“Hello?” My voice came out scratchy and hoarse, but at least I wasn’t crying.
“How’d it go?” A car honked in the background, nearly drowning out Brady’s voice. “You ignored all my calls! Give me the deets, ASAP.”
A migraine blossomed behind my temple. “How did what go?”
“Delamonte.” The duh was implied. “A little birdie confirmed the dinner was an audition, so tell me. Do they love you or do they love you?”
The reminder of Delamonte did nothing to improve my mood. “They love me. Just not as much as Raya.”
No matter what Christian said, I was convinced the Delamonte deal was a lost cause. If I couldn’t keep my job at a small-market magazine, how could I be the ambassador for one of the world’s leading fashion brands?
It technically wasn’t a direct correlation, but in my shock-numbed, panicked mind it was.
A short pause followed my statement before Brady exploded. “Are you shitting me? Did you see the boots Raya wore in her latest post? Talk about tacky. That’s not Delamonte’s style at all. You are Delamonte! Your aesthetic is so fucking perfect for them, it’s like they…it’s like they created you in their super-secret lab. Or something.”
“Yes, well, Raya has more followers than me, and she has Adam. It’s like a two-in-one deal.”
I hated wallowing in self-pity, but once I got started, I couldn’t stop.
I’d been trying to reach a million followers for years, and Raya got it done in less than two posting about her new boyfriend and using the tips I gave her.
I didn’t mind sharing what I knew. Life, for the most part, wasn’t a competition. But I would be lying if I said that knowledge didn’t sting a bit.
“She’s only growing so fast because of Adam and vice versa,” Brady grumbled. “I hate to say it, but influencer couples are what’s hot right now. You rarely see individual influencers skyrocket like that. People love following other people’s love lives. It’s sick.”
I mustered a dry laugh. “Too bad I’m not part of a couple.”
D.C.’s dating pool was, for lack of a better word, dismal.
Then again, I no longer had a job taking up my time, so there was that.
I’d tell Brady about D.C. Style after I had time to process it myself. Talking about it would make it real, and I could use a little fantasy right now.
He was so quiet I thought the line cut off because Brady was never quiet. A quick check told me that wasn’t the case. I was about to prompt him again when he finally spoke.
“No, but you could be…” he said slowly.
My migraine intensified. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you getting a boyfriend. Think about it.” His voice pitched higher with excitement. “Your followers have never seen you date someone. You don’t date, right? Imagine if you did. They’d go crazy! And look at all the couple content that’s going viral. People eat that shit up. You’ll be at a million followers in no time! If you hit that milestone, Delamonte will notice. Rumor has it they won’t make a final decision for another few weeks. Trust me. They already love you—I know they do. You just gotta give them a little extra push.”
My jaw unhinged.
“Are you joking? I’m not going to string someone along and date them just so I can get more followers and a brand campaign!”
“Then be honest. Tell them the truth up front. Find a fake boyfriend. Someone who’ll also have something to gain from this.”
“Another influencer?” I winced at the prospect.
Not that it mattered because there was no way I would do what Brady was suggesting. The idea that I had to get a boyfriend to be deemed “interesting” made my skin crawl.
We’d progressed from the days when women couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without their husband’s approval, but the sad truth was, our value was still tied to our ability to “land” a partner, at least in society’s eyes.
The number of times people asked me why I didn’t have a boyfriend yet was proof of that. Like my being single was a problem I needed to solve instead of a choice I’d made. Like my lack of a partner somehow meant I was lacking somehow.
I didn’t have anything against dating. I was happy for my friends who’d found their One, and I’d be open to a relationship if I met the right person.
But I was pretty sure the right person wouldn’t result from a ruse to get more social media followers and further my career.
“Maybe another influencer,” Brady said thoughtfully. “Or someone who’ll benefit from having a beautiful woman on their arm.”
My stomach turned.
“You make it sound so sleazy. No way.” I shook my head. “I don’t have the time or energy for a real or fake relationship.”
“Stella, I’m telling you this as your friend and manager.” His voice was sterner than I’d ever heard it. “You want the Delamonte deal? You want a million followers? You want to show Raya and all the girls out there dying to see you fail that you still have what it takes to stay on top? Then get a boyfriend.”
Brady’s words ran through my mind long after I hung up.
It was the twenty-first century. I shouldn’t have to date someone to stay relevant.
But as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. There was a reason celebrities always magically entered relationships before a big album drop or movie premiere, and why unmarried politicians rarely won campaigns.
I rubbed my temple.
The idea of a fake boyfriend seemed absurd, but was it that absurd?
If movie stars could “date” someone for publicity, so could I. That I wasn’t a celebrity was irrelevant; the principle was the same.
I can’t believe I’m considering this.
I pulled up my Instagram and stared at the number at the top of my profile.
899K. I’d been stuck there for over a year, and it reminded me of where I was going in life—nowhere. Same city, same routine day in and day out.
The lure of a million followers and what it represented dangled in front of me like a sparkling diamond.
Validation. Opportunity. Success.
If I just reach and stretch…
The 899K stared back at me, taunting me.