My mouth goes dry. I have a sign-up bonus on my website — if people agree to receive emails about new deals, they get a fifteen-percent-off coupon. But clearly, something is screwing up. I open my email campaign manager and scan through the list of email addresses. It looks like the coupon codes are getting sent, but for some reason, people aren’t getting them.
For God’s sake.
Leaving the stack of receipts for now, I settle down in my desk chair and open my search engine. I need to work this out right now.
After four hours of running tests and checking filters and a bunch of other stuff I don’t really understand, I finally come to the conclusion that my IP is on a ton of blacklists because someone using it is sending spam.
I don’t know what the Hell to do about that. I’m not even really sure what an IP address is. Irritation boils in my stomach. I don’t have time for this. My eyes flick to the clock at the bottom of my laptop screen. I need to find the invoice before my fabric supplier closes for the night.
Another email comes in.
Subject: I one-starred you on Google. You need to treat your customers better than this.
Swearing, I grab my phone and stab Zack’s contact. He picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, baby. I was—”
“What’s your email campaign rate?” I demand.
“What?”
“What are your click and open rates?”
“As your fake boyfriend, I have to say, this isn’t really turning me on. You wanna know a secret? Men love when you say ‘hello’ to them, instead of barking questions at them like you’re trying to use Siri. We’re sensitive like that.”
“Zack.”
He sighs. “I dunno. Me and Josh are both at a printing press. Hang on, he’s a nerd like you, he probably has them memorized. Let me check.”
“What?” I frown. “Why are you at a press?”
“We’re testing merch quality. All of these t-shirts look great on me. If you were wondering. Hang on, I’ll send a pic.”
I rub my eyes. It’s all so easy for them. They can record and edit a podcast, and film behind-the-scenes footage, and do bonus episodes, and update their website and social media every day, and stay on top of emails, and make new advertisements, and put out new merch every month — and I’m struggling to send a bloody email.
“He says fifty percent open, and eighteen percent click,” Zack says eventually. “Dunno if that’s good or not.”
I sputter. “Fifty percent? Are you sending people treasure maps, or something? How is that so high?!”
“I put grey sweatpants pictures in some of them.”
“Jesus.” I lean back against the wall, breathing hard. “Right. Okay, then.” Clearly, I’m really messing something up. I just have no idea what.
Zack’s tone changes. “Hey. You okay, honey? You don’t sound so good.”
“I’m fine. Just. Having some issues on this end.”
“Luke’s at home. I’ll see if he can come over and check it out for you.”
“No. No, it’s fine. I’ll work it out myself.”
“He won’t mind—”
“I said no,” I say, and my voice comes out sharper than I meant it. The line falls silent, and I sigh. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just stressed. But I’m fine. I don’t need help.”
“Okay, gumdrop.” There’s some muffled speech in the background. “Listen, we gotta go. We’re still on for our date at eight tonight, yeah? Surprise location, wear something pretty.”
My eyes widen. I completely forgot we were due to have another date.
Anxiety clutches at my throat again. I can’t do all this. I take a deep breath, and it comes out more like a hitched sob.
“What is it?” Zack asks, sounding alarmed. “Hey, are you crying? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing. Bye.” I hang up and turn back to the computer. My pulse is beating in my throat. I can’t breathe right. My inbox is filling up with more and more complaints, and the invoices scattered on the ground stare up at me. Before I can work out which problem to handle next, my phone rings again.
I take a deep breath and pick it up. “Her Treat, this is Layla speaking.”
“Miss Thompson,” a woman says on the other end. “This is Vivian White, Anna Bardet’s assistant. I contacted you on behalf of Anna Bardet Couture a few days ago about her latest scholarship scheme, but we’ve had no response from you.”