Chapter Three

The cold shower helps a little, but I still look like I’ve been to hell and back. I hastily pull the contract out of my briefcase. Does each post have to be a selfie? I hope not.

I read through the instructions for each post, and… “Yes!” I shout. Nothing in the language says I must appear in every post.

What can I do, then?

What can I do with this new pile of Susie products without actually using them on my face? I sift through them, looking each one over, hoping one of them will speak to me in words. Of course, that would mean I’m hearing voices, which wouldn’t be a good thing.

Come on, Skye. Time to get creative. Think, brain. Think.

And when it finally comes to me, my heart thuds.

Susie Girl Mood Lip Gloss and Plumper.

It changes color according to skin tone and to mood, or so it says.

Let’s prove it, then. I’ll show the world how it looks on someone other than me today, and tomorrow, I’ll wear it. But who?

This is a new line, and it’s all about the everyday woman, right? So why not find an everyday woman to model one of the lip colors? It doesn’t have to be me, especially when I look like a fright.

Tessa, of course, is my first choice, but she’s not an option. Too bad, because her darker skin tone and lip color would be the perfect contrast to my fairness.

So…Betsy.

She’s perfect. Very pretty but not glam like Tessa. Her skin is pretty light, but not as pale as mine, and her lips are more an orange flesh tone compared to my pink. Her hair’s slightly darker, as well, and her boho frocks will show her as a carefree soul.

Of course…she may turn me down because of her relationship with Addie. Addie can still get her a lot more business with her Bark Boutique than I can, especially if I don’t have Braden backing me up.

Damn.

I can go out, find someone at a local shop or café, introduce myself, and ask them to help me out.

Except I look like a hag from hell.

I have no choice. It has to be Betsy.

I punch in her number.

“Hello?” she says.

“Hi, Betsy. It’s Skye.”

“Hey, Skye,” she says hesitantly. “What’s up?”

“How would you like to star in one of my Instagram posts?” I say, willing my voice to sound excited and not nasal from all the crying earlier.

“You mean here at the shop?”

Crap. Of course she thought I meant the shop. She thinks I’m calling to help her. Instead, I’m calling to get her to help me.

Talk about self-centered.

“Never mind, Bets. Sorry to bother you.”

“You okay?” she asks.

“Sure,” I lie. “How are you?”

“Good. I mean, yeah. Good.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “You sound…off.”

“No, I’m good. It’s a good day at the shop. Things are good with Peter. You know, good.”

Just how many times can she say good and still think I don’t know something’s up?

“How about Tess? Is she good?” I swallow.

No response for a minute. Then, “She’s a mess, Skye. She’d kick my butt if she knew I told you, but she’s still a mess.”

“About Garrett?”

“About Garrett, yeah. And about you.”

I’m a mess too. I can’t do this without her. I can’t do this without Braden. Without Penny. Without you, Betsy. Without all of you. I’m a fraud, through and through. I don’t even know my own mind.

Those words never make it past my lips, of course. To say them would hurt too much.

“I’m sorry,” is all I say.

“You should call her.”

“I… I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve hit rock bottom, Betsy. Below rock bottom.”

Another pause. Then, “You just said you were okay.”

“I lied. I fucking lied.”

“Wow. I’m so sorry. What happened?”

I can’t tell her Braden called it quits. If I say it, it becomes real.

But it is real, and I can’t hide from reality. I simply can’t.

“I’m a mess. I’m such a damned mess that I bet Tessa looks amazing next to me.” I resist the urge to break into tears again. Barely.

“Skye, I’ve got some customers…”

“Yeah. I get it. Sorry.”

“I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

“Okay. Thanks. Bye, Betsy.” I end the call, and within seconds, my phone buzzes again, a number I don’t recognize. “Hello, this is Skye.”

“Skye, hi. It’s Kathy Harmon.”

Kathy Harmon. Bobby Black’s girlfriend. “Hi, Kathy.”

“I was wondering if you were free for dinner tonight.”

Dinner? Not while I’m at rock bottom.

For a hot minute I consider asking her to take Betsy’s place in my post but decide against it. I need to figure this out for myself. I like Kathy, but I’m not fit to hang with anyone at the moment.

“I can’t tonight, Kathy. But I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“That’d be great. Can’t wait to see you again.”

“Same. Talk to you soon.” Again, I end the call.

I heave an exasperated sigh. Now what? No Braden. No Tessa. No Penny. And no Betsy and no Kathy, by my own doing.

I have to come up with a new idea for a post. Today. Fucking today.

Not only that, I also need to post other stuff. If I’m going to be an influencer, my posts can’t be just about sponsorships. They have to be about life. About my life.

Will anyone care about my life if it doesn’t involve Braden?

You have to make them care.

The words land in my mind so quickly that I’m unaware of where they came from.

I have to make them care. I do.

And they’ll care if they relate to me.

Today I’m sad. I’m so, so sad. I’ve lost everything that matters, but I still have this contract. It still matters.

I still matter.

Even if I don’t paste on a happy face.

What’s wrong with posting that I’m having a bad day? Who the hell can’t relate to that? It’s not done a lot, of course. Most profiles are constantly touting how good everything is. That’s great, but what does it inspire?

Sure, some people will feel good to know an influencer is feeling good, to know an influencer is on top of the world, to know an influencer like Addie was born into money.

But others? To others, posts like that only inspire envy.

I don’t want to inspire envy. Really, there’s nothing to envy about me, especially now that Braden’s gone.

I’m just a regular woman.

And I still fucking matter. Even if I don’t feel that way at the moment. My feelings aren’t important right now. The feelings I invoke in my audience are.

I walk back into my bathroom and gaze at my reflection. Oddly, I look a little better. My eyes are still slightly bloodshot and slightly swollen, and my nose is still red around the edges as well. I’m no longer sniffling, and the tears have dried up.

I brush my hair out and let it flounce over my shoulders. The color is basic brown, not much luster to it, but it’s a nice and even color and it’s thick. My eyes are brown as well, nothing special. But you know what? They’re still my eyes, and they’re a lot less red than they were only an hour ago.

I wash my face quickly with cold water, getting rid of the last traces of mascara from last night.

That makes all the difference.

Then I sift through the pile of Susie cosmetics once more, looking for something that stands out to me.

The mood lip plumper? Maybe. If it indeed will show mood, but right now, my lips don’t need any extra plumping. They’re still swollen from my sobbing fit.

Blush? God, no. I’m already redder than I want to be.

Mascara? And draw attention to my swollen eyes? I don’t think so.

Eye shadow? Yeah, that’s a no.

Nail polish.

Bingo!

Why didn’t I think of that before? No one has to see my face if I do my nails. Eugenie sent me two colors—Make Things Happen, a flashy neon pink, and Night on the Town, a reddish black.

The pink. I can put this to good use. I’ll take a selfie and say I haven’t had the best day, and it’s okay not to have a good day once in a while.

Then I’ll do the Susie post—a photo of my hand with the pink polish. Pink makes everyone feel better, right? Now to figure out the copy.

I muse over what to say while I paint my nails. I have to admit, the polish is nice. It’s not too thick and it dries quickly. They didn’t send me base and top coat, so I use what I have on hand. Doesn’t matter anyway. All the followers will see is the pink.

I regard my finished nails and smile.

I actually do feel better.

The power of pink—

And then I laugh out loud.

That’s my copy! The power of pink!

I grab my phone.