Page 36 of Scandalous Lover

And maybe after Sam hears my plight, he’ll be more inclined to overlook certain other transgressions.

“One more drink will probably do it,” I say, and the girls squeal in delight.

I only glance at Dom for a moment, catching his slightly disapproving glare and looking quickly away—straight at Sam.

I wouldn’t call Sam’s look disapproving. He looks worried for me. Sad, even. It’s not exactly what I want him to be feeling toward me, but I suppose it’s better than angry.

Offended.

Exploited and objectified.

I let out a sigh and try to cover it with another big smile. “What’s this I hear about dessert?”

Chapter Twelve

Naomi

Fran texted Avery as we were finishing up at Raft, so by the time we reach the beach bar, we’re a crowd of couples.

Only Sam and I aren’t holding hands.

He settles himself a few seats away on the bench at the long, wooden table and orders a soda water when it’s his turn.

I should probably do the same. Thirteen courses with wine pairings, no matter how small, is not a normal night of drinking for me and I’m feeling a little fuzzy.

The girls seem to sense that and take full advantage, pouncing on me as soon as the server drops off our drinks.

“Okay, spill it. What do you have to do to get shunned from the internet?”

I take a long sip from my sangria, trying to figure out where to start.

People don’t understand what I do, and more often than not, when I start explaining it, all they do is look for ways to make fun or belittle my work.

I get it. I live fabulously and document the whole thing inpictures and sassy captions for my seven hundred and ninety thousand followers, who then take my advice and buy things. It’s not a normal job. But I love it.

At least I did.

Back when I was on top of the world, fielding message after message in group chats with other mid-sized influencers and even some newbies who ate up my advice like candy.

Back when just the sight of me walking through the door would have small restaurant owners and boutique clothing store managers falling all over themselves to bring me taco spreads or their best new styles.

Back when I was on the invite list for every event in Austin, big or small, and had to prioritize my own self-care time rather than overbooking myself—a decision making process that was content gold for my followers, who often chimed in to help me choose.

It’s wild to think that life was mine less than two weeks ago.

I glance around at the moonlit beach, the tiki torches, and the smiling faces of my older brother’s friends. Here goes nothing.

“Well, I don’t know how much you know about influencer culture, but the gist of it is that I have followers on my platforms who trust me to bring them the best of everything in Austin and beyond and who are willing to go places or buy things based solely on my recommendation. It’s a lifestyle channel, so I’m selling my own lifestyle. My life, my looks, and my habits are the product. And people want what I’m selling. Or, they did anyway.”

But will they still? That’s the question. The one I don’t add to my little spiel about what I do. Because in the end, it was my community of fellow influencers that took me down, not myfollowers.

My sweet, loyal followers, who posted so many lovely, supportive comments. Most of which I didn’t get to read before I had to shut off commenting on my recent posts due to trolling.

Trolling by my friends.

“I think I get that. We all have one of those people who we follow and would buy anything they wear or eat or read, right?” Fran asks.

Reina nods quickly, an encouraging smile on her lips as usual.

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