CHAPTER 37 Millie Monroe
Paid Partnership
I need to pick myself up and dust myself off. It shouldn’t hurt this much when it was destined to come to an end anyway.
But it does.
It wasn’t supposed to end this way.
I’ve wallowed for the last twelve hours, and that’s enough.
It’s Archer’s birthday.
I don’t know this because he told me. I know this because I was looking through the comments on my video. Someone asked if he’s there celebrating his twenty-eighth birthday.
He’s four years older than me as of today.
I want to share in his birthday celebration. Maybe that’s why his teammates came down to see him, but I get the feeling they were here because they were only forty-five minutes away and they had the means to visit a friend in trouble.
I take a shower and drag my sorry ass down to the concierge desk in the main tower, noting how much the crowd has picked up seemingly overnight.
Well…yeah. That’s what happens when four pro baseball stars are staying at the resort and it was advertised on social media.
“Hi there!” I say way too brightly to the poor clerk behind the counter. “I’m Millie Monroe, and I’m staying here as an influencer. I’d like to surprise another guest on his birthday, and of course I’d be delighted to share the sorts of things that the concierge desk can do here at this resort.”
“We’d be happy to help,” he says, and I fill him in on my idea, which he tells me he can execute.
“Would you like to include a card?” he asks.
I nod.
“Write what you want on this paper, and we’ll be sure to include it.” He slides a sheet of paper and a pen across, and I stare at it as I try to figure out what the hell to say to him.
I write two words and stare at them a while: Happy Birthday.
It needs more.
I add a line above the period to make it an exclamation mark.
It’s still not enough.
I clear my throat, staring at the blank page.
I think through what I want to say.
I’m sorry.
I should never have betrayed your trust.
Please forgive me.
Do this with me outside of here.
Let’s take the risk together.
I promise I’ll never do anything like that again.
Not a single one of those lines conveys the heart of what I want to say, though. None of it would be enough, just like filling his room with balloons wouldn’t be enough—but I’m doing it anyway. Or, I’m allowing the resort to do it, I guess.
Before I lose my nerve, I write the words I’m feeling.
I love you.
It only took three weeks for me to fall completely in love with Archer Bradley…and then to lose him.
Love, Millie.
I push the paper over to the clerk with a muttered thanks, and when I turn around, Diedrick is standing behind me.
“Millie!” he says enthusiastically. “I was hoping I’d see you today. Come join me in my office for a moment.”
Shit. It’s like things are somehow going from bad to worse when I already feel like I’ve hit rock bottom.
My stomach is tied up in knots, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“Come have a seat,” he says once we arrive.
I sit across from him, and it’s like he has split personalities or something. He’s much friendlier today than he was the other day.
He gathers a few papers together and taps them into a neat stack before he passes them across the desk to me.
“Congratulations, Ms. Monroe, on being named our newest brand partner. Feel free to read through the information, but the summary is that we are offering you a paid partnership moving forward. We’ll have you traveling around to different hotels in our brand portfolio, where you’ll maintain VIP status.
You’ll be listed as a preferred creator with an elite guest tier on our internal influencer whitelist. The compensation details for this partnership are listed on the third page.
I’m available for any questions you may need answered at any time.
” He slides a business card across his desk with his personal phone number on it.
I flip to the third page, and my eyes widen at the compensation package.
An annual retainer of a hundred grand, for starters. That’ll pay the bills without having to worry about bartending to pick up the slack.
Affiliate commission for any bookings generated through my own referral link.
Bonuses per stay.
Perks include all-expenses-paid stays.
The more I travel, the more I promote this brand, the more money I make, and the more perks I get.
It’s everything I wanted before I arrived here.
So why is my gut telling me to pass on this?
“This is so generous, Mr. Pinder,” I say. “I’d love some time to review the paperwork.”
“Of course,” he says. “We’re very excited to welcome you to the Berkshire brand.”
I press my lips together. “Thank you.”
I walk out of his office and head straight back to my own suite here on the property. I’m in another new tower, this time the Seaside Towers, which is more residential and tends to be where those with longer stays reside.
On my walk back, I can’t help but wonder whether this is what I really want. It’s finally within my grasp, but it feels like my heart is trying to guide me somewhere else.
My brain says yes. Absolutely. I’d be a fool to say no.
But something in my gut seems to be holding me up.
I try to make people happy. I make vacations accessible for people on a budget.
What I do is important work. I’m connecting with people.
Empowering them to see that they deserve to find meaning and beauty wherever they are in the world.
I share my experiences, the highs and lows, so others can learn from me.
But how was going live with four pro baseball players in the background of my video benefiting anyone but me?
As I look at the even longer lines at the restaurants I pass, I can appreciate that what I did helped line the pockets of the resort owners.
The compensation package is impressive. There’s no doubt about that.
But I need to examine what my real motivations are here. Will I sell out anybody just to sign on the dotted line?
I did.
And I hate that.
I hate that I did it. I hate that I used him to get this contract in my hands.
It feels tainted. It feels gross. I caved to the pressure, and that’s not me.
I can’t sign off on this with a clear conscience even though it’s everything I’ve been working toward.
I’d rather go back to pouring drinks and whining until Chip gives in and cleans the soda gun nozzles for me than sign away my morals on a dirty contract.
I sit on the beach for a long time, contract in hand, as I stare at the water moving in and out of the shore, contemplating what the hell I should do.
When I get back to my room, I open my door to a hundred helium balloons.
What the hell? These were supposed to go to Archer’s room for his birthday surprise, not to my room.
I thought I was specific about that. How the hell am I going to get a hundred balloons over to the Beachfront Tower from here?
I spot the message light blinking on my phone. I run for the phone to listen to the message, hoping it’s him.
Turns out it isn’t him after all.
“Ms. Monroe, it’s Emerson from the concierge desk. I’m calling to let you know that when we went to deliver the balloons to Mr. Bradley’s room, we discovered that he had checked out. We tried getting in touch with you but couldn’t, so we delivered them to your room instead.”
That’s it. That’s the message.
My chest aches. My hands tremble. My chest tightens.
He checked out early.
He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t leave his number. He didn’t allow me to surprise him with a hundred balloons.
He’s gone, and so is any hope that he’d be willing to listen to my apology.