Follow Me Under

by HELEN HARDT

  She doesn’t have to say it. I know already.

  “The fact that you’re dating Braden Black has made you an instant celebrity.”

  Of course it has.

  My skill as a photographer and copywriter means nothing next to my affiliation with Braden.

  I smile, trying not to show my disappointment.

  Why should I be disappointed, anyway? I already knew this.

  “You have a natural beauty,” Shaylie continues. “You’re approachable.”

  In other words, I’m average.

  I keep the smile pasted on my face.

  “You have a lovely figure, as well. You’re not supermodel thin—”

  Gee. Thanks for pointing that out.

  “But you’ll look good in many different kinds of fashions.”

  I must seem confused, because she stops.

  “Do you have a question, Skye?”

  I clear my throat. “I do. You’re a cosmetics company. Why would the way I look in clothing have anything to do with my posts? Aren’t you concerned with what my makeup looks like?”

  She laughs lightly. Is she laughing at me? I’m not sure.

  “Fashion is related to all marketing,” Shaylie says, her tone only slightly condescending. “The better you look in all areas, the more the masses will rely on you for advice.”

  Am I supposed to know that? I’m a photographer, not a marketing expert.

  But I need to be. I need to be a marketing expert if I’m going to be an influencer. Influencing is marketing.

  I almost hear those words in Braden’s voice, as if he planted them in my head.

  Again, I resist squirming against the jewel in my ass.

  I worked with Addie for more than a year. She was always dressed to the nines. At the time, I figured she wore expensive clothing because she was rich and could afford it. That was probably part of the case, but perhaps she dressed fashionably for her business as well.

  How many times have I posted while dressed in old jeans and a tank? Granted, I never posted if I looked like crap, but still…

  Big problem, though. I can’t afford the kinds of clothes Addie wears. Which is not apparent from the clothes I’m currently wearing.

  Shaylie continues, “We’re looking for a way to make our products more accessible to the common person.”

  Common person. Not a hotel heiress. A regular working girl.

  Skye Manning, average working girl.

  Great.

  “We’ve devised a campaign for you to introduce and promote our new line of Susanne Cosmetics. It will be called Susie Girl by Susanne, and the products will be available in pharmacies and big-box stores like Walmart and Target.”

  “But—”

  “This is a wonderful opportunity, Skye,” Eugenie interrupts. “We’re making our brand available to the masses, and we think you’re just the face for this launch.”

  “I’m honored,” I say, hoping I sound sincere, “but you said my posts for the Cherry Russet lip stain were successful.”

  “And they were. Very successful. We’re happy to have you continue with them, but you stand to make a lot more money with this new opportunity. We have other ways to promote our luxury line.”

  Other ways. Addison Ames.

  That’s why she was here.

  A lump fills my throat. What did I expect? I’m a nobody.

  “This is something you can do that no one else can,” Shaylie goes on. “You’re a fresh face. And you’re the girlfriend of our country’s most famous blue-collar billionaire, a man who personifies the American dream. That’s what this Instagram campaign is about. Anyone can find and afford Susanne Cosmetics.”

  Making the American dream all about cosmetics? That’s a new one. What will Braden think?

  “That’s the general idea. I’ll turn it over to Brian now, and he’ll explain our compensation plan.”

  Brian, a young man with a receding blond hairline and dark-blue eyes, begins his presentation on the projector.

  “The Susie line has been in the works for a couple of years,” he begins. “Originally, we were planning a huge magazine ad and television ad launch with limited social media advertising”—he smiles—“and then you came along.”

  I widen my eyes.

  “Does that surprise you?” he asks.

  “Of course it does.”

  “We have a lot of confidence in you, Skye,” Brian says. “You have the look of America’s sweetheart.”

  He means Braden Black’s sweetheart, but whatever.

  “Surely you’re not pinning this entire campaign on me,” I say.

  “Of course not. We’re still doing the television and magazine marketing. But we’ve added a large social media component to our plan. For you.”

  “I’m…honored.” I guess.

  “Let me outline the compensation plan,” Brian says. “I think you’ll be very happy with it.” A spreadsheet appears on the screen. “Susie Girl features a skin-care line as well as a cosmetics line. A hair-care line is in the works.”

  “Hair care?” I ask.

  “Yes. It’s a new venture for us, but if Susie is a success, we want to add premium salon-quality hair-care products at a bargain price.”

  “I see.”

  “We’ll begin the launch with three posts per week featuring cosmetics and skin-care products. You’ll be compensated at four thousand dollars per week while under contract, plus—and this is where you can make some real money—one cent per like on each post, an additional cent for each comment, and five cents for each sale we can trace back to your post.”

  “How can you possibly trace sales to my post?”

  “It’s a complicated algorithm. I can explain it if you’d like, but it’s outlined in the prospectus.” He nods toward the document sitting in front of me, which I only now notice.

  I really wish Braden were here. He’d understand all of this.

  “That’s not necessary,” I say. Braden can look at the prospectus and explain it to me later.

  “When Shaylie talked about fashion,” Brian continues, “she didn’t mean you need to be wearing designer clothing. We’re marketing to the masses. All we care about is that you wear something different each day and that you look fresh and polished. Jeans are fine as long as they’re not ripped or too faded. We want to appeal to all walks of life. Some days you should wear business clothing, like what you have on today. Other days, go casual. Workout clothes are fine as well. If you’re shooting at a beach, wear a swimsuit.”

  I nod.

  “Don’t hesitate to get personal,” he says. “Your post wearing a sheet like a toga was wildly successful.”

  My cheeks warm. I posted that from Braden’s bedroom in Boston. Did they know that? How could they not? The harbor was in the background.

  “The reason Instagram influencing works,” Brian says, “is because your followers feel like they’re getting to know you. They talk to you via your account, and they get excited if you respond. They’ll take advice from a friend more than a stranger on TV. You are the perfect friend, Skye.”

  I clear my throat. “How soon do I need to let you know?”

  “About what?”

  “About whether I want to do this?”

  “Skye,” Eugenie said, “this is a huge opportunity.”

  “I know it is, and I appreciate it, but I don’t sign anything without having an attorney review it.”

  Eugenie smiles. She knows. She knows Braden will review it. “The launch is scheduled for next week,” she says. “If you could let us know within twenty-four hours, we’d appreciate it.”

  I nod. “I can do that. Thank you.”

  “If you’ll open your prospectus to page four,” Brian says, “I’ll take you through the proposed schedule.”

  Chapter T
hirty-Three

  “It’s a good deal,” Braden says, closing the prospectus. “You already get about ten thousand likes now, which will earn you a hundred per post. Three posts a week to start—that’s three hundred plus the four grand they pay you per week under the contract. Add in the extra for comments and sales… Plus the number of likes and comments will go up as you gain more of a following.”

  “It’s a drugstore line of cosmetics, Braden.”

  “So what?”

  “They want people like Addie for their luxury line.”

  “Who cares why they want Addie? She’s not your concern.”

  “It’s like Addie’s the Dom Pérignon and I’m the André Cold Duck.”

  He laughs. “Maybe a more apt metaphor would be that Addie’s the Pappy Van Winkle’s fifteen year and you’re the Wild Turkey?”

  I smile. “When you put it that way…”

  “Skye, you’re not average. You aren’t now and you never were. Do you really think I’d choose someone average to be my girlfriend?”

  “That’s not the point,” I say.

  “It’s exactly the point. You’re not Addison Ames, and from where I’m standing, that’s a good thing. This is an incredible opportunity. They’re unveiling a line of brand-new products, and they want you to help launch them.”

  “What if they flop?”

  “What if they do? You’re under contract, and the contract guarantees you your base pay of four thousand dollars per week for three months. That’s roughly forty-eight grand. You’ll still make more money than you ever have, gain more of a following, and come out smelling like a rose.”

  “Why didn’t they just get Addie or someone else with a huge following?”

  “Because they want you.”

  “Because of you. They tried to tell me I’m selling the American dream. Apparently, the American dream is cheap cosmetics and being Braden Black’s girlfriend.”

  “Okay, their sales pitch may leave something to be desired. I’ll grant you that. But they want you because you’re not Addie. That’s pretty clear.”

  I pause a moment. Then, “Addie was there. At Susanne Corporate.”

  “When?”

  “This morning. She was leaving as I got there.”

  “So?”

  “So…she knew about the butt plug, Braden.” I squirm.

  He wrinkles his forehead. Only slightly, but I notice.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “She texted me.” I quickly show him the texts. “She knew about the nipple clamps at the gala as well. How does she know all this? Did you use the same things on her?”

  “What I did with her isn’t up for discussion.”

  “But—”

  “Damn it, Skye.” He throws the prospectus down onto the table. “We’ve been through this. You have to let it go.”

  “It’d be a lot easier to let it go if she didn’t know I was wearing a butt plug today.”

  “How could she have possibly known?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Do you think I told her?”

  “No. Of course not. I just don’t—”

  “I’ve already told you I won’t discuss her with you. Why do you keep bringing it up? Is this what you want? To fight?”

  “I don’t want to fight. I just want to know how—”

  “I don’t know how she knows, Skye. Jesus Christ! Why do you even care? Block her fucking number on your phone, for God’s sake!”

  Huh. Good idea, and I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it. Still—

  “I see your mind working. Give this up. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.”

  I pull my phone out of my purse and let my finger hover over Addie’s number, poised to block it. I should. No more snide texts from her. She could still email me. Still comment on my posts. So really, what would this accomplish, other than feeling like I did something, no matter how small?

  “I’m thinking,” Braden says, “that this trip isn’t the best time to introduce you to the other facets of my lifestyle.”

  My heart drops to my stomach. “Why not?”

  “I’m not certain I have your complete trust, Skye, and trust is paramount for what I’ll be introducing you to.”

  “You mean the bondage stuff? Like in the book?”

  “That…and other things.”

  My body heats. I’ve been apprehensive, yes, but I want to know all of Braden. “Please. Don’t keep this part of your life from me.”

  “I fear you’re not ready. The fact that you haven’t yet gotten over my involvement with Addison—”

  No. No, no, no. Addie will not ruin this for me. I put my phone away without blocking her number. “I am ready.”

  He meets my gaze, his own blazing. “It’s not all pretty.”

  “That’s okay.”

  And it is. In fact, not pretty appeals to me at this moment.

  He regards me sternly and completely, studying me as though he’s trying to read something secret in my mind.

  Except I have no secrets from Braden. He knows all of me. I wish I could say the same.

  “Please,” I say again, softly.

  “Are you going to sign this contract?” he asks.

  I nod. “If you think it’s a good idea.”

  “I see nothing wrong with it. You come out fine even if the products tank.”

  I grab the contract and scribble my signature.

  “I’ll have a courier deliver this to Eugenie in the morning,” he says.

  “And…?” I ask.

  “And what?”

  “And…what about tonight? About…”

  “All right, Skye. I’ll show you.”

  But his demeanor is dark and indecisive, as if he’s afraid he’s making a mistake.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Braden’s and my celebratory dinner is put on hold when Eugenie texts me, inviting us both to join her and her team at one of Braden’s favorite restaurants. We arrive, and the maître d’ leads us to their table, where they’re already seated.

  “Mr. Black,” Eugenie says, standing, “Eugenie Blake. So nice to finally meet you.”

  “And you. Please call me Braden.”

  “Of course, Braden.” She introduces Shaylie, Brian, and Louisa. “We’re so excited to bring Skye on board.”

  “Nice to see all of you again,” I say. “I’ve been reviewing the contract.”

  “Oh, no business tonight,” she says. “This is a dinner for all of us to get to know one another better.”

  I smile. Sounds good to me. I’ve already signed anyway, but she doesn’t need to know that yet. Let her try to woo me, if that’s indeed what she’s trying to do. I’m not sure of anything at the moment.

  Eugenie fires question after question at Braden, which irks me a little but doesn’t surprise me. We all know why I’m here.

  Because of Braden.

  You’re a fraud.

  Stop it!

  I peruse the menu and settle on grilled tilapia. Braden explained earlier that I need to be comfortable and not overly full for this evening.

  Eugenie and Braden dominate the conversation while I sip water and nibble on a salad.

  They dominate the conversation while I pick at my fish, leaving more than half.

  They dominate the conversation during after-dinner coffee and cognac as well.

  I’ve become invisible.

  …

  Back at the penthouse, Braden hands me a garment bag. “Put these on.”

  I take the bag from him. “Okay.” I lay it on the bed and unzip the vinyl. Inside is a corset, garter belt, lace thong, and fishnet stockings. My eyes widen.

  “I’ll help you with the corset,” he says. “I
want it nice and tight.”

  “O…kay.” I peel my designer business clothes from my body as I throb all over.

  Braden removed the anal plug before dinner, and I feel oddly naked without it. Perhaps I’d have felt less invisible at dinner if I were still wearing it. Will he put it back in after I’m dressed in these gorgeously sexy things?

  He watches, his eyes heavy-lidded, as I don the thong, the stockings, and I fasten them to the garter belt. He stands, heads to his closet, brings out a shoebox, and hands it to me.

  I’m topless, and I open the shoebox. I gasp. Inside, against black tissue paper, lies a pair of platform stiletto sandals.

  “Braden, I’ll trip and—”

  “Put them on,” he commands.

  I sit down on the bed and slide the shoes onto my feet, buckling them into place.

  He groans low in his throat. “Stand. I’ll help you with the corset.”

  I obey and adjust the corset over my breasts and abdomen.

  “Turn,” he says.

  I comply, my back now to him.

  “A corset is an amazing piece of clothing,” he says as he laces it up the back. “It’s sexy as hell, of course, but it’s also a method of control. I can control how you look, the size of your waist.” He tightens it, and I inhale sharply. “It’s a type of bondage.”

  His words turn me on more than they should. “Braden…”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to breathe fine. Trust me. Besides, you won’t wear this all night.”

  “Are you going to tie me up tonight?” I ask, anxious but excited. “Like in the book?”

  “Maybe,” he says, his breath a hot whisper against my neck. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  I look around the room. “It’s different here. So bare. Do you have another room? Like in Fifty Shades of Grey?”

  He chuckles. “Never read it.”

  “Oh.”

  “I think what you’re asking me is whether I have a dungeon in this penthouse. The answer is no.”