces of my life, parts that I love, might be coming to a complete stop.
That makes me want to puke.
“How do you feel about this?” Francine asks.
The excitement in her tone is undeniable, and I feel like an asshole that I’m not equally jacked about the developments.