“Fine, but tomorrow, you’re letting me buy you food as a thank you.”
She shakes her head. “I meal prep, so tomorrow’s meals are already planned.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. At the end of every week, I owe you a meal as a thank you.”
She points at me. “That reminds me. Take before pictures, so go home right now and take those pictures.”
“I don’t have your number.”
She starts calling out numbers as I stare at her.
“Write it down before you forget.”
I say the numbers back to her, and she smiles. “Are you good with numbers?”
I nod and wink.
She points at me. “Don’t start the winking thing yet. You’re twenty years too early.”
She laughs, walking backwards. “See ya tomorrow. And you don’t owe me anything.”
That makes me feel like shit, so I drive off, wondering how I can show my thanks if she won’t let me buy her food.
6
Cecily
When I get home, I heat my chicken and veggies in the microwave and immediately create a new spreadsheet for the brand I just posted about yesterday. It’s been twenty-four hours, so I need to track all the views and clicks into a spreadsheet and invoice them for the engagement. Not every brand deal is tedious like this, but I said yes to this particular company because it aligned with what I enjoy talking about.
Once that’s done, I text back Lily, who wants to go out to dinner later. I meet her at a steakhouse on 34th Street at seven.
“Hey, girl!” she squeals.
“Hey, girl, hey,” I shout back.
She jumps right into work, talking about all things about who’s doing what, who’s working with whom, and how. She asks for advice about scaling the business, so I give her my best advice.
“This is why I love you,” she says as we finish off the appetizer. “Every time we hang out, it’s always no nonsense, no bullshit, straight to the point.”
I shrug. “I don’t gatekeep.”
She smiles, raising her glass. “Cheers to that.”
We both take a sip of our drinks. Mine is sparkling water. Hers is wine.
“Tell me honestly, Ce. Where am I lacking with my content?”
I swallow my drink and contemplate how brutal to be. As I said before, not everyone is willing to hear the truth or an opinion. She could label me a bitch after this, and I would lose her as a once-in-a-while friend. Thankfully, our entrees are brought over to help me stall on my answer. We jump straight into taking pictures of the food, of each other, and of each other together.
We start eating, and she says, “I can’t believe you’re still going to college. You’re way more successful than I am, and I can support myself just fine.”
I keep eating my food, allowing her the freedom of her own opinion, but sometimes it feels like this influencing thing could be stolen away from me within the drop of a hat. I’m the girl who’s always on the fence, and I guess she makes a point. If influencing were my full-time focus, I could probably double my income.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she says. “Are you setting up a tripod at the gym, or is someone taking those videos and pictures of you?”
I blink while finishing my bite. “Oh, yeah. That’s my friend taking those.”
She nods. “A gym friend. Okay, that makes sense. It’s nice in there. It’s a beautiful gym.”
