Page 9 of Love at First Sighting
I say this, but I know I’m about to take a big fucking risk. El Martin—influencer, seller of Well water bottles and Spinx yoga pants, and the most gorgeous woman in the world—saw the same thing I did just before my dad and I were in a car crash that took him from me. It cannot be a coincidence.
“And, Carter?” he says. “Don’t fuck this one up.”
My body courses with adrenaline. I give him two thumbs up, nearly collide with the doorframe, and say, “I will try to do as little fucking as possible.”
By the time I reach my desk, Toby has made me a small fact sheet of everything I need to know about El Martin. Maybe he’s not a lost cause after all.
“Thanks, pal. I’m going to head out, but text me if you need any help.”
I pop my hat back on my head, make sure my suspenders are doing their suspending, and bolt out the door to my car. While PIS issues cars to agents on the job, I was not issued one, but I saved an old Plymouth Volare from a one-way trip to the junkyard and fixed her up myself. I like to call herBetty. I taught myself everything I know about fixing up old cars to keep her running.
She still, however, has crank windows, and the air-conditioning generally smells burnt.
I skim over the fact sheet Toby made me and begin to memorize details, then I hit up El’s socials. I’m met with a perfectly curated grid of light pinks, blues, beiges, and whites, with El as the focal point of every photo. I open her Stories and watch her drink smoothies, get manicures, share articles about recent UFO sightings, and then—bingo.
She checked in at the gym only twenty minutes ago. By the time I arrive, she’ll likely be out of her workout class and I’ll find her there. I spend the thirty-minute drive thinking over my plan. I need to talk to her. I need to know what she saw and where she saw it. A terrible thought buries itself in my brain. My dad died after I saw the same thing. El could be in danger, too.
When I arrive at her deeply bougie gym, a small gaggle of photographers have assembled themselves out front. Whether it’s El or someone else, they have a target in mind, too.
I snatch my shoddy camera from the passenger seat and shimmy on up to the group, wiggling my way between two men with honest-to-god soul patches, and remove the lens cap. While their cameras are decked out with the highest-quality lenses and flashes, I’ve been using and repairing the same old early digital camera since I was a kid—the same camera that took the fateful photo.
I only need to wait a few minutes before the luxury gym door swings open and a flutter of camera flashes erupts. Me, though, I’m too mesmerized to even take photos.
El Martin looks everything and nothing like herInstagram photos. It’s the same auburn waves, and big brown eyes that see right through the screen, and little freckles, and a lopsided smile she’s always trying to even out for the cameras. What the photos miss is the way she smells like fruity cucumber and the way the baby hairs at the back of her neck curl from her latest workout.
The photographers shout her name, asking her more about what she saw, about why she posted the video, if she plans to go to rehab. El grimaces and mutters a faint “fuck this.” She shoves her way through the crowd of photographers, shielding her face with a hand and power walking away from them. I need to follow her. El Martin is the closest thing I’ve had to answers in fifteen years.
She crosses the street into the parking garage and quickly dives into an open elevator, hitting the close door button a few times before it shuts. The most beautiful woman in the world vanishes behind an impenetrable steel door.
Weekly Blind Items Roundup
From:[email protected]
Subject:a little birdie told me
Anon pls. A certain topical influencer might be in some hot water with her girlies. Rumor has it they’re not pleased with her latest antics and are already looking for someone to replace her in their squad. One of her friends has been in the DMs of several former Bachelor Nation contestants to see if any are interested.
From:[email protected]
Subject:vanishing act
It looks like the influencer of the hour has not only lost her mind, but her boyfriend as well. She’s deleted traces of the sequined ex from her IG, except a couple of promotional posts, and he’s done the same. They still follow each other, but it wouldn’t shock me if he was trying to avoid her with a ten-foot magic wand, if you get what I mean.
From:[email protected]
Subject:not like other girls
re: the last blind. I’m friends with one of the starlet in question’s exes and he says her recent outburst isn’t surprising. She’s always been the kind of girl who doesn’t play by the rules, according to him, but it tends to make her circle angry, and he wouldn’t be shocked if this finally does her in. If she wants this lifestyle so bad, she can’t be doing this stuff, he says.
Chapter 3
El
Peace. Finally.
I shut my eyes as the elevator door closes, and I hit every single floor along the way, keeping the door clamped shut at each one. I ride for several minutes before finally stepping out at my floor. I look both ways. The paparazzi are impatient by nature, giving up on me in favor of easier prey. I should know better than to tag any location I’m at, but my Pilates instructor took the photo, and not sharing it would have felt rude. I need any boosts to my reputation I can take these days.
It’s only been a day since the incident, and I’ve dropped a hundred thousand followers and been tagged in forty-eight posts breaking down my “freakout,” and several online outlets have swooped up my story. I’ve been dragged through the mud because I’m a woman who dared to speak out, and I usually shake it off fine. But the number of times I’ve been called crazy has me feeling like maybe I am.
