Page 72 of Drive Me Crazy
His mom’s not an off-limits topic, but I pause anyway to gauge his reaction. He’s arching his eyebrows, his full lips slightly parted like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what.
“We don’t need to get into it,” I reassure him quickly. “I just, well, um, Ashley said something that made me think.”
“About what?”
“Thatmaybe I owe it to myself to explore my options.” If Josie were here, she’d start singing “YOLO” by Drake. “George said I should utilize his contacts, so I was going to see if he knows any podcasters who’d be willing to chat with me.”
One of the best parts about this year is the autonomy I’ve had. Despite the strict time constraints and rigid schedule, George never micromanages me, instead trusting me to do my work, do it well, and do it on time. I’m not ready to give up that independence and freedom.
“An indie podcaster,” I quickly clarify. “Not someone at a big-budget media company.”
“That’s … wow. That’s a huge step, baby,” Blake murmurs. The boyish grin he’s wearing makes my heart beat ten times faster. “I’m so proud of you.”
I’m proud of myself, too. I’m sure as hell not the same person I was last year, but I’m okay with that. I’m starting to like this version of me better.
THIRTY-TWO
Ella
GEORGE PHILLIPS IS one of those guys who knows anyone and everyone. Want to try out a new restaurant but there’s a four-month long wait list? No problem—he knows the chef and can get you a reservation at 7:00 p.m. on a Friday. Dying to go to an Arsenal F.C. game? It just so happens that he went to university with the general manager. If I wasn’t so impressed, I’d be mildly concerned by his mafia-level connections.
The moment I asked him if he knew anyone in the podcasting space—just so I could ask some questions and pick their brain—he put me in touch with Remi Barnes. The same Remi who hosts Josie’s favorite podcast:Dating and Dildos.Turns out George’s wife plays tennis with Remi’s mom. Go figure.
To say Remi and I have different areas of expertise is the understatement of the year—she knows about footjobs and I know about football—but I appreciate that she’s willing to sit down and chat. I’m all in favor of women supporting women.
We’re meeting for coffee in an hour, and I’ve changed about ten times already. I take off the sweater dress I’m wearing and add it to the growing pile of discarded clothing onthe floor. It’s a lost cause. Everything looks like I’m trying too hard or not trying hard enough. Blake walks into the bath-room, and I snatch up my robe from the ground, quickly putting it back on.
“Don’t go all shy on me now, El.” Blake chuckles gruffly. “I quite enjoy it when you’re naked. Did you forget I ate you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner yesterday?”
My cheeks turn pink at the memory. His kitchen table has seen some very explicit things. Hell, everywhere in his house has.
“I’m supposed to be dressed, not naked,” I remind him. “I still have to go over my notes, review my questions, and print out my résumé.”
My mind is going a million miles an hour, unable to stop spinning.
“It’s not an interview, love.” Blake walks over to where I’m standing and pulls me against him. “Stop stressing. You’re going to be brilliant.”
“Did you know there are over two million podcasts? And less than twenty percent of new podcasts survive the first year.” Burying my face into his chest, I sigh. “I just don’t want to fail again.”
“Eliana,” he says sternly. I flinch at the use of my full name. He never calls me that unless he’s dead serious. “You didnotfail.”
I swallow the dryness from my throat. “What if I start a podcast and then have to compete against Connor?”
A flash of anger lights Blake’s eyes at the mention of Connor’s name.
“All he does is get drunk with his friends and record himself recapping games and events twice a week. Anyone with a brain and general sports knowledge can do that. What you do takes creativity, intelligence, and an ability to interview people without them wanting to murder you. He hasabsolutely none of that. You wouldn’t even be on the same playing field.”
I puff out my cheeks before releasing a deep breath. “I guess.”
“Stop fixating on what could go wrong,” he says gently. “Focus on what could go right. What if you become the number one sports podcast?”
I like the sound of that. “What if I become so successful that Nabisco wants to be my sponsor?”
“What if you become so successful that McAllister wants to be your sponsor?”
“What if I become more famous than you?”
“Impossible”—he chuckles—“but I like where your head is at.”
