He shrugs easily. ‘Anywhere without people is fine by me,’ he agrees. ‘We call them lochs, though, not lakes. And you’ll need to wear something a bit warmer than .?.?. well,that.?.?. if you want to see any of them while you’re here.’
His eyes flick over to me, and travel down from my floaty dress to my strappy sandals, in a way that makes it clear that I might have been invisible to everyone else I’ve encountered so far today, but this man can definitelyseeme.
Maybe a little bit too well, actually; it could just be the guilt talking, but it feels almost as if those clever golden eyes of his can see not just the unsuitable outfit choice, but the reason for it, too. As if he knows I’m just pretending.
‘I don’t expect hiking clothes would look nearly as good in photos, though,’ Hunter adds with a smirk.
And there I am, right back in school again; always wearing the wrong thing, and being the butt of everyone’s joke because of it.
‘I’m getting the feeling you don’t much like influencers, for some reason,’ I say, bristling at the slight.
‘I don’t know any well enough to like or dislike them,’ Hunter replies dismissively. ‘I just think there are better things to do with your life than take selfies and post them on the internet so people can “like” them – or whatever it is you do it for.’
He snorts, as if to underline his point, and my skin prickles with the familiar shame of being looked down upon – and I’m not talking about his height, either.
‘I don’t do it for “likes”,’ I retort. ‘I do it because—’ I trail off, struggling to find the right words.
The truth is, I might not do it – orwantto do it, rather – for ‘likes’ exactly, but I did start my Instagram account for validation; to feel like I fitted in somewhere at last. That I’m finally being accepted. That, sure, all the girls in my class might have followed me home one day, chanting insults and hitting me with rolled-up umbrellas – the schoolgirl’s weapon of choice – butnowthey’ll want to follow me on Instagraminstead, because, hey, look at me now! Look how much I’ve changed!
Am I good enough for you yet? Do you like me now?
I get the feeling a man like Hunter Stuart, who looks like he’s never endured so much as a second’s worth of bullying in his life, wouldn’t really understand that though.
‘In this case, I’m doing it to promote the hotel you work for,’ I tell him instead. ‘So that, when it opens next week, it’ll be inundated with bookings, and make lots of money. Then you get to keep your job, and I get to keep mine. Which is what this is, by the way – a job, just like any other.’
I raise my eyebrows and give him what I hope is a suitably pointed look, feeling proud of myself for having somehow pulled off this little speech. It’s not often I manage to stand up for myself.
‘Fair,’ Hunter says, agreeably enough, bringing the car to a stop in front of a set of giant iron gates. My stomach does a little wriggle of nervous anticipation as I notice the words ‘the Chrysalis’ above them in a swirly script, which looks a bit like a butterfly’s wings.
‘To be fair,’ he goes on, pressing something on the dashboard that makes the gates swing silently open, ‘I’ve never seen influencers in action before, so I don’t really know what the “job” involves. I guess it’s going to be an interesting few days for me.’
‘Um, yeah,’ I agree, my stomach wriggling even harder as the car starts back up again and moves through the gates. ‘Me too.’
You have no idea just how ‘interesting’ it’s going to be for me .?.?.
We travel silently down a long tree-lined driveway with a large turreted building at the end, which comes looming out of the surrounding forest in a way I tell myself is not at all creepy, even though itisjust a little bit creepy.
We’re here.
As the email said, my ‘journey of transformation’ is about to begin.
It’s just a shame I wasn’t actually invited on it .?.?.
Chapter 2
I knew as soon as I got the invitation that it wasn’t meant for me.
It couldn’t be, really; I’m not an influencer after all. I’m just a girl with an Instagram account and a shopping habit, who takes photos of her outfits and posts them online. And that might have got me 2,038 followers – not that I’m counting – but it’s not nearly enough to grant me influencer status. I’m not sure I’ve ever influenced anyone in mylife, actually (not unless we’re counting my ex-boyfriend, who I definitely ‘influenced’ to dump me .?.?.) which is why, as soon as the email arrived, I knew it had to be a mistake.
Well, that and the fact that my name isn’t Rosie Summers, either, like Hunter Stuart thinks it is.
It’s Rosie Winter.
Which is an easy mistake to make, I suppose; although only if you’ve never seen therealRosie Summers, who’s blonde, beautiful, and looks like she might have bullied me in high school.
Rosie Summers is a bona fide influencer, with the follower numbers to prove it, and brand deals coming out of her ears.
RosieWinter, on the other hand is .?.?. well, me.
