Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted meaningfully. “They want to see more of that.”
“More of that?” I shook my head in disbelief. “I intended for that to be my last post. Honestly, I need to brush up my résumé and thank my lucky stars that I have a degree to fall back on.”
“It can be your last post if you want it to be,” she said, her tone surprisingly gentle now, the anger apparently burned out. “But …” Rebecca said, her voice softer now.
She pulled something else from the folder and placed it in front of me. My breath caught.
“My brand deal?” I lifted the contract, scanning the terms. The same deal I thought I’d lost forever when I posted that video. “But I thought they’d drop me for sure.”
“Apparently,” Rebecca said, and now she actually looked pleased, “they want to partner with you specifically because of your authenticity. They’re pivoting their entire campaign toReal Beauty. No filters, no fake perfection. They want you as the face of it.”
Axel’s hand squeezed my shoulder, and when I looked up at him, his eyes were warm with pride.
“The contract is actually better than the original,” Rebecca continued. “Higher pay, more creative control, and—this is the kicker—they want you to do a whole series about being real online. Showing your actual morning routine, your bad-skin days, everything.”
I stared at the papers, hardly believing what I was reading. “They want to pay me … to be myself?”
“Revolutionary concept, right?” Rebecca said dryly, but she was almost smiling now. “Who knew that in a world full of perfectly curated lies, the truth would be so … marketable?”
I laughed through my tears, the sound a little hysterical. “I can’t believe this is real. I’ve got a new opportunity here,” I realized aloud, the idea taking shape as I spoke. “To be myself and to be honest. No filters, no scripts, just … me.”
Axel’s hand found mine, the simple gesture steadying me.
The publicist studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nodded. “You do.”
She gathered the folders, sliding them across the table toward me. “Take a look. Process the feedback. Then decide what you want to do next.” Her gaze shifted to include Axel. “What you both want to do next.”
As she stood to leave, she paused, smoothing her immaculate blazer. “For what it’s worth,” she said, not quite meeting my eyes, “it was brave. Stupid, but brave.”
I smiled.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Rebecca said, throwing her purse over her shoulder as she prepared to leave. “There’s a detective downstairs who wants to talk to you both.”
The way she said it, with a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth, suggested it was good news.
And with that cryptic comment, she was gone, leaving me staring at a contract that proved sometimes the scariest thing you can do, showing the world who you really are, turns out to be exactly what the world was waiting for.
But I think the most shocking thing that would happen today came with what the detective was about to say …
51
OKAY, I FEEL BAD THAT I FEEL RELIEVED ABOUT A DEADLY PLANE CRASH … #GOINGTOHELL
AXEL
“They’re dead?” I repeated, my hands clenching and unclenching in my lap.
Dakota’s hand landed on my thigh as we sat across from Detective Reeves in my living room, her touch the only thing keeping me grounded. It was kind of Ryker to pull some strings and get him here so quickly. Based on the detective’s change of demeanor, Ryker must have also finally convinced him to be less skeptical about the danger the Romano family might’ve posed to us.
“How?” she asked.
“Private plane crash,” Reeves explained, pulling out his tablet. “Senator Stephen Webb and his wife, Victoria, were flying to a retreat in Colorado. Plane went down about forty miles outside Denver.” He turned the screen toward us, showing a news article with the headline:TRAGIC LOSS: Presidential Hopeful and Wife Die in Plane Crash.
“Jesus,” I breathed, studying the photos of the wreckage.
“Both died on impact,” Reeves continued. “No survivors.”
“Was it …” Dakota started. “Was the crash an accident?”
