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)
She set a coffee and a tiny pitcher in front of me. “Oat milk creamer,” she said proudly.
“Oh. Wow. Thank you,” I said, inexplicably touched.
“No trouble. Anything for a friend of Maddox’s. You two looked mighty fine over at the Marian place yesterday,” she tossed out at full volume before disappearing to the kitchen.
Her words seemed to be a signal all the other diners in the place were waiting for. My breakfast quickly became a whirlwind of whispered comments from people sitting nearby, pointed glances from others, and actual conversations with the people brave enough to walk up and speak to me.
“It’s so nice to see Maddox smile again,” an older woman said wistfully. “You know he lost a little of his sparkle when he lost his parents, may they rest in peace.”
Another guy narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t you go distracting Maddox from his job now, you hear? Sullivan Hardware’s been our local go-to longer than you’ve been alive.”
It was small-town trial by fire, and by the time I finished my waffles—apparently, they were my “usual” now—I felt like I’d been run through a gauntlet.
It only got worse when I got back to the cabin and answered Vic’s call.
“Adrian! My sweet moneymaking angel!” His voice was so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “Have you seen the numbers? Have you seen the numbers?”
“You messaged me about them before dawn.” I switched to speaker so I could open my laptop on the coffee table. The numbers had only multiplied since breakfast. They were too big to fully wrap my head around. “They’re… impressive.”
“Impressive? Darling, they’re fucking spectacular. I’ve never seen engagement like this on your account. Ever. Not even that time you ‘accidentally’ fell in the pool at the Santorini shoot.”
I winced at the memory. That “accidental” fall had been meticulously planned, right down to the specific white linen shirt that would become perfectly translucent when wet.
“The comments are giving me life,” Vic continued. “Everyone’s shipping you and Mountain Man. You’ve created a monster, baby, and everyone loves a monster, especially a hot, grumpy one.”
“I didn’t create anything,” I protested, ignoring the twinge of annoyance at Vic’s reference to Maddox. “Maddox is a photographer and videographer. A talented one. And a good guy. When my original date got sick, he stepped in as an emergency solution—”
“Well, that emergency solution is now your golden ticket! Nordique is thrilled. Just got a call from their marketing director—the director, babe—raving about you. This is exactly what they were hoping for.”
I sucked in a breath. “They said that?”
“Yes, with the small caveat that you need to ‘stay luxe,’ whatever the fuck that means. I’m assuming they want you to keep featuring their fancy shit while exchanging smoldering glances with Lumberjack Ken—”
“His name is Maddox,” I corrected automatically, then immediately regretted it when Vic made a knowing “mmhmm” sound.
“Listen,” he said, suddenly serious. “This is a gift. The algorithm gods have smiled upon you. Lean into it.”
“Lean into what, exactly?” I asked, already pretty sure I knew.
“The chemistry, darling,” he said, confirming my suspicion. “The unexpected romance angle. The luxury-meets-rustic narrative. It’s fresh, it’s engaging, and most importantly, it’s selling.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “There is no romance angle, Vic. Maddox is the videographer. That’s all. He didn’t sign up for any of this other stuff.”
Vic was quiet for a moment, then made a disapproving noise. “That’s a shame. But you’re on with a firefighter today, right? See if you can spark some flames with him, and then everyone will forget about Maddrian. Let’s make hay while the sun shines.”
I didn’t inform him the firefighter had canceled and Maddox had already agreed to stand in. That would only add fuel to Vic’s fire.
“I’ll try my best. In the meantime, see if you can start lining something up for January. A tropical haven, preferably. I wasn’t meant to live in a place like this. I’m wearing two pairs of socks, Vic. Two.”
After ending the call with Vic, I flopped back against the sofa pillows and stared at the ceiling. The analytics on my phone continued to update, numbers climbing in real time.
I should have been thrilled. I was thrilled. This kind of organic viral momentum was what every influencer dreamed about and could convince Nordique to offer me a permanent contract.
But I was also conflicted because my success had come from the one element I hadn’t planned or controlled—Maddox Sullivan.
Grumpy, refreshingly real, frustratingly attractive Maddox, who clearly wanted nothing to do with me or my “content farm.” Who’d agreed to help me so the town matchmakers would lay off him and had been thrown from the frying pan into the fire.
I switched from Instagram back to my text window and scrolled up to our earlier exchange, the one in which I’d suggested a local ski instructor could step in.