Chapter 466 - Desperate Measures

Chapter 466: Chapter 466 - Desperate Measures

"Three thousand, four hundred and twelve views."

Roxie stared at her laptop, wondering whether refreshing the page for the hundredth time would somehow make the number change.

It didn’t.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Angela looked up from the other end of the couch, where she’d been scrolling through her phone for the past twenty minutes.

"What happened?"

"My interview. That’s what happened."

"Did somebody say something mean?"

"Worse. Nobody’s watching it!"

Angela leaned over to look at the screen. "Three thousand views? That’s not terrible."

Roxie turned toward her.

"Angela, I used to have millions of people watching me deliver the evening news."

"Yeah, but that’s television."

"Thank you for pointing that out. I almost forgot."

"I’m trying to make you feel better."

"Well, you’re doing a terrible job."

Angela rolled her eyes and went back to her phone.

Roxie refreshed the page again.

Three thousand, four hundred and fifteen.

Oh, wonderful.

Three more people.

At this rate, she’d probably reach ten thousand views sometime before her retirement.

She’d spent nearly two weeks preparing for that interview. Her guest, a rising actress named Natalie Brooks, had recently received considerable attention for her role in an independent drama. Roxie had researched her entire career, watched her previous interviews, and worked with her producer to develop questions that went beyond the usual publicity material.

And the interview had been great.

Natalie was funny, intelligent, and surprisingly honest about the difficulties she’d experienced getting established in the industry. They’d discussed her first major audition, her relationship with her family, and the years she’d spent working ordinary jobs while trying to break into acting.

Roxie had even managed to get her talking about a director she’d once refused to work with because of his treatment of younger actresses.

That particular answer had been fascinating.

The entire conversation lasted forty minutes, and Roxie was genuinely proud of the result.

Unfortunately, nobody seemed particularly interested in watching it.

She opened the analytics dashboard again.

The numbers were depressing.

"Maybe the thumbnail is ugly," Angela suggested.

Roxie gave her a look.

"What’s wrong with the thumbnail?"

"Nothing. I’m just saying maybe people aren’t clicking because it’s ugly."

"I spent an hour choosing that picture!"

"Well, that explains why you’re so emotionally attached to it."

Roxie groaned and dropped her head against the couch.

Her producer, Victor Blake, had called earlier that afternoon to discuss the video’s performance. He’d tried to sound encouraging, explaining that building an audience on YouTube required consistency, promotion, and time.

Apparently, digital audiences behaved differently from television audiences. Subscribers had to discover the channel, become interested in the content, and eventually develop a reason to return.

Which sounded perfectly reasonable.

Except Roxie had three months to prove that her new show deserved to exist.

Three fucking months.

And the executives at Crestline were probably already celebrating her failure.

"Maybe you should buy views," Angela suggested casually.

Roxie lifted her head.

"What?"

"Buy views. People do it all the time."

"Angela."

"What?"

"I’m a journalist."

"So?"

"So I’m not buying fake views!"

Angela shrugged. "I’m just offering solutions."

"That’s not a solution. That’s fraud!"

"Then buy real views."

Roxie stared at her.

"How exactly am I supposed to buy real views?"

"Advertising. Pay people to promote the video. Hire influencers. Make somebody famous react to it."

"With what money? They gave me a production budget that barely covers lunch!"

"Then use your own money."

"Oh, brilliant. I’ll bankrupt myself trying to keep a job that apparently doesn’t want me."

Angela laughed.

Roxie closed the analytics dashboard before she did something ridiculous, like throwing the laptop across the living room.

She’d known the show would struggle. That was the worst part. She’d recognized the problems the moment Daniel Pierce handed her the proposal.

A tiny production team. Limited promotional support. A YouTube channel that mostly uploaded clips from the company’s television programs.

And now they expected her to compete with established interview shows that had millions of subscribers.

Her producer had done what he could. The interview looked professional, the sound was clear, and the editing was impressive considering the limited resources available.

But production quality meant very little when nobody knew the show existed.

Roxie rubbed her forehead.

"I don’t know what to do."

Angela lowered her phone.

For once, she seemed to realize Roxie wasn’t simply being dramatic.

"Hey. It’s only your first episode."

"That’s what Victor said."

"Then listen to him."

"The executives are going to use this against me."

"Can they?"

"They’re already looking for reasons to get rid of me. You think Graham Voss is going to sit there and patiently wait while I build an audience?"

Angela considered that.

"Well, he does sound like an asshole."

"He is an asshole."

"Then prove him wrong."

Roxie looked at her.

"With three thousand views?"

"You have five more interviews, right?"

"Yes."

"Then find someone interesting."

"Natalie was interesting!"

"I know. I watched the whole thing."

Roxie’s expression softened slightly.

"You did?"

"Of course. I even left a comment."

"Really?"

Angela nodded.

"I said the interviewer was incredibly beautiful and probably the smartest woman on television."

Roxie stared at her.

"Angela!"

"What? It’s true!"

"You’re embarrassing!"

"You’re welcome. I also commented that her best friends are probably gorgeous."

Roxie couldn’t help laughing.

God, she loved this woman, even if half her suggestions were completely ridiculous.

She was about to reopen the analytics dashboard when the apartment door opened.

Karen walked inside, carrying her handbag and a small paper shopping bag. She took one look at the two women sprawled across the couch and stopped.

Her expression changed.

"Seriously?"

Roxie frowned.

"What?"

Karen looked from her to Angela, then toward the television.

"Why are you two still dressed like that?"

Angela glanced down at her shorts.

"What’s wrong with my clothes?"

Karen slowly closed the door.

"We’re supposed to be leaving."

Roxie blinked.

"Leaving where?"

Karen stared at her.

"Are you kidding me?"

"What?"

"Dinner!"

Roxie sat up.

"Dinner?"

"Mason!"

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

She’d completely forgotten.

Karen looked between them in disbelief.

"He messaged me this afternoon to confirm the reservation. I’ve been reminding you about this all week!"

Angela’s mouth fell open.

"Oh, shit. That’s tonight?"

"YES!"

Roxie grabbed her phone and checked the time.

They had less than forty minutes before they were supposed to meet Mason at the restaurant.

Wonderful.

Absolutely fucking wonderful.

"Why didn’t you remind me earlier?" Roxie demanded.

Karen stared at her.

"I DID!"

"Well, you should’ve reminded me again!"

"Roxie!"

Angela burst out laughing.

Karen placed her handbag on the table and rubbed her forehead.

"I swear, living with you two is exhausting."

"Don’t be dramatic just because it’s him," Roxie said, already getting up. "We can get ready in twenty minutes."

Karen looked at her. "Both of you. Go get dressed. Now."

Roxie hurried toward her bedroom, leaving Angela arguing about whether twenty minutes was enough time to do her makeup.

She shut the door and went straight to her closet.

What the hell was she supposed to wear?

It was only dinner with Mason.

Mason, who’d gotten Karen’s number before they left Italy and had apparently been finding reasons to message her ever since.

Roxie still found that hilarious.

He’d been messaging her regularly since they got back.

Business matters, according to Karen.

Of course.

Roxie pulled out a fitted black dress and held it against herself.

Perfect.

Simple, attractive, and comfortable enough for dinner.

She changed quickly, then sat in front of her vanity to fix her makeup. She’d spent most of the afternoon staring at a computer screen, and her face looked tired.

A little concealer, mascara, blush, and lipstick helped considerably.

She gathered her long red hair into a high ponytail, securing the curls before reaching for the drawer containing her hair accessories.

Her fingers stopped on a black bow.

Oh.

She picked it up and smiled.

A bow.

God, how long had it been since she’d worn one?

Back in high school, bows had practically been part of their cheerleading uniform. Every practice, every competition, every football game. There was always some ridiculous argument about whose bow was bigger or whether the color matched their uniforms properly.

She remembered Angela once insisting that they needed enormous bows for a rivalry game because the other school’s cheerleaders had apparently insulted their hair.

Roxie giggled.

They’d been so fucking dramatic.

Actually, Angela still was.

She clipped the bow at the base of her ponytail, letting the curls fall down her back.

Cute.

It looked a little playful with the black dress, but she liked it.

She grabbed her handbag and hurried out.

Angela was standing in the hallway, adjusting an earring. She’d changed into a fitted pink dress that emphasized her curves, with matching heels and her hair styled in loose waves.

Roxie stopped.

"Wow."

Angela turned around.

"What?"

"Are we going to dinner or are you trying to find yourself a husband?"

Angela grinned.

"Why not both?"

Roxie laughed.

Karen emerged from her room a moment later, looking considerably more professional in tailored cream trousers, a fitted dark blouse, and a small designer handbag. Her straight hair fell neatly around her shoulders, and her makeup was understated.

Of course.

Karen looked like she was attending a business dinner.

Angela looked like she was attending a celebrity party.

And Roxie looked like she’d raided her old cheerleading accessories.

Angela noticed the bow immediately.

"Oh, my God."

Roxie frowned.

"What?"

"Is that a bow?"

"Obviously."

Angela stepped closer, laughing.

"Girl, are we back in high school?"

"Shut up. It’s cute."

"It is cute!" Karen reached for the ribbon. "Remember when we used to wear these gigantic things? Kendall practically had a breakdown when the supplier delivered the wrong shade."

Roxie burst out laughing.

"God, I remember that. She made everybody take theirs off!"

Angela looked at Karen’s outfit.

"Nevermind Roxie’s outfit. Why are you dressed like you’re meeting a client?"

"I might be discussing work with Mason."

Roxie raised an eyebrow.

"Of course you are."

Karen ignored her and checked the time.

"We need to leave."

Angela picked up her handbag.

"Wait. Who’s going to be there?"

Roxie looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"At dinner. Is it just us and Mason?"

"Yes."

Angela narrowed her eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes, Angela."

"Because Mason knows a lot of people."

"So?"

Angela lifted an eyebrow.

"Am I going home alone tonight?"

Roxie froze.

Oh, she knew exactly what that meant.

She turned toward Angela.

"Don’t even start."

"I’m just asking!"

"Zac isn’t coming."

"How do you know?"

"Because I told Mason."

Angela stared at her.

"You told him?"

"Yes."

"What did you say?"

Roxie adjusted her handbag.

"I asked him nicely to keep it to the four of us."

Angela looked unconvinced.

"Nicely?"

"Very nicely."

Actually, she’d threatened to tell Karen every embarrassing story she knew about Mason if he invited Zac.

She’d also informed him that whatever chance he had of impressing Karen would disappear the moment Zac Prescott walked through the restaurant doors.

Mason had called her dramatic.

Roxie had reminded him that she had years’ worth of stories and an excellent memory.

He’d reluctantly agreed.

A perfectly reasonable conversation, in her opinion.

"Are you sure?" Angela asked.

"Absolutely."

Karen looked between them.

"Why are we talking about Zac?"

"Because Angela thinks every dinner has to turn into some ridiculous reunion."

Angela grinned.

"Well, considering what happened in Italy..."

"Nothing happened in Italy!"

Angela’s grin widened.

Roxie wanted to strangle her.

She’d spent nearly three weeks insisting that she’d gone straight to sleep after Kendall’s wedding, and Angela still refused to believe her.

At least Karen had mostly stopped asking.

Mostly. Cause she’s busy about Mason.

Roxie was determined to keep it that way.

Besides, Zac was probably busy with football, his businesses, or whatever else extremely wealthy assholes did with their time.

And even if Mason somehow convinced him to come, there was always the possibility he’d bring Dylan.

Roxie shuddered.

God, imagine that.

Zac and Dylan sitting across from her at dinner while Angela tried to interrogate everybody about their high school years.

She’d rather stay home and watch her YouTube views crawl up one miserable number at a time.

"Can we go?" Karen demanded.

"Yes, Mother," Angela answered.

Karen rolled her eyes.

Roxie laughed as they headed for the door.

Mason was already waiting at the door for them the moment they arrived.

He greeted Karen first, smiling as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. Karen returned the greeting with considerably more composure than Roxie would’ve managed under similar circumstances.

Oh, this was going to be entertaining.

Once they were seated, Mason asked about their return to New York and whether they’d recovered from the wedding. Angela immediately started complaining about the flight, while Karen steered the conversation toward the investment opportunity they’d discussed in Italy.

Roxie listened with growing amusement. Mason was perfectly capable of discussing business, but he’d spent an impressive amount of time looking at Karen while doing it.

He might be doing this to show off to Karen.

Oooh, she need to call him later.

Their food arrived before Angela could ask anything inappropriate, and the conversation eventually moved toward what everyone had been doing since the wedding.

"So, Roxie," Mason asked, setting down his glass. "How’s work?"

Eventually, Mason turned toward her.

"So, Roxie, how’s work?"

She stopped smiling. "Terrible. Thanks for asking."

Mason raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

"She’s being dramatic," Angela said.

Roxie turned toward her.

"Excuse me?"

"Your show is fine."

"My show has fewer viewers than a video of someone’s cat falling into a bathtub!"

Mason laughed.

"Wait. You have a show?"

Roxie explained the situation, starting with the sports reassignment and the ridiculous celebrity interview series Crestline had offered her.

"The first episode came out a few days ago," she finished. "The interview itself was great. The numbers, unfortunately, are another matter."

"How many views?" Mason asked.

"Three thousand and something."

He looked surprised.

"That’s it?"

Roxie pointed at him.

"Thank you! Finally, somebody understands!"

Angela rolled her eyes.

"I told you it takes time."

"Yes, and I have three months!"

Mason leaned back in his chair.

"Who’s your next guest?"

"A musician. We’re still finalizing the schedule."

"Someone famous?"

"Moderately."

"And after that?"

Roxie sighed.

"We’re still trying to book people. The problem is that established celebrities don’t exactly line up to appear on a new YouTube show with barely any subscribers."

Mason considered that.

"Have you approached anyone with a really big following?"

Roxie stared at him.

"Oh, what a brilliant idea. Why didn’t I think of that?"

Angela laughed.

Mason raised both hands.

"Okay, okay. I’m just asking."

"Of course I’ve thought about it! But why would someone with millions of followers agree to give me an hour of their time when my first interview barely reached four thousand views?"

"You’ve got connections."

"Apparently, all my connections have suddenly become very busy."

Mason smiled.

"Maybe you’re asking the wrong people."

Roxie narrowed her eyes.

"What does that mean?"

Mason glanced at Karen, then back at Roxie.

"There’s someone you haven’t mentioned."

Roxie narrowed her eyes. "Who?"

"You’re going to hate this."

"Mason."

"Zac."

Hell fucking no.