Chapter Eleven: A Plan Comes to BookBox

"I can't believe they disrespected Kate like that," Jameela says mid-morning on Monday at work. The rain has continued for the last couple of days and they're worried about flooding in lower Manhattan. I came into work in Billy boots and a large umbrella and resisted the urge to splash in the puddles like I used to do when I was little.

I look up from my computer screen where I'm busy making a WANTED poster with the picture of Fake Jack on it. I created a whole marketing plan on Sunday and presented it to Addison this morning. She'd shrugged and said it was worth giving it a shot and there was just enough time to get it into that month's boxes, which were going on at EOB on Wednesday, if I was willing to hand stuff them myself.

"Like what?" I say, even though I have little interest in this topic. I've learned better than to express that, though. Jameela can get really huffy if you don't love her 'ships.

Jameela shows me the post by turning her screen. I squint to read it. I still think Anthony should be with Edwina. I check the date. "This's from March, 2022."

"So?"

"Two years ago."

"And?" Jameela says. She's wearing a top made out of orange Sari fabric which looks great on her but is a bit fancy for the office on a rainy Monday.

"Why get upset about it now?"

"Because we just found it."

I don't ask who "we" is. It's her and her Twitter cronies who are getting increasingly desperate for content in the lull between seasons and have resorted to Googling old Twitter posts to find something to complain about.

"What do you think of this?" I ask, holding up a printout of the poster. I've edited out my face and blown up Fake Jack's. The headline says Man Wanted. A Free Annual Subscription for Any Information That Leads to His Identity.

Jameela looks it over. "Did you clear that with Karen?"

"She's out this week."

"Not the best shot of the guy."

She's right. Fake Jack is both clearer and blurrier with the blow-up, but I feel like if you know him, you'll recognize him. And it's not like I have any choice in the matter. It's the only photo I have. "Would you recognize this person if you knew them?"

"Probably. Who is it, anyway?"

I will my face not to blush. "A friend."

"Who agreed to be in this promo? You got him to sign a waiver?"

My stomach flips. I didn't tell Addison and Jameela that I was using the poster to find an actual person. I just pitched it as a fun marketing idea that would help boost interest in the BookBox. Clearly, I didn't think this through.

"Um, yeah, I will for sure. Jack won't mind." Or whatever his name is.

Jameela plays with her side braid. "Is this the guy who missed your date?"

"Something like that." My heart is racing now. This is like a rerun of my dinner with the real Jack. Everything I say is a minefield. "Hey, Addison, how many do I need to print up?"

She speaks without lifting her head. Her fingers have been flying over the keyboard for the last half an hour in a way that happens about once a day when I suspect she gets inspired to write whatever she's working on, on Wattpad. I've tried to pass behind her screen a few times to see if I can see what it is, but she always minimizes it if anyone gets near her. "Five thousand."

How am I even going to get to half of those boxes? "Got it."

She stops typing and looks at me. Her large, gold, hoop earrings are swinging from the typing vibrations. "What other assets are you making?"

"I thought a TikTok and some Insta graphics?"

"We could do something on Twitter, too," Jameela says.

"That'd be great."

"What book does this relate to again?" Addison asks.

"Most Wanted."

"I haven't read that one."

"It's good. White Orchid x The Kissing Booth."

"I can't even visualize what that means."

"It'll do well," I say.

"Let's hope so." Addison's phone rings and she answers it with a frown. She actively discourages anyone from calling her.

Jameela's gone back to her Twitter feud, simultaneously tweeting furiously and DMing with three different people.

I check my subscription numbers. We pick five books a month plus an add-on and subscribers can order past books that we still have in stock. Ideally, we want all five picks to sell through evenly, but it rarely works out like that. Most Wanted is trending slightly low for the month, which was part of the pitch I put together for this whole thing. Generating buzz for books is what we do. The more we're seen as tastemakers, the more subscriptions we get. And anytime you can get a book to go viral, then that helps subscriptions and sales.

Addison ends her call. "Apparently, my social security number's been compromised."

I laugh. This happens once a week. Addison does not take shit from scammers. "Did you make him cry again?"

"Almost." She scrunches her face. "Those assholes. Preying on old people. It's bullshit."

"Agreed. Any chance either of you wants to help stuff boxes with me tonight? Beer and snacks on me?"

Addison taps her chin. "Tempting, but I have something I need to finish."

I hazard a guess. "A new chapter?"

"What?"

Oops. "You write, right?"

"How did you know that?"

I raise my hands to ratchet down the tension. "I'm not snooping. We work five feet away from one another."

"Right." She breathes out through her nose. "Well, yeah, sometimes I do."

"I'd love to take a look."

Addison turns away. "Nah, I'm all set."

"Is it First Kill fanfiction?" Jameela asks. She's as curious about what Addison writes as I am, and has even gone so far as to suggest we break into her workstation when Addison is away to see if we can find her profile.

"What? No."

Jameela laughs. "We'll find out eventually."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I make a motion to waive Jameela off. "Nothing. Jameela's just feeling punchy because someone said something shitty about Kate."

"A daily occurrence."

"Yep. But she's got Jameela and co to defend her so, it's all good."

Addison shrugs and starts to type again, then stops and closes out of something. She stands. "I'm going to go get a coffee. Anyone want?"

"I'm good."

Jameela gives Addison her coffee order. Addison starts to leave, goes back to her workstation and logs out, shooting us both a look.

"Damn it," I say when she's out of earshot, "now we're never going to find out what she's up to."

"Patience."

"Not my strong suit. You didn't say if you'd help me tonight?"

"Don't think so."

Shit. It's going to take me forever to do this. Do I really want to find Jack that badly? "Can I enlist a friend?"

"Don't see why not. So long as you don't share anything confidential with them."

"Course."

"Good luck."

###

"I can't believe I agreed to help you with this stupid project, again," Kit says that night in the break room. I've bribed her with best friend points, Thai food, a six-pack of beer, and a promise to try to show John the ring she wants without it being too obvious that Kit knows he's about to propose.

"This is the last time, I promise. If this doesn't work, I'm done."

Kit points her chopsticks at me. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Hush. You done?"

"Yeah." She pats her flat stomach. "I couldn't eat one more thing if I tried."

I stand and clear away our things, making sure to rinse out the beer bottles and put the leftovers in the fridge. We have a Friday drinks thing sometimes, and contributing to the fund is considered good form.

"Okay," I say. "Let's get to this."

I lead her out of the break room, and down to the storeroom in the basement of the building, where we store the books and two young guys box them up every month. I've seen them at work a few times, and their dexterity is amazing. There's been talk of making the switch to an automated system, but I know Karen's been resisting because everyone loves Weasley Twins (not their real names, obviously, but they're redheaded twins so the name was kind of inevitable).

The boxes for this month were already done, but they've segregated the New York boxes for me—after I bribed them with $50 each. I printed up the flyer earlier and left the copies we'd need down here—a high stack of them printed on bright fuchsia paper so they can't be missed and they'll photograph well on social.

I turn on the lights in the cavernous room, and they illuminate in a sequence with a pop. Pop, pop, pop. The room is full of high shelves containing inventory. The rest is taken up with long tables. The boxes are lined up against the wall.

"This room is cool," Kit says, drawn to the shelves and shelves of books. "How come you've never brought me down here before?"

"Because it's classified."

"Seriously?"

"Kind of."

She plucks a book off the shelf, a big seller a few months ago. "Can I take this?"

"I'll get you a copy."

"Cool." She puts it back. "So where are these boxes?"

I point to the stack against the wall. It's as tall as we are and ten feet wide.

Kit puts her hands on her hips. "You've got to be shitting me. We have to do all of these?"

"As many as we can, yeah."

"You owe me so bad."

"For life."

I walk to the wall, pick up a stack of boxes and lay them on the table. "We need a system. One person should open the box, then the other person can put the flyer in and then close them up again."

"I'll open."

"Great. I'll help you get started."

I show her how to open the deep green boxes with the BB moto embossed in gold without damaging them. There's a trick to opening and closing them without screwing up the fold. Kit picks it up pretty quickly, and in a few minutes, we get an assembly line going—box open, slide down the table to me, flying in, box closed, slide down the table so we can stack them again.

"You think this is going to work?" Kit asks.

"No idea."

"You really like this guy, hunh?"

"I thought that was obvious." I slide a poster into a box and give myself a papercut in the process. "Ouch." I raise my finger to my lips and suck on it. There's a small bloom of blood, and its tang fills my mouth.

"Watch it."

"I'll be fine."

"No," Kit says, a serious expression on her face. "I meant with Fake Jack. This guy could seriously break your heart."

"Yeah."

"Have you thought about what you'll do if he doesn't want to see you again?"

"You mean, if I make this grand gesture and after all that, he doesn't want to be with me?"

"Yep."

I hadn't let myself think about that. Too depressing. "That would suck."

Kit slides another box my way. "Can you handle it?"

"Of course."

"I know it's been hard for you since you moved here ... And all this engagement talk."

"What? No. I'm happy for you."

"I know you are. And I mean, he hasn't even proposed yet so he could still chicken out."

I check my finger. It's stopped bleeding. "He's not going to chicken out."

"He's a twenty-seven-year-old dude. Who knows what he's going to do."

"True. But John loves you, I know he does."

"Right. All I'm saying is, I hope all this is not a reaction to things that are going on in your life ..."

I fold up the next box and slide it down the table. "Don't worry so much, Kit. I know this seems like a lot, but it has a work purpose, too. If I don't find him, or he doesn't want to be with me, it's fine. I promise." I put every ounce of sincerity that I have into saying that, and in that moment, I almost believe it.

"Okay."

I stack up the boxes we've completed. We've only done fifty and it's taken us half an hour. "We need to get a move on if we're ever going to get through half of these tonight."

"Half?"

"Yeah, I thought that was reasonable, and then tomorrow—"

"Tomorrow?"

"Did I not mention tomorrow?"

"Um, no."

I raise my right hand and place it on my heart. "I solemnly swear that John will buy you the perfect engagement ring and that I will never again ask you for a favor."

She shakes her head. "All right, let's get on with it."

She spins another box down the table. I take out my phone and photograph it with the flyer in it, careful to get the best composition shot possible. Then I take some other shots of the boxes lined up and create an Instagram story on the BookBox account.

A special surprise coming at you in this month's BookBox! #ManWanted #HelpUsFindThisMan #Giveaway #Win #MostWanted

I make sure that there's a good shot of MOST WANTED next to the flyer, so they get the connection between the two, and let the post go live.

Come what may, I'm all the way in it now.