Chapter 1 #2
I work hard to keep my face under control as I listen. Forcing someone to be honest doesn’t sound too authentic to me, but there is something captivating about Viv that I can’t deny. I find myself leaning toward her when she talks, holding my breath so my exhales don’t mute any of her words.
“Come on, give it to me. The truth.” She reaches out, and, before I can stop her, her slender tanned fingers are wrapped around my right hand.
Her index finger traces a little circle on the inside of my wrist, sending a shiver up my spine.
“Tell me the truth.” For a moment, her voice changes. It becomes deeper, more commanding.
There’s something intoxicating about her.
Something powerful. And I’m desperate. Hearing her mention other interviews, other influencers, ones who probably have more followers and more experience than me, has triggered a flood of panic.
This opportunity could be slipping away like the beads of sweat that are racing down my shoulders toward the floor.
“I need the money,” I blurt out.
“Go on.” Viv’s finger stills, but she keeps hold of my wrist, nodding for me to continue.
“My student loans. Bills. Everything. My roommate…” I swallow, forcing away thoughts of Sage. “I don’t have a roommate anymore, and I’m having trouble finding someone to replace her, so I’m paying for the whole apartment myself. It’s way out of my budget.”
Everything is out of my budget, including this trip.
I wonder if I’ll be compensated for the flight and bus ride.
I didn’t think to ask Viv before now. I wanted to look like a team player, but maybe that was a mistake.
My mother taught my sister and me the value of a hard-earned dollar.
Despite being a single mom, she worked her ass off, saving up enough money as an anesthesiologist that when she died, her assets split between Emily and me, half of my college tuition was covered.
My mother’s cancer didn’t let her see me graduate, but she got me there nonetheless.
Yet school and simply existing these days is expensive, and I ran out of funds.
“I need this, honestly,” I admit, thinking of my remaining student loans, the pile of bills on my kitchen table. My outbox chock-full of hundreds of job applications with no response.
Viv releases my wrist so suddenly that I’m off balance, as if her weight on my body was an anchor keeping me steady. “And your current job? Does it not pay enough?”
“I was working two jobs to make ends meet. I lost them both when…” I can’t help the crack that interjects itself into the middle of my voice. I try again: “My roommate died. It was…it was sudden. We were friends. I couldn’t…function, after.”
Viv’s face softens. Her lips twist sympathetically, and she coos, “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Listen, I know how it feels to lose someone you love. It’s okay, Char.”
I try not to bristle. I can’t bring myself to ask Viv to not call me that. Only Sage ever called me Char. But if Viv gives me this job, she can call me whatever she wants.
“It’s been hard.”
“Of course. I had no idea.” Viv’s face creases in pity, but her makeup is too thick to show her full expression.
Her empathy is muted by Botox and foundation.
“I’m sorry.” She reaches out and grabs my hand again, patting it.
“You know, besides the luxury and the generous pay and the increase in followers, there’s something else Empress can provide you with. ”
“What?”
She smiles. “Family. The girls on Empress are all close. We’re each other’s best friends. Whatever you’re going through, whatever trauma you have inside, they will be there for you.”
I pause. A circle of women I could be friends with.
That’s appealing. Almost as much as the money.
Sage and I were close, but after everything went down, I was left alone.
I tend to have a single focused, intense friendship instead of fifty casual acquaintances.
It was Sage who was the social, connected one.
Without her, I was adrift. First, we stopped being friends, then she died.
And spending the past three months holed up in my apartment beset by anxiety hasn’t exactly been conducive to meeting new people.
Sometimes you don’t recognize how lonely you are until it’s explicitly pointed out.
Viv leans back, crossing her arms, appraising me. “I like you, Char. I think this would work.”
I meet her eye, unable to hide my surprise. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah. You were honest. I told you—that’s important to me.
And I’ve already vetted you. I know your analytics are solid.
You clearly didn’t buy a bunch of bots. Our other girls have way more engagement and sponsorships, but truthfully, 50K followers for a book influencer isn’t bad.
Especially on Instagram, which is struggling to keep up with the newer apps.
And we can help you level up. In return, you bring a… diversity I think our group needs.”
I pull back slightly. “Diversity? I’m white.”
“But not straight,” Viv says bluntly. “And your look.” She gestures to my short hair, the black and gray botanical sleeve tattoos that cover both my arms. “It’s something we’re lacking.
I want people to take us seriously. Not think we’re a bunch of Insta thots partying all day long. Your vibe would help with that.”
I can’t decide if this is a backhanded compliment or not. “Uh, okay.”
“So, do you want to join us?”
I gape. “Really? You’re offering me the job? Right now?”
A paid position living on a luxury yacht docked off a private island in the Keys with a group of other influencers.
Was this happening? I hoped, of course, but I hadn’t let myself think it was actually possible.
The last time I did that, my lifelong dream was crushed like a flower petal under a combat boot.
As if summoned, the gilded, embossed title of A Song of Scales and Salt glints in my peripheral vision. The woman who was reading it earlier has left her table, the book tucked against her chest as she moves to the door. There’s a dreamy expression on her face.
My abdomen clenches.
The woman’s forearm doesn’t quite cover the author’s name, and I stare as it passes me by, standing out against the blue scales: SAGE TARTNET.
“I think you’d be a great fit,” Viv says, pulling my attention back to her smiling face.
The woman holding the book disappears out the door behind her.
“I don’t like wasting time. You’re here, your shit is here, my boat is in the harbor.
Ligia Island is forty minutes away. You said you need the money. Why wait? You in, or what?”