In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(12)

Josie widens her eyes at me. Workshop it, she mouths. She mimes a dance move from the early ’90s I’m pretty sure we workshopped during our Backstreet Boys routine.

I don’t dignify the suggestion with a response and attempt to change the subject. I am weary down to my very bones. “Where is my next trip?”

Half of me hopes Kirstyn tells me my next trip is home, to the tiny and mostly bare apartment I rent here in the Bay Area. I don’t know why I signed a lease to begin with. I think I’ve spent a total of six nights there over the past three months. But I had been yearning for some roots and an apartment seemed the logical answer.

“Oh, right. Here we go.”

I began my partnership with Sway because I wanted to help more people, tell more stories, access more communities with small businesses trying to get their name out. Like Peter in Spokane, a retired veteran with a grilled cheese food truck and—no lie, the best tomato soup I’ve ever had. Eliza and her dress shop in Sacramento, recycling fast fashion into sustainable pieces. Stella at Lovelight Farms, working so hard to create a whimsical winter wonderland. The people I visit have everything they need to make an impact, I just … help them along. Give them a boost.

Account management was starting to be a little too much for Josie and I to handle. We were spending more time on the administrative side of things instead of the creative bit of it. My partnership with Sway was supposed to make all of this easier. But honestly, it’s been one headache after another.

“This is your next trip,” Kirstyn announces with all the flair I’ve come to expect from Sway.

A blank screen hums its arrival as it drops from the ceiling. It winks awake with a burst of color, a loud and heavy bass drum filling the space. Josie jumps in her seat, scrambling to keep her mug from flipping over.

Bejeweled bodies sway with their arms in the air. A woman with fur boots to her thighs and a bright purple sequined bodysuit swings from a vine across—I squint at the screen—a bright red pool of jello.

“Holy crap,” Josie whispers.

My headache deepens.

“Why are you showing me Burning Man?”

“It’s not Burning Man. It’s the Okeechobee Music & Arts Festival,” Kirstyn tells me, almost bubbling over in excitement. The bracelets on her wrist make a tinkling noise that I feel in my teeth. “It’s a newer festival, and Sway thinks this will be a good fit for your brand evolution.”

Sway thinks. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“My brand evolution.”

“Yes.”

“Is it run by a small business?” I’m distracted by the half-naked bodies thrusting and rolling on the screen and the strobe lights are giving me a headache. I glance through the industrial glass window to the rest of the office where employees are set up in a co-working space. A guy sitting at the corner in a beret bobs his head to the music. A woman with hot pink tips looks like she’s humming under her breath. Everyone is completely unperturbed by the three-woman rave happening in conference room two. “Does it have an interesting story?”

Maybe I’m missing something.

“You’ll be sponsored by Covergirl,” she tells me. The screen changes to a video I did about a month ago, a clip from one of my accounts of me holding up a bright orange tube of mascara, a gust of wind blowing my hair over my face. I think you see the actual product in use for less than a second. The tiny number in the lower right corner is highlighted. Over 4 million views. I wince.

I had agonized over this piece, iffy about such heavy-handed product placement. Most of my income comes from sponsorship, sure, but it lives on my blog in ad spaces. In a place where people expect it to be. But Sway had been insistent that it could be a strong experiment for more branded content and I was tired, distracted. I caved and posted a stupid video of myself promoting mascara.

And look at me now. A Covergirl sponsorship.

I should be overjoyed.

Why am I not overjoyed?

Because this isn’t where you’re supposed to be.

I shouldn’t be panicking about partnerships and promotions and music festivals. I’ve spent all of this time creating content and breaking off pieces of myself for public consumption and what do I have to show for it? An empty apartment and millions of strangers following my every move.

I’m so tired.

“I think I need to take a break.” The words slip from my mouth with a sigh, quiet but gaining strength as they settle in the space between the three of us. I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath. I lift my chin. “I’m going to take a break.”

Josie does a tiny fist pump on her side of the table.

“I’ll book you a spa package at your hotel in Okeechobee,” Kirstyn says. Something tells me Okeechobee is not known for their spas. “Oh! If you wanted to extend your trip and start in Miami, I bet we could snag you a couple of club sponsorships.”

I shake my head and nudge my teacup back to the ornate porcelain saucer. I absolutely do not want to go clubbing in Miami. “No, I mean I’m going to take a break. From all of … this.”

Kirstyn blinks up at me from behind her screen. I can see the dancing bodies from Okeechobee reflected in her oversized lenses. It’s disorienting, like something from Alice in Wonderland. She gapes at me, hands held perfectly still just overtop the keyboard. “Like a hiatus?”