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)
I give him a soft smile, trying to let him know that I’m okay. It doesn’t suffice. The vein on the side of his throat throbs as if he’s pissed.
Is he angry with me?
My palms start to sweat as I realize that maybe I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe Drake is getting screwed over and thinks I’m the reason, although I don’t think that’s true. Or, perhaps he’s upset that I’m upset and didn’t call him. He didn’t give me time.
The truth is, I don’t know the answer because I was a fool. That plummets my spirits even farther.
“There they are,” Mr. Brevard says. “I’m happy we could all meet and get this taken care of in one swoop.”
“We’re glad to be here,” Mario says.
Drake’s eyes bore into me from across the table. I can’t look at him anymore, or I’ll cry again. Somehow, over the past few days, I’ve become a crybaby. I hate it.
“I’m going to get right to it, if that’s okay,” Mr. Johnson says, not waiting to see if it is, in fact, okay. “I’m sure you know that we’ve been discussing who might be the best fit to replace the true crime podcast on Thursdays.”
“We’re aware,” Francine says, as Mario mutters a version of the same.
“We’ve been very impressed with both of you, Drake and Gianna, especially over the past couple of months,” Mr. Johnson says. “You’re both quick on your feet. Creative. You have a knack for marketing. People, especially in your target demographic, Gianna, have flocked to Canoodle Media this quarter, and we have the two of you to thank.”
Mr. Brevard turns to Drake. “We think that Sports Take is the better fit for Thursdays.”
Francine pats my hand beneath the table as if I need consoling.
I don’t know what to feel about this. My gaze lifts to Drake’s. He’s not smiling or blinking—just staring at me. Mario is doing the talking, thanking them for choosing their podcast and for believing in them. But my insides are a tangled mess of emotions anyway. I’m not sure that I can process anything else today.
“We’ll meet with you two separately on Monday about moving forward,” Mr. Brevard says. “I’m going out of town tomorrow for the weekend and wanted to get this part behind us before I leave.”
“Gianna, we want to talk with you and Francine, however, about doing something a little different with the Gianna Knows Things brand,” Mr. Johnson says, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. “How would you like to help us develop your GKT brand into something new? Something bigger.”
I take a deep breath and tear my attention away from Drake. As distracted as I am, this is important. I’ve worked for this opportunity for far too long, and I owe it to myself to advocate on my behalf.
“That would depend, Mr. Johnson,” I say. “I’ve worked very hard to create the GKT brand.” Why are we calling it that? I’m too tired to care. It’s a pick your battle day, and this isn’t one I’m willing to fight. “What are you proposing?”
Francine nods. “I agree. GKT is Gianna’s baby, and I think we need to wade into these waters very carefully.”
I give her a quick smile, grateful for the support.
“We’re thinking of taking it to the next level,” Mr. Johnson says with a fake enthusiasm that annoys the hell out of me. “New format—from live podcast to an actual online show. Daily episodes that are pre-recorded. Think reality show meets daytime talk show, only scripted.”
I should’ve drunk more coffee today because this man makes no sense. “And who writes the script?”
“We’ll hire a team of writers. Don’t worry about that.”
“Don’t worry about that?” I ask incredulously. “With all due respect, what makes Gianna Knows Things special and different is, well, what Gianna knows. If someone else is writing the script, wouldn’t it be like every other show out there?”
Mr. Brevard holds a hand out like he’s cautioning me to stay in my lane. That makes me want to jump three lanes and blow a donut. They didn’t talk to Drake like this. Fuckers.
“There is a formula that works, and we know what that is,” he says. “That’s the difference between a show like GKT and a household name. Bigger audiences have expectations.”
“Would I have control over the script—or a say at all?” I ask.
“Sure, you could give us your notes, but it’ll be up to the team to make the final call,” Mr. Johnson says. “This is what we do, Gianna. You have to trust us.”
I close my eyes and try not to laugh. If I do, if one little rumble of a chuckle manages its way from my chest to the outside world, it’s going to be ugly. It’s going to look delirious, like a meltdown in epic fashion. While that will be cathartic, it won’t be helpful.