Chapter 1 #2
‘Among other things,’ he replies. ‘I do whatever needs doing. The plants are the bit I like most, though. They don’t expect anything from me, except for me to look after them. And you’re an influencer?’ he adds, giving the word an emphasis that suggests he thinks it’s made up.
‘Um, yes, that’s right,’ I reply, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. ‘I’m here to cover the launch of the hotel, and get some photos and videos of it before it opens. I think there’s a few of us here this week?’
I think of the email that popped into my inbox unexpectedly, just a few days ago, my stomach lurching again with something that could be either guilt or excitement – or possibly just the results of the speed at which we’re hurtling down this impossibly winding road.
Your transformation is about to begin! the message said, in perky, PR speak.
You and a group of other lucky influencers have been hand-selected to attend the exclusive pre-launch event at the Chrysalis Resort and Spa in the beautiful Scottish Highlands.
Come and join us on a life-changing journey of reinvention!
Well, I mean, how could I say no?
‘Aye,’ says Hunter, and this time there’s no mistaking the hint of disapproval in his tone. ‘The rest have already arrived. They all had a lot of luggage, too. I think you’re the winner, though. I can tell you like shopping.’
He gives a dry chuckle and jerks his head towards the back of the car, where Stevie the wolf is sitting slobbering next to my many bags, looking almost as if he’s laughing at me.
They both look like they’re laughing at me, actually; a realisation that takes me right back to high school, and the time I walked out of the girls’ bathroom with my skirt tucked into my knickers.
‘I do like shopping,’ I say, with as much dignity as I can muster given that I’m clinging onto the grab handle for dear life as we bounce along the single-track road at a speed that makes me wonder what’ll happen if we meet someone coming in the opposite direction.
‘It’s . . . well, it’s my happy place. Shops, I mean. ’
I don’t bother telling him I feel like this because every shop I enter has the potential to change my life; that I’m always just one purchase away from becoming a whole new ‘me’ – a version of myself that stood up to the school bullies, and went on to become a raving success at .
. . something I haven’t quite figured out yet.
Someone whose boyfriend absolutely would not have chosen to dump on her birthday three weeks ago, having first of all stood her up at her own party.
I’m definitely not telling him that bit.
‘Your happy place?’ Hunter says, speaking in an ‘I’ve seen it all now’ kind of tone that makes my shoulders tighten in indignation. ‘A shop?’
‘Yes, a shop,’ I reply, my instinct to defend myself triggered by the amusement in his voice. ‘And I suppose yours is the top of a mountain, or . . . or the middle of a lake or something?’
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 definitely see me.
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 – or want to 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 – but now they’ll want to follow me on Instagram instead, 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 it is just 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 . . .