Page 7 of Hotter in the Hamptons

“We went to high school together.”

This seemed to surprise her. “Really? You were high-school sweethearts?”

“Oh, no, no,” Lola corrected. “That’s how wefirstmet. We reconnected when we were older.” She hesitated to tell Aly more. It didn’t seem relevant. And she didn’t want Aly to think of her as Lola-with-a-boyfriend. She wanted her to just think of her as Lola, her own person, not tied to a man.

“And I read he’s also on the board of USC’s Black Alumni Association,” Aly said.

Lola nodded. “He’s very involved. He mentors a bunch of college students, and he’s always helping organize fundraisers and whatnot.”

“Okay, perfect man. So how serious is it? Is hethe one?” There was something condescending about the question—as though the idea of soulmates was laughable to Aly—that Lola chose to ignore.

“We’re just enjoying each other for now,” Lola replied, terse. “I try not to overthink it.”

Aly seemed to accept this and moved on. “So what do you do for fun?”

“For fun,” Lola repeated, laughing.

She was having a hard time remembering; by documenting every moment of her life, she’d turned every waking second into a commodity. But damn if she was about to admit that to Aly.

“I go out, I guess. Ryan and I like to try the dirty martinis at different bars around the city.” She knew she was probably drinking too much these days, but she wasn’t sure what else people did when they went out at night.

Aly nodded. “Okay, tell me about your brand partnerships.”

“Which ones?”

“Whichever one you like the best.”

“Sorry, I probably can’t do that? Contractually, I can’t say I like one brand better than another. Pick one, and I’ll tell you about it.”

“Okay.” Aly nodded, checking her notebook. “Tell me about…Lola for Rêver.”

“Oh, yay, French robes.” Lola tried to sound more excited than she felt. “Washable silk. They made a custom pink just for me. They’re twenty percent off if you buy them through my link in my bio. I love them. They’re very popular.” Lola was not passionate about robes. But it was a lucrative deal and not a lot of work on her end.

Reading Lola’s mind, Aly tapped the edge of her pen. “How much of your income comes from brand partnerships at this point?”

“I mean, all of it?”

Aly made a note. “So what are you working toward?” she asked. “What’s your five-year plan?”

“Oh, I mean, I don’t know if I really have one.” Lola shrugged. “I can barely think about the next month, not to mention the next five years. Things have been moving so quickly for so long that I don’t really have time to plan. I just go with it.”

Aly considered this for a few beats, her pen still tapping on her notebook. “How do you decide who to work with? You’ve got your luxury robes for the stay-at-home audience, the aviator sunglasses for the cool girls, the vitamin-B supplements for the wellness junkies, the cowboy boots for the…well, I actually don’t know who is wearing cowboy boots right now. And that’s just last month. I’m trying to find some connecting thread in your clients, and I can’t really see one.”

Because there isn’t one, Lola wanted to say, heart thumping.Because I just say yes to everything my team tells me to. Because they want me to appeal to as many people as possible.

Instead, Lola said, “Look, I’m just trying to make a living likeeveryone else.” Aly’s questioning had pushed her into a rare moment of frankness, which was, perhaps, the point. She wasn’t sure she liked how it felt.

“Huh,” Aly said, her brow furrowed. She looked like she was dissecting something vital, trying to solve an impossible equation.

“What?”

“I mean, look.” She put the pen down and clasped her hands on the table. “I’m listening to you. I’m hearing your story. And it just kind of sounds like you’re not doing any of the things that you originally loved. You’re just getting free things and putting your name on products. You studied fashion, but you’re not really working in it.”

Lola’s stomach twisted into a knot. “Ouch,” she said, laughing but incredulous. “What the fuck, Carter?” Maybe it was too familiar, addressing her like this, but the criticism was so personal, she couldn’t help it.

“I don’t mean to be an asshole. It’s just, I don’t really think what you do counts as working in the fashion industry, you know? Unless you want to call it freelance marketing. Like, I asked you what made you want to be an influencer—sorry, content creator—and what you gave me was more of ahowyou got here, not why.”

Lola cringed. She didn’t have an answer towhy. It had just happened. “Is there a question in there?”

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