Certainly not. Sloane was one of the ad network’s most successful accounts. Her blog traffic was higher than ever. Brands paid a pretty penny to work with her. Clicks for third-party ads were on the rise. Email subscriptions were through the roof after her rustic herb pizza crust had gone viral on Pinterest earlier in the week. She liked it much better when VisibilityNet sent her kitchen gadgets to review and left her alone to do what she did best.
Blog.
But there was no time to figure things out now, no time to panic. Just the fizz in her midsection as her computer beeped to announce the incoming call. The video chat screen split in half as it connected. Two contrasting images swam into focus—barely postgrad Dana with her flawless milky skin, auburn topknot, and hipster glasses, and Kathryn with her signature silver-streaked black hair, pillowy lips, and catlike eyeliner tips.
“Good morning, Miss Bradley.” Kathryn’s puffy, plastic lips were slightly out of sync with the audio of her heavy New England accent. “Excuse me for skipping the formalities, but we really need to get to business quickly.”
Sloane nodded, willing her clenched throat to relax. “Good morning.”
“This is a very new deal, so please don’t make this public yet.” Kathryn filled her lungs for effect. “Is it correct that you volunteer for the City on a Hill Foundation?”
“I’ve been volunteering at their headquarters for a few years now.” Sloane was intimately familiar with the organization and did everything she could to promote their efforts to educate low-income families about smart, sustainable cooking and grocery shopping.
“Then you know it’s headed up by the Marian Cooper of J. Marian Restaurants. Well, it’s her ex-husband’s company now.”
J. Marian Restaurants? With the sleazeball CEO who paraded around Dallas like he owned the place? He’d made a fortune selling fast-casual restaurant templates. Make-and-take pizza parlors. Noodle buffets. Cupcake and doughnut boutiques. He could feed a third-world country for a year by selling one of his custom suits—or denying one of his wife du jour’s plastic surgery whims. Marian used to be married to that guy?
Relieved that this conference call was just a preemptive announcement, Sloane zoned out as Kathryn went on about “strategic partnerships” and “trend forecasts.” All Sloane could focus on was her overwhelming urge to reach through the computer screen and adjust Dana’s glasses, which were tilted a few degrees lower on her right eye.
When she heard the words national network spokesperson, however, Sloane’s attention snapped to the nasal, authoritative voice of the VisibilityNet founder.
“Wait. What?” She registered her own deer-in-the-headlights expression on the screen.
“That’s where you come in, naturally,” Kathryn said. “Marian convinced them to hire you specifically. And it’s perfect because you’re local.”
Panic gripped Sloane with razor-sharp claws as her fight-or-flight mechanism went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. She nodded in the right places and scribbled notes on the pad of paper she’d placed on her makeshift desk for ceremony, never expecting to actually use it.
Son’s restaurant opening this winter.
Recipe development.
Reviews.
Basically, VisibilityNet expected Sloane to shake hands with a lot of highbrow people.
In person. Wearing real pants.
This could not be happening.
Shaky words formed on the tip of her tongue. “And if I choose not to agree to this partnership?” Too late to take them back.
Dana paled, her eyes widening in shock.
“There is no choice in the matter.” Kathryn let out a singsong little laugh.
Great. She thought the whole thing was a joke.
“Listen. We have a pretty good arrangement, Sloane. We increased your revenue percentage and gave you our top-tier accounts because people have been eating out of the palm of your hand with that whole organized food prep shtick.”
“But—”
“Because of us, you get to work with some of the highest-grossing companies in the food industry. And all you have to do is put on a pretty face and post pretty little pictures of your food.”
Sloane sighed. “I know, but I don’t think you understand.”
“I understand this.” A muscle twitched in Kathryn’s face. “You’re contractually bound to do this and breaking your contract would mean severing ties with VisibilityNet. If you don’t do this restaurant opening, then we don’t get J. Marian Restaurants. A partnership with them on a national level.”
“Just be the charming character who’s won over hundreds of thousands of page views this quarter.” Dana upped the pleasantries before Sloane could fight back. “It won’t be a problem for you.”
No problem? Right. They had no clue who they were sending to their front lines. No idea that, if her track record was any indication, their leader in ad revenue was about to be their undoing.
“Besides, the majority of your obligations surround the restaurant launch date. In a few months, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”
A few months. Sloane could handle a few months, especially if the alternative meant losing her primary source of income. The non-compete agreement she’d signed ensured she would never receive so much as a coupon from those companies if she ever left.
VisibilityNet had a list of bloggers who would jump out of a moving train for those accounts. But losing VisibilityNet would change everything for her.
Sloane made nice for the rest of the conversation and ended the call, gulping in a deep breath to try to get the elephant on her chest to budge. No such luck. Her cell phone lit up immediately, and she snatched it before it could buzz.
“Dana, we’re in trouble.”
“What? Who’s in trouble?” It wasn’t Dana’s chirpy voice on the other end.
It was her mother’s.
“Hi, Mom.” She forced a smile in an effort to hide the panic in her voice. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Who’s in trouble?”
Sloane let out a breath slowly. “It’s nothing. Just a new contract they gave me today. Work stuff. It’ll be fine.” She winced at the last word. Fine. Everything was always fine. Only, it wasn’t.
“Does that mean you can’t come home for Thanksgiving? Or Christmas?”
Home. The little town in Indiana hadn’t resembled home to her in ages.
She padded into her bedroom and folded the ironing board with a loud screech. “Yeah, no, Mom. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it this year. Maybe in the spring.”
“That’s what you said last year.”
A
