This is the last thing I expected to come out of her mouth. I dab at my eyes and try to fix my hair, which I’m sure has gotten mussed up. “You…what?”
“I don’t know if Viv told you, butEmpressis more than a job. We’re like a family. And families are honest. Families share. You seemed so closed off earlier. I’m glad to see this side of you. It means you belong here.”
My heart reaches for her, an insistent pulling. Friends. Belonging. Maybe I should stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe Rachel is right and I belong onEmpress, micro-account and unusual style be damned.
This could be exactly what I need to move on from Sage.
“We’re all here to level up, right?” I ask, sniffing and sitting up straighter. “Can you help me do that? I want to move away from what I’ve done before online. Reviewing books and stuff is too difficult now since… You know. I want to try something new. But I don’t know where or how to start.”
Rachel nods. “That’s whatEmpressis for. And I can help, but honestly, it’s Viv who will be the biggest asset. She’s a genius at pivoting pages. I mean, she was totally right about Ashley and me—wehave so many more followers on our separate pages than our shared yoga account ever did. Let her mold you. You’ll see results.”
I’m unsure if I want to spend that much time with Viv; I get a weird feeling from her. But if that is what I need to do to turn this opportunity into a real job, to forget my past with Sage, to earn some money and start a new life, I’m willing to do it.
* * *
I don’t end up meeting Trey Bardi until the afterparty.
When Rachel and I finished our heart-to-heart, we went back upstairs and rejoined the party, sipping on “Charlie” cocktails—some kind of fizzy gin drink—and chatting in a corner until Viv dragged us out to be social.
I felt purged, empty, after telling Rachel the truth. I didn’t realize how much I was bottling up Sage andA Song of Scales and Saltuntil now. I didn’t feel better, necessarily, but I did feel a little lighter.
It’s a relief when the party finally dies down. The sun disappeared long ago, and the sunset process was a huge production; people crowding on the main deck to take the perfect photo. That was the other exhausting part of the party—every ten seconds someone was asking me to take a photo of them or positioning me to be in one of their own. Especially Viv. She must have taken about a thousand pictures.
“For your welcome post onEmpress,” she said, winking. “Plus, parties like these are always good content. People love thinking that they might get invited to anEmpresssoiree one day.”
Finally, people start to trickle out, ferried back to Ligia and the Keys by a squadron of rental boats Royal Yachts paid for.
“They have to be back in Miami in time for the nightlife scene,” Rachel explains to me as we stand on the main deck, watching drunk people teeter on to speedboats and whip away. “Empresswas the pregame.”
“Sounds exhausting. I’m a book influencer, remember? We don’t have many yacht parties and nightclubs in Milwaukee. The bars close at 2 a.m. where I’m from.”
“This is the job.” Rachel offers a half shrug. “I’m going to do some restorative yoga before bed. You good?”
I know she’s thinking about our talk earlier, and I’m drunk enough that the harsh edges of reality have worn off. “I’m good. Thank you, Rachel.”
She smiles and floats away, leaving me alone on deck, holding a martini glass with the dregs of a drink in it. I’m pleasantly buzzed as I watch the moon inch across the velvety sky. The stars peep between plump indigo clouds, and I revel in the coolness of the air after the stickiness of the day. I inhale deeply, the salt and surf mixing pleasantly with the sweetness wafting from the inside of my glass.
A voice interrupts my reverie. “Viv said you wanted to meet me. Sorry, I’ve been running around hosting. Couldn’t get a second away until now.”
I spin around, too quickly, stumbling a little. A hand shoots outand steadies my elbow. Warm and firm fingers on my skin. Maybe too warm—almost hot.
Trey Bardi stands in front of me, looking exactly like he does on his social media posts and in all the magazine photo shoots; the hot, young billionaire everyone wants a piece of.
He’s not classically handsome like Carl, Fiona’s boyfriend. Trey’s eyes are a bit too close together, his nose is sharp like a church steeple, and his frame leans toward gangly, but he’s got an undeniable charisma that makes him universally appealing. And his eyes, gray, depthless, are magnetic.
“Hey. I mean, hi. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Charlie. I guess you know that. Sorry. It’s late.” I want to prove I can be valuable to Trey in the long term. I want to plant the seeds now to harvest a real career later. Instead I’m babbling like an idiot.
Maybe I’m drunker than I thought.
“Sorry about all this,” Trey says, waving a hand at the last boat chugging away in the distance. “I told Viv to stop springing parties on people. And me. But she insists.”
“Oh, it’s fine, it was nice to meet all your…friends.”
Trey laughs. “I wouldn’t call them that. They’re business associates.” He looks closer, peering at my face, his hands still on my arm. “Viv said she was very impressed with your page. How you stand out among the other book influencers because of how much personality you infuse in your posts. I’m interested to see what you’ll do here.”
I hide the grimace fighting to form on my face. Trey has no idea that the “personality” I’m infusing into my posts isn’t my own; it’s Sage’s. The bubbly, friendly vibe she presented to the world, the one that was approachable, confident, and positive. I’m not sure if Sage ever realized I was mimicking her voice in my posts, but she had heartily approved when I told her I didn’t think I should post negative reviews on the page.
“Smart,” she had said. “Because when we get published, all those authors you rated or reviewed will be our peers. No need to alienate them. What if someone digs up a scathing one-star review you left years ago? Not worth it. Just stay positive and constructive.”
