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I’ve worked hard to be relatable. It’s hard to get past the “rich girl with no problems” vibe people like to attach to me, but I think I’m almost there. I can’t help it if I was born into this life, and I do my best to help others. Give where I can.
And I also try to keep it real. If I’m having a bad hair day or a giant zit is on the tip of my nose, I share that online. No matter how embarrassing it is. Mom says that keeps me grounded so I won’t get a big head, but it also helped me create content that viewers could find common ground with.
So my embarrassments have earned me a few followers. And now the man I’m supposedly dating is earning me even more followers.
Life is so weird.
“You need to post about this,” Rachel declares.
My gaze jerks to her. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? You’re the relatable queen, right?”
“Me dating Tate Ramsey is the most unrelatable thing I’ve ever done—besides being born into a wealthy family.” I actually laugh at my own words, because it’s true. What’s happening to me is totally unrelatable.
More like it’s the stuff of dreams.
Rachel ignores my laughter. “This is straight out of a fantasy, I have to agree, but come on. This is also where you can play up the ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me’ part. Because let’s not forget, once upon a time, you had a Five Car Pileup poster on your wall and a major crush on Tate Ramsey.”
“We were like... fourteen. Thirteen. Whatever. And you had a crush on him too.”
“I always had more of a secret thing for Aaron. He was so broody.”
The dark-haired, dark-eyed mystery man of the group. The oldest one, though I think he was only a year or two older than the rest, tops. He was too moody for my liking, but it doesn’t surprise me he was Rachel’s secret favorite.
“Anyway, who I liked doesn’t matter. We need to find that picture of the poster on your wall. And you need to post on your socials a video of you talking about your birthday party and how you found unexpected love while you were there.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head, my insides quaking at the thought of it. “Not yet.”
“You can,” Rachel counters. “And you’re going to. I’m going to help you.”
“Rachel...”
“Don’t ‘Rachel’ me.” She marches over to my walk-in closet and flicks on the light before entering it, immediately going through my clothes. “We’re going to find you a fabulous outfit, and I’m going to do your makeup and hair. And then you’re going on camera and talking about how much you adore Tate Ramsey and you can’t believe he feels the same way. It’s like your every early-teenage dream coming to life. Oh shit, we should find that one song by Katy Perry and play it. It fits perfectly.”
I loved that song back in the day. Before I was even a teenager.
“What about the NDA? The schedule? The topics they want me to talk about?”
Rachel pokes her head out of the closet, holding up a super-cute dress my mom found for me the last time she was in Paris. “Fuck the schedule and the topics. You haven’t signed shit yet. And you’re not exposing anyone or telling the truth. You’re playing up your new love story for views, and they’re going to love it.”
She’s right. What’s the harm in this?
Forty minutes later I’m wearing my new dress, and my hair is curled. Rachel set up my phone with the ring light, and I’m sitting at my desk, where I have the best light in my room, ready to talk.
Fighting off the nerves, I sit up straighter, sending her a quick pleading look, but she shakes her head, her expression firm.
I’m doing this. Rachel won’t let me give up. Besides...
I don’t want to.
Here goes nothing.
CHAPTER15
TATE
I’m standing at the window in Simon’s office, staring at the city spread out before me, while Simon talks on the phone in low murmurs and draggy vowels accompanied by the occasional growl of laughter. I don’t know who he’s speaking to, but I do my best to tune him out.
