This is the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen in my life
How spoiled can you get??
Imagine being so shallow that breaking your lippie is your biggest life problem.
This is honestly disgusting.
My cheeks heat. Yes, it’s embarrassing that I drunkenly cried, but it’s notdisgusting, is it?
Plus, it was areallynice lipstick. My perfect my-lips-but-better shade.
Suddenly, my phone is pulled out of my hands. “Nope,” Lulu says. “No reading comments.” She hands me a paper bag. I peek inside. It’s full of cake pops. “Eat these and let me handle this.”
“We can bury this, right?” I say hopefully, shoving a cake pop in my mouth.
If anyone can help me recover from this, it’s Lulu. We met at a brand party two and a half years ago, right at the beginning of my influencer career. I was working two retail jobs at the time, and I was reeling from the attention my silly little outfit videos were getting online.
One minute, I was recording myself altering thrifted clothes. The next, I had video after video going viral, and an inbox full of brand offers. That brand party was the first sponsored event I’d ever been invited to. I wore a pink flapper dress I’d sewn myself and a pair of cowboy boots.
Lulu spotted me hiding in the corner and dragged me around, introducing me to people. By the end of the night, my contact list was twice as long. When I thanked her, she’d just shrugged.
I’ll do that and more if you hire me as your manager. You’ve got potential. Might need to tweak how you dress, though. The outfit is literally adorable, I want twenty—but it’s not what’s trending. You need clicks if you’re going to make this a career.
She’s managed me ever since. She’s the reason I was able to do social media full time. She’ll be able to fix this.
“To be honest, it’s barely big enoughtobury,” Lulu says, busily typing a message on her phone. “I mean, the optics aren’t great, but you’re not actually doing anythingwrong. We’ll play it off as a ‘real moment.’”
I mournfully suck some more whipped cream off my frappuccino.
The clack of Lulu’s manicure on her phone screen pauses. “Summer.” Her brown eyes are serious. “Are you, like, okay? Is this a sign of an impending breakdown? Strategically, it’s not a great time to take a break. We’ve got the Icons Only dress line collaboration set up and ready to go as soon as you hit fivemillion followers, and you’reso close. I know that’s, like, your big career dream…” She trails off, chewing her lip as she thinks.
I blink a lot. “No! Not a breakdown at all! I’m a bit tired, but?—”
Lulu relaxes. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re about to go on a paid holiday,” she says. “You need to get moving, by the way. Your car leaves in thirty.”
It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in. Then my eyes widen, and I jump out of bed.Scotland.
I’d almost forgotten. I’m scheduled for a week-long sponsored stay at a luxury spa in the Highlands. The brand reached out a few months ago to ask if I’d be interested in a free VIP package in exchange for a few posts. I’ve never said yes to a brand deal faster.
“Yes,” Lulu says as I stumble across the room and plop down in front of my dresser. “Somehow, I thought the promise of men in kilts would get you up. You can relax in Scotland. Eat some shortbread. Drink some…mineral water? I bet their water is full of minerals.” She thinks. “Oh, and try to get some dick. This dry spell has gone on long enough.”
“I’ve been busy with work,” I protest, grimacing at my face. I have makeup smeared all over me. “God. I’m amess.” I scrub at my skin with cotton rounds and quickly get dressed in the outfit I laid out last night. It’s adorable—a matching pink skirt and blazer, a vintage cream blouse, and knee-high socks with little bows on them. I slip my feet into my fave pink Chanel slingbacks and do a twirl for Lulu. “Too much?”
She looks me up and down. “It’s cute, but you won’t get good engagement in that,” she says bluntly. “You didn’tonlypack pastel miniskirts and hair ribbons, did you?”
“Nope.” I smooth down the skirt. “This is just for the train. My suitcase is full of boring trendy clothes, I promise.” Hopefully I don’t freeze. Since I’m scheduled to take dozens offashion shots while I’m in Scotland, my case is bursting with skimpy photoshoot outfits. I tried to pack some more weather-appropriate clothes, but I couldn’t squeeze many in.
I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m going to a spa. It’s not like I’m planning on tramping around the countryside.
“Good. You know I love your inner Elle Woods, but right now, neutrals are in. I only want to see brown, taupe, and black on your feed, okay? No pink.”
I salute her and cast around for anything I’ve missed. My sketchbook peeks out from under my bed. On a whim, I grab it, stuff it into my open suitcase, shut the lid, and sit on it. “I’ve made a whole content timetable. Do you want to look over it?”
“Huh?” She squints at her phone. “No need. Just get the pool boy to snap some pics of you looking hot and then get a massage.”
I’m horrified. “What? No! I’m getting paid for this trip. What if the pictures don’t do well, and I disappoint the brand? I can’t let them down.”
Lulu snorts. “You try way too hard.”
