Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“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—a career. 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 this was my 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.”
After I hung up on his squawked response, I walked slowly through Maddox’s apartment, seeing it with new eyes. Everything here told a story—a small collection of hand-carved animals his grandfather had made him lined up on a shelf, one with a broken ear that someone had lovingly glued back together. A photo of Maddox holding a much younger Maya at what looked like a fall festival, cotton candy in her hand, both of them grinning at the camera. A stack of books on wilderness photography next to a collection of Maya’s honor roll certificates and something that looked like a little pot of lip balm imprinted with “LHS Band” on the cap.
A life in Legacy wasn’t what I’d imagined for myself. It wasn’t glamorous or globe-spanning or always Instagram-worthy. But I liked who I was here. I liked the man who bragged about his eggs and worked two jobs just to keep his own dream alive. I liked feeling wanted for something other than my follower count or my ability to make luxury brands look aspirational.
I picked up a small wooden horse from the little animal collection, turning it over in my hands. It was imperfect—the proportions slightly off, one leg shorter than the others—but it had been made with love. You could see it in every careful detail, every smoothed curve.
A banded stack of envelopes on Maddox’s desk caught my eye, the paper inside the top one a light red. A note on the outside in his careful handwriting read, “To be paid Jan 1.” I almost picked it up—almost gave in to the curiosity—but stopped myself. Whatever it was, it wasn’t mine to know. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The sound of boots on the stairs announced Maddox’s return. I quickly set down the horse and moved back to the kitchen, where he appeared a few minutes later with the scent of winter air and the familiar sawdust smell of the hardware store wafting in alongside him.
“Another shipment of Christmas lights,” he announced, moving to wash his hands at the sink while talking to me over his shoulder. “Thanks to you, that makes three more reorders we’ve gone through since the videos you posted decorating the tree. Even Kev Petersen bought another set, and he already has enough lights on his house to attract visitors from outer space. Also, Maya called and begged me to bring you to the ‘impromptu’ snowball fight that always happens around this time at the ballfields. She said, and I quote, ‘It’ll make for prime reels. Tell Adrian.’ What do you say? You up for getting your ass kicked and your fancy clothes messed up?”