a lot of money.”
“Money?”
“Yes, dear, that is what all of this is about. Everyone mistakenly believes the Internet runs for free, but there are a lot of ways to tap into it if you know the right people. A B-lister, some Kardashian hanger-on or washed up Disney star can get upwards of a thousand dollars for the right kind of tweet. We’re talking a single tweet. But again, you have to know the right people.”
“And you’re the right people?”
“See! You are catching on. I’ll get that contract outlining my services to you by morning. Have your legal look it over and get it back to me as soon as possible. We might be too late for a Christmas launch, I don’t rule it out, but we can start now and push hard for Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day. Speaking of that, not to mess with your creative process, if you could whip up any love poems or tributes to mom, that would be awesomecakes.”
“Awesomecakes?”
“Yes, catching on, I see. Email in the morning.”
Then click and the line went dead.
Saturday morning was spent on the phone with Avery and Stanton trying to explain the Internet to them. It was hard. The contract outlined a variety of services and splits and publishing rights, and sorting through it made her own head spin, let alone Avery and Stanton’s. “But you write poems,” Stanton said. “On a Scrabble board?”
“Yes,” Miranda said. Then she tried to explain the entire thing to them again. Finally, she said, “Can I have Scott’s number?”
“Why do you need Scott’s number?” Avery asked.
“He’s the one who told me to start this in the first place. Maybe he can help sort it all out.”
Miranda held the number scrawled on the back of her electric bill like a sacred document. Then she chided herself for being a foolish girl with a crush. She pounded in the numbers and listened impatiently to the ringing.
Then came the knock on the door. Phone tucked under her chin, she opened the door to find Ronan holding a dozen white roses. The sight of him caused her to lose her breath for a moment. His eyes, bright blue, twinkled. She looked at his sweet, sweet mouth, and remembered the things he could do with those lips and that tongue.
“Ronan,” she exhaled, just as Scott picked up the line.
“Sorry, wrong number,” Scott said.
“No, Scott, wait, it’s me, Miranda.”
“Miranda? Is everything okay? Are your parents okay?”
“Yes, yes.” Miranda motioned Ronan to sit on the couch. But he didn’t. He set the flowers down on the entryway table and reached his arm around her, letting his fingers hook through the belt loops of her jeans.
“I missed you,” he said, nuzzling his face into her hair, his breath tickling her ear.
Miranda put a finger over her lips and tried to free herself. He wouldn’t let go.
“Just take your call,” he said. “I’ll keep myself busy.”
“What can I help you with, Miranda?” Scott said.
“Oh, sorry, someone just came to the door. I spoke to Ambrose. I need help.”
“Oh, Ambrose, excellent!” Scott’s tone brightened.
Miranda tried to swat Ronan away, but he held his ground. He dropped to his knees and began inserting his fingers between the buttons on the fly of her jeans. Miranda swiveled. He just reached around to continue. She stopped fidgeting and let him. “Well, yes, excellent. He has a lot of ideas and sent a contract. I need it to be reviewed.”
“Stanton does that all the time. What’s the problem?”
“He doesn’t understand the Internet. And frankly, I’m not sure I do either.”
“And?”
Miranda heard the nature video sound track fire up in the background.
“Lower it, sweets,” Scott said. “I’m on the phone.”
“With who?” Lynn asked.
“Miranda. Remember from Thanksgiving.”
Ronan began undoing the top bottom; her jeans were tight, and he struggled some. She brushed his hands away only to have him try again.
“Randa Panda? Tell her about Christmas, Daddy, tell her we will be
“Money?”
“Yes, dear, that is what all of this is about. Everyone mistakenly believes the Internet runs for free, but there are a lot of ways to tap into it if you know the right people. A B-lister, some Kardashian hanger-on or washed up Disney star can get upwards of a thousand dollars for the right kind of tweet. We’re talking a single tweet. But again, you have to know the right people.”
“And you’re the right people?”
“See! You are catching on. I’ll get that contract outlining my services to you by morning. Have your legal look it over and get it back to me as soon as possible. We might be too late for a Christmas launch, I don’t rule it out, but we can start now and push hard for Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day. Speaking of that, not to mess with your creative process, if you could whip up any love poems or tributes to mom, that would be awesomecakes.”
“Awesomecakes?”
“Yes, catching on, I see. Email in the morning.”
Then click and the line went dead.
Saturday morning was spent on the phone with Avery and Stanton trying to explain the Internet to them. It was hard. The contract outlined a variety of services and splits and publishing rights, and sorting through it made her own head spin, let alone Avery and Stanton’s. “But you write poems,” Stanton said. “On a Scrabble board?”
“Yes,” Miranda said. Then she tried to explain the entire thing to them again. Finally, she said, “Can I have Scott’s number?”
“Why do you need Scott’s number?” Avery asked.
“He’s the one who told me to start this in the first place. Maybe he can help sort it all out.”
Miranda held the number scrawled on the back of her electric bill like a sacred document. Then she chided herself for being a foolish girl with a crush. She pounded in the numbers and listened impatiently to the ringing.
Then came the knock on the door. Phone tucked under her chin, she opened the door to find Ronan holding a dozen white roses. The sight of him caused her to lose her breath for a moment. His eyes, bright blue, twinkled. She looked at his sweet, sweet mouth, and remembered the things he could do with those lips and that tongue.
“Ronan,” she exhaled, just as Scott picked up the line.
“Sorry, wrong number,” Scott said.
“No, Scott, wait, it’s me, Miranda.”
“Miranda? Is everything okay? Are your parents okay?”
“Yes, yes.” Miranda motioned Ronan to sit on the couch. But he didn’t. He set the flowers down on the entryway table and reached his arm around her, letting his fingers hook through the belt loops of her jeans.
“I missed you,” he said, nuzzling his face into her hair, his breath tickling her ear.
Miranda put a finger over her lips and tried to free herself. He wouldn’t let go.
“Just take your call,” he said. “I’ll keep myself busy.”
“What can I help you with, Miranda?” Scott said.
“Oh, sorry, someone just came to the door. I spoke to Ambrose. I need help.”
“Oh, Ambrose, excellent!” Scott’s tone brightened.
Miranda tried to swat Ronan away, but he held his ground. He dropped to his knees and began inserting his fingers between the buttons on the fly of her jeans. Miranda swiveled. He just reached around to continue. She stopped fidgeting and let him. “Well, yes, excellent. He has a lot of ideas and sent a contract. I need it to be reviewed.”
“Stanton does that all the time. What’s the problem?”
“He doesn’t understand the Internet. And frankly, I’m not sure I do either.”
“And?”
Miranda heard the nature video sound track fire up in the background.
“Lower it, sweets,” Scott said. “I’m on the phone.”
“With who?” Lynn asked.
“Miranda. Remember from Thanksgiving.”
Ronan began undoing the top bottom; her jeans were tight, and he struggled some. She brushed his hands away only to have him try again.
“Randa Panda? Tell her about Christmas, Daddy, tell her we will be
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