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WILLOW
“Are there any questions about the plan?”
The pair of young men seated across from my desk exchange completely clueless looks. It's almost enough to wipe the professional smile from my face, but I grit my teeth and maintain the expression. Here I was, thinking I had dumbed it down to the point where a small child could understand the steps I need these two to take if there's any hope of salvaging their reputation and their business.
Clearly, I didn't go quite far enough.
“So, what you're saying is, we can't go on any social media. At all.”
“That's right,” I murmur, frowning a little. “And I know that's a big ask.”
“The biggest,” they mutter almost in sync. Twins are like that, or so I've been told. Adam and Andrew, YouTube stars who have a bad habit of recording even the most intimate parts of their lives such as what turned out to be a drunken orgy with a bunch of girls on a party boat. Considering a lot of their content is mostly viewed by prepubescent boys who love video games, there's been something of an outcry from concerned parents.
“Of course, you need to create your content,” I amend. “Content which will be edited and shared by your team. But nothing personal, not for at least a few weeks.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” Andy demands. “That's how we keep our followers engaged.”
Adam nods. “Yeah, do you know how much we could lose if we stop posting every day on TikTok and Insta?”
“And do you know how much you could lose if you post the wrong things?” There's a lot I could say about neither of them having good sense when it comes to what is and isn't appropriate, but I do want to keep them as clients. Even a difficult, rather clueless client is valuable.
“Once your new social media manager comes on board, they will train you in what you can share and what you absolutely, under no circumstances should not. But since it will be a few weeks before they're able to get started, it's better for you to go radio silent except for business related content. That's all. This is not permanent.” I look from one of them to the other, noting the way they even scowl in a similar way. “We're thinking long term, remember. We need to salvage your brand. Your new manager will help you create your family-friendly content.”
“Long-term,” Adam snickers. “The internet moves fast. We might not have a long-term.”
“You'll be fine,” I assure him. It isn't that I don't see his point. But like many nineteen-year-olds, they think in terms of the here and now. It's not always easy to see the big picture.
Add in the millions of dollars a month they now make and you have a recipe for trouble.
“I'm sure if you follow the steps I’ve outlined, everything will be just fine. But of course,” I add, pushing my chair away from my desk and standing, “if you have any questions, don't hesitate to call me right away.”
“Is it okay if we just text?” Andy asks.
“Sure thing.” I'm not even that much older than they are, but it might as well be one or two generations between us.
Once I’ve ushered them through the waiting room and out of the office, I close the door behind them and touch my forehead to the cool wood, releasing a deep sigh. Soft laughter from the office situated across from mine floats my way. “Another lovely morning with the brain-dead twins?”
I turn around, leaning my back against the door. “I swear, I don't think they share a brain between the two of them. Yet here they are, making more money this month than I'll make all year.”
“Social media is funny like that,” Sarah muses, emerging from her office with a take-out container in each hand. “Just in time for lunch.”
“Thank God. I'm starving.” We head back into my office, and instead of sitting behind the desk I plop down on the leather sofa across the opposite wall. “Did they remember to put the dressing on the side this time?”
“Yes, ma'am.” Sure enough, there's a container of blue cheese on top of my spinach salad. I can already smell the bacon and grilled chicken inside, and the aroma is enough to make my mouth water.
“I've never seen anybody look at a salad the way you do,” Sarah muses, sitting down with her sausage and pepper sandwich. How she manages to eat like she does and still stay so skinny is a mystery. I love a good salad, but if I could get away with eating a greasy sandwich for lunch and not feel like a slug afterward, I would toss it out the window.
“Remind me why we decided to open up a PR firm,” I murmur as I pop the lid on my dressing.
“Do you realize you ask me that question two or three times a week?”
“And you have yet to give me a solid answer,” I retort. She sticks her tongue out at me before opening her mouth wider to fit as much of the sandwich in as possible. The girl is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Amazonian goddess and she eats like a long-haul trucker. Some people are simply blessed.
When she's finished with her bite, I hand her a napkin and point to the corner of her mouth. “I mean, I know we're good at what we do. We have strategic minds.”
“Mm-hmm,” she agrees while chewing.
“But having to grin and bear it when some of these idiots question us? I mean, look at the twins. They post a graphic, drug-fueled party and have the nerve to challenge me. The professional, the expert they came to for help.”
