“Some tourist captured the whole thing and posted it online. Tagged Noah and the Adventure Center. Then someone recognized you and tagged you too.”
Another text message from Parker popped onto my screen. It was a link to the video.
Parker:
Over two million views in three hours!!!!
It’s gone completely viral!!!!
Victoria’s not going to be happy.
No shit, I thought to myself.
I scrambled for my laptop, pulling up Instagram while keeping the phone pressed to my ear. Sure enough, there it was, filling my notifications feed. Tags, comments, shares. Hundreds of them. No, thousands.
The video was surprisingly well-shot for an amateur, capturing the entire rescue from the moment Noah entered the lake. The camera followed me as I climbed the tree, focused on my face as I carefully navigated the branches. It caught my momentary fall, Noah’s panicked reaction, then the successful rescue as Noah cradled the injured osprey. The final shot showed us walking away together, the bird safely wrapped in a towel against Noah’s bare chest.
Another person had shared it and added a soundtrack, a rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” The whole thing played like a scene from a movie.
“It’s actually really good,” I murmured, forgetting Victoria was still on the line.
“Good?” Her voice rose an octave. “GOOD? Have you readthe comments? People are using this to attack LuxeLife directly.”
I scrolled down to the comment section, and my stomach dropped. Not because of the criticism, but because of how right it was.
@WildernessDefender: “Maybe if luxury resorts stopped destroying natural habitats, wildlife wouldn’t need rescuing in the first place. #SaveAsterPark”
@MountainMama42: “Big corporations like LuxeLife are why these birds are endangered. Stop building on protected land! #NoMoreResorts”
@ColoradoNative: “This is what happens when you prioritize profit over planet.”
“Oh,” I said, eloquence eluding me as I realized the uncomfortable truth. Usually, I was the creator, curating the content, spinning illusions that made the aspirational seem real. This time I was the content itself. Real content. Content that exposed exactly the kind of corporate destruction I’d been hired to spin.
“Oh? That’s all you have to say?” Victoria’s voice had gone dangerously quiet. “Let me be clear, Samantha. You were hired to promote our resort, not make us look like the bad guy. FIX. THIS. NOW.”
“But how am I supposed to fix this?”
“That’s literally your job!” Victoria snapped. “You’re the influencer. Influence! Post about how LuxeLife practices eco-conscious luxury.”
“Eco-conscious luxury?”
“How we’re actually helping the environment.”
“You literally have the severed heads of innocent animals on your wall,” I said after putting the phone on mute.
“I don’t care what you say, just change the narrative,” barked Victoria.
I stared at the video, watching myself stretch toward the fishing line, determination etched on my face. For once in my social media career, I’d done something that actually mattered. Something real.
“These comments aren’t entirely wrong, you know,” I said quietly.
“Excuse me?”
“That fishing line didn’t appear by magic. It was left there by people. Tourists, probably. Just like the ones who stay at your resort.”
There was a long, dangerous silence on the other end of the line.
“Let me remind you of something, Samantha.” Victoria’s voice had dropped to a glacial whisper. “Your contract has strict performance metrics. Metrics I expect you to meet. I hired you to produce content that portrays LuxeLife as a facilitator of extraordinary experiences, not play grab-ass with some scruffy, small-town mountain man and his pet wolf.”
