Page 4 of The Broker

Charlotte

While I waited for Preston to meet me outside the restaurant, I scrolled through Instagram, and when my focus landed on an image from Blooming Sage Lotions, it sent my heart plummeting into my stomach. The headline was bolded at the top of the graphic.

Statement, it read.

As I scanned the paragraph below, my heart sank further toward my knees. Two days ago, a customer had alleged the company, which had built its brand as being cruelty free, with no animal testing—was lying.

There had been a lot of evidence, including heartbreaking pictures of animals in cages. Even if it wasn’t true, the pictures were damaging enough, but two former employees had come out since the post, confirming and expanding on the terrible things the company had done.

This statement Blooming Sage had posted?

It did absolutelynothingto help their case. It wasn’t just defensive. It laid the blame on their supplier and these disgruntled ex-employees, rather than claim any responsibility. If any animal testing had happened, they’d been completely unaware.

They played the victim.

That shit wasn’t going to fly with their customers, and a quick survey of the fiery comments proved it.

I sagged against the brick wall of the restaurant.

What the fuck was I going to do?

For the last two years I’d tried so hard to become a social media influencer. I’d spent countless hours building my platform, cultivating my network, and generating content. It had been such a struggle, and I’d had to claw my way to gain each new follower.

I loved the work, but shit—it was hard. Most of the time it was for very little return too. My father would argue my effort was wasted, but he didn’t get it. He didn’t seem to understand how important and powerful social media could be, which was ironic. He owned a multi-million-dollar talent agency, and his biggest client, Stella, was a darling of TikTok and Instagram.

This Blooming Sage fiasco was another problem I didn’t need right now. They were the first brand to reach out to me, wanting to collaborate on three sponsored posts. I’d put up the first one already, with the next one scheduled to go up tomorrow.

God, getting this contract was the only proof I’d been able to show my father that my side business wasn’t a total failure. That my dream could lead to something. A future where I wasn’t totally dependent on him.

Now I was going to have to pull down the existing reel, return the money they’d paid me, and back out of the deal. I wasn’t just appalled by the company’s lies—I couldn’t risk the blowback on my account.

The evening sun glared at me, and I started to sweat under my makeup. I’d spent the entire Uber ride getting here regretting agreeing to this date, and that was before I’d seen the Instagram post. But I’d been in town less than a month when thereceptionist at Warbler Entertainment had called in sick, and my dad asked me—no, wait—demanded I fill in for her.

I hadn’t worked at Warbler in years. But I’d done it when I was twenty, so I knew how, and now that I was broke and had no choice but to move back home, I couldn’t exactly say no.

Preston Lowe was an event planner. He’d come in with his business partner and pitched Troy Osbourne’s release party to Warbler, and after their meeting, he’d strolled right up to the front desk and asked me for my number.

Hewascute, and his cockiness was kind of sexy.

I’d been caught off guard, so I wasn’t thinking when I texted him my digits. He’d thrown a casual,“Maybe we could grab dinner or a drink sometime,” over his shoulder before leaving.

I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to the date, but my life was such a dumpster fire right now, I figured one drink wouldn’t hurt. It was flattering he was interested, and, unfortunately, I needed the ego boost.

He was a few minutes early, which was nice, but then we were told our table wasn’t ready.Table? I’d thought we were just getting drinks. While we waited, he tried to make small talk, and honestly, I wasn’t great about it. My mind was too focused on the Blooming Sage fallout.

“So, you still live at home?” I asked him, not paying attention to my tone, so it came out sounding unintentionally snotty. I didn’t mean to judge him, and I certainly had no room to. The problem was now that I’d moved back home, it meant webothlived under our parents’ roofs—while we were in our mid-twenties.

At least his business is doing well.

Once we’d been seated at our table, the date rapidly went downhill. Something was bothering him, and it was like he’d forgotten I existed. I’d been rude checking my phone when hefirst showed up, but now I was getting a taste of my own medicine.

It didn’t take me long to figure out what he was so fixated on. Or, more correctly—who. The pretty girl sitting at the table next to us was obviously going through some shit with her mom and he was very, very invested in it.

Was he nosy, or did he know her? The way he stared at her made me think so.

I tried to get him to engage with me, asking him what drink he planned to order, but I couldn’t compete with her. He was frozen in his seat, gazing at her like he was both pissed off and turned on.

When the server arrived, I placed the order for my drink. A lavender martini, which would look great with the color scheme I’d been consistent with on all my posts. But Preston didn’t order.

---