Page 81 of Hashtag Holidate
For a moment, I let myself imagine this being routine. Waking up tangled together every morning. Burning toast while he made perfect eggs. Fighting over who got the last of the coffee. It felt so natural, so right, that the wanting of it was almost painful.
I’d never had anything like this. But I’d dreamed about it for a very long time.
The fantasy was interrupted by the sharp buzz of my phone from the bedroom. I ignored it, pressing my face into the space between Maddox’s shoulder blades and breathing in the scent of his skin.
The phone buzzed again. Then again.
“You should probably get that,” Maddox said gently. It wasn’t the first time he’d pointed out messages I’d tried my best to ignore. I’d been blowing off many of my responsibilities, including updates from Vic, for days now. Reality had no place here in my winter fantasyland.
“It can wait.” But even as I said it, it buzzed again. And again.My phone only went off like that for emergencies or career opportunities. Given that I was three thousand miles from any emergencies, it had to be the latter.
The thought made my stomach clench.
“Go,” Maddox said, turning in my arms to kiss my forehead. “I’ll rescue the toast situation. But first—” He gestured toward the kitchen window, where a large box truck had just pulled up. “Looks like we’ve got an unexpected delivery downstairs. Give me ten minutes?”
I nodded, watching him grab his phone and disappear down the stairs. As soon as he was gone, I padded to the bedroom and picked up my phone with the same enthusiasm I’d have for handling a live snake.
Seven missed calls from Vic. Twelve text messages. And one email marked “URGENT” from Nordique’s marketing director.
My hands were shaking as I opened Vic’s most recent text:
Vic
CALL ME NOW. This is it, babe. This is everything we’ve been working for.
I hit his number before I could talk myself out of it.
“Adrian! Jesus, I thought you’d fallen off a mountain or something.” Vic’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement. “Tell me you’re sitting down.”
“I’m standing. Just tell me.”
“Nordique wants to lock you in for a year-long exclusive deal. Global campaigns, resort partnerships, the works. But that’s not even the big news.”
I sank onto the edge of the bed, Maddox’s scent still clinging to the rumpled sheets. “What’s the big news?”
“The Solenne Collection wants you as their global brand ambassador. Permanent position, Adrian. Not a campaign—acareer. Luxury hotels worldwide, first-class everything, unlimited travel budget. They’re calling it ‘Elevated Wandering,’ and they want your face on it.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. This was it. This was everything I’d worked for, everything I’d built my entire adult life around. Global recognition. Financial security. The kind of career that most influencers could only dream of.
“They want an answer by Friday,” Vic continued. “Which gives us time to negotiate terms, but Adrian… this is life-changing money. This is a legacy-building opportunity. You’d be everywhere.”
Everywhere.
I looked around Maddox’s small bedroom—at the quilt his sister had picked out for him, at the photo of his parents on the nightstand, at the view of Founder’s Row covered in fresh snow and the few eager holiday shoppers already wandering along the shoveled sidewalks. This quiet, simple life that had somehow started to feel more real than anything I’d experienced in years.
“Adrian? You still there?”
“Yeah,” I managed. “I’m here.”
“This is what we worked so hard for,” Vic said, his voice softer now. “All those years of grinding, of building your platform, of proving yourself. This is why we did it.”
I didn’t love his easy use of the term “we.” Yes, he’d worked hard to procure many of my gigs, but I’d been the one to miss a connecting flight to Paris during a torrential rainstorm in Amsterdam, try to find an urgent care in Puerto Vallarta when I was sick with the flu, and get hit on by an aggressive hotel manager in Miami. All while#KeepingItReal.
The truth was, this job was a lot. Traveling all the time was exhausting. Social media followers were fickle. And platform algorithms were constantly changing.
But thiswasmy job. Vic was right. I’d worked damned hard to be successful at it. And now, I’d finally gotten the recognition I’d wanted.
“Thanks, Vic,” I said, meaning it. “I… I’ll get back to you. I’m not sure what, ah… direction I want to go in.”
