Roughing It

2. Blakely

CHAPTER TWO

blakely

FORTY DAYS EARLIER

“Don’t forget my BBs; today only, you can use code BBHairCare for twenty percent off your purchase of a custom shampoo and conditioner set from Stellar Strands.”

I toss my expertly colored honey-blonde locks, ensuring the light hits them at the best angle to emphasize the shine. “And as always, thanks for joining me in today’s live! You guys are amazing. Remember, if you can’t make it to a live, they are available in my stories after they end!” I give the camera a picture-perfect smile and inflect my voice to maximize engagement and convey sincerity. I’m a master in the art of connecting with people I’ve never met.

With a wink and a kiss, I sign off, hearts, likes, and comments flowing in, propelling the serotonin boost only social media can give my needy brain. It floods my veins, and like an addict, I chase the high daily. But it never lasts.

Already, the buzz is slipping away. As I pack away my ring light and stand, the quiet inside my apartment surrounds me. Of course, there are ambient noises. Downtown Austin is never truly silent. I tilt my head, soaking in the sounds—the endless symphony of car engines, tires on roads, the never-ending construction, university students and workers making their way home—the nameless hum of a place alive and vibrant all hours of the day. Usually, I love it and the welcome distraction it brings me. Tonight, though, it isn’t enough.

Lately, I’ve been questioning everything about my life, which is ridiculous. On paper, I’m goals. Money comes in a steady stream. I have a manager who keeps me booked with local events and online companies, connections with cosmetic and clothing stores, and over a million followers across my various social media channels. I’m living the new American Dream.

So what’s missing?

Someone to share my life with. That’s what, or rather who , is missing. While I excel at connecting with people through a screen, I can’t do the same with the ones I see every day.

My ex made our lack of connection crystal clear when he publicly dumped me for another local social media ingenue—one with a fast-rising star—on the eve of my thirty-third birthday. Turns out he’d been sleeping with her pretty much the entire time we were together. Months later, I’m still recovering from the sting of that fiasco.

I put on a brave mask, of course. Made jokes about not falling into the standard post-breakup blues. No drunk dialing, no cutting bangs, no sex relapses. I actually did a whole series on it. It did killer numbers.

But what do I have to show at the end of the day? A perfectly lonely apartment with a stunning view of downtown Austin. Each room is carefully curated for peak return on investment, not because I like the color scheme or uncomfortable designer furniture. Those same rooms sit unused by anyone besides the woman who cleans twice a month.

Ugh, I need to snap out of this pity party, stat. This isn’t who I am. I’m Blakely Bradshaw. Influencer. South by Southwest darling. Living my best life in the eyes of the public.

Squaring my shoulders, I scroll through my contacts, passing by friends’ names, not texting any of them. If I’m totally honest, friends is too kind a word for ninety percent of the names in my phone. What’s less than an acquaintance but more than a stranger? Most see me as one of two things: a free ride or a way to boost their fledgling social media careers.

Still, a hanger-on who pretends to listen is better than being alone in my too-empty apartment with my too-loud thoughts, right?

I pause on Mia’s contact info. She’s the best of the worst. I can always count on her for a fun night, at the very least.

Hey! Free tonight?

Mia

Depends.

Typical.

How about dancing and drinking?

Mia

Always. Folklore at ten.

Plans for the evening set, I scrounge up a pre-made meal from the fridge and pop it in the microwave. As I ponder my existence and wait for my keto lasagna, a notification interrupts my thoughts. A peek at my phone screen causes instant regret.

It’s one of those notifications. Do I maybe have a few keywords set up for immediate notification? Yes. Are they specifically focused on negative things? Also yes. Am I financing my therapist’s beach house? Triple yes.

Bracing myself, I read the snippet visible on the screen.

UR such a spoiled little rich girl who can’t do anything

Sliding my thumb along the lock screen, I pull up the full message.

UR such a spoiled little rich girl who can’t do anything. Getting by on your looks. It’s not like you have any actual talent. Must be nice to be a drain on society.

I waste no timing in deleting it. This one is mild. Worse comments come in on a regular basis. While I definitely give too much power to the way others view me, there are some comments I’m numb to. Being called spoiled and talentless are two of them.

When I first started, the comments from nameless, faceless trolls telling me how wretched and awful I am hurt. I took them personally. Cried.

A lot.

Now, I manage to ignore all but the worst. I like to say I’m coping by forcing myself to grow thicker skin. My therapist disagrees with me. She says I have a negativity bias and a tendency towards rumination. I say coping is coping.

Though it’s possible the paid professional is right.

Hours later, I slip past the line and enter the crowded club. All I want is a night of dancing and drinking. If I happen to flirt with a gorgeous specimen, so be it. I’m not taking anyone home, but it’s always nice to be appreciated .

Mia sidles up to me, her glossy black hair piled in messy ringlets on her head, a gold dress clinging to her curves. Her phone is already out, one platform open and livestreaming. She pulls me into the frame, and immediately, I’m on.

I curl the tail of my ponytail around my finger and grin into the camera, tilting my chin to let the overhead disco lights bring out the blue in my eyes. I do a little shimmy, the sparkles in my wide-leg jumpsuit setting off my tan. Squishing my face to Mia’s, I giggle. “Hey, y’all! My girl, Moments With Mia, and I are painting the town red tonight! Hit us up if you’re out and about.”

Giving the camera my signature wink and kiss, I slip out of the frame and visibly relax, my posture dropping, no longer worried about playing up my angles for the camera.

Flagging down the bartender, I bat my lashes. “Margarita on the rocks, no salt.” The heady combination of lime, tequila, and triple sec burns so good. Each sip mixes with the heavy pulse of the electronic music. Together, they drum out any lingering negative thoughts, and I fall into the steady beat until my worries and loneliness fade away.

I’m not lonely. I’m surrounded by people.

Right. Me and my two hundred closest friends.

No, brain, we are not going there tonight. Fresh drink in hand, I make my way onto the dance floor and let the music drive my body. It doesn’t take long for a handsome college-age boy to slink up next to me. Oh, the confidence of youth. Whatever. He can dance, and that’s what I’m looking for tonight.

Several songs and another margarita later, I wriggle a finger at College Boy. “Any chance you’re headed to the bar? I’d love a bottle of water.” My vowels are getting long. My West Texas slips out when I’ve had a couple of drinks.

College Boy doesn’t seem to mind my accent. He nods eagerly and races to the bar.

See? Totally not alone. Or lonely. I’ve got College Boy. Though I’d prefer it if he took two steps back.

Mia nudges me, dancing into my space. “Find a puppy to do your bidding?”

I shrug. “He’s sweet. I figure he’s probably thirsty, anyway.”

“Oh, he’s thirsty.” She pops her hip. “Taking him home?”

“No, he’s too young. Have to throw him back.”

Mia’s loud laugh draws attention to us. As if on cue, we both smile. You never know when your picture could end up online.

Leaning in, I raise my voice enough to be heard over the music. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

“What?”

“This. The attention and having to always be picture ready when you’re out, even though we really aren’t anyone worth mentioning. Being alone when you’re surrounded by people.”

Her sour look throws me. “Speak for yourself. I am absolutely worth mentioning. Don’t drag me down just because you have self-esteem issues now that you’re firmly in your thirties.”

Before I can reply to her catty remarks, she glances behind me with a smug grin. “Your puppy is back.”

Well, hell.

Another hour of sweaty dancing and strong margaritas has me feeling no pain. No doubt. No fear of being alone. Nothing but the music and the booze.

And College Boy’s hands in places they should not be. Nope. Not happening.

Slipping out of his octopi-esque hold, I give him what I hope is a non-annoyed smile. “Hey, um…” Crap, what’s his name? “Thanks for the dances, but I’m calling it a night.”

“Cool, let’s get out of here. ”

“No, sorry if I wasn’t clear. I’m going home alone.”

He frowns. “Seriously? You’re bailing on me?”

“I’m not sure what you think is happening.” He stares at me like I owe him something. I am so not in the mood for this. “It’s been a long day. Enjoy your night.” I spin on my heels and make my way to the exit, but a hard tug on my arm stops me in my tracks.

“Don’t be such a tease. With the way you killed those drinks and how you were dancing on me, I figure you’re more than down.” College Boy is close enough for me to smell the beer on his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Your friend told me you play hard to get and like an aggressive alpha-male type. She said that’s what older women are into.” He tilts his head towards Mia, who smirks and gives me a wave. “So let’s go to my place, and I’ll show you how much of a man I am.”

I can’t help it. I bust out a loud cackle. He’s got to be shitting me.

College Boy’s face darkens, and his hold on my arm tightens. But for the life of me, I can’t stop laughing. If this twenty-two-year-old man-child thinks he’s showing me anything else tonight, he’s got another thing coming.

With my free hand, I snag my phone from my jumpsuit pocket and text the bouncer, Glenn. Pro tip: it pays to know who’s mixing your drinks and working the door. Seconds later, the reassuring shadow cast by Glenn’s massive frame melts my tension away.

“This kid bothering you, BB?”

Jerking out of the butt munch’s grasp, I turn big eyes on Glenn. “Yes. He doesn’t understand that no means no, and you guys have a zero-tolerance policy.”

“Damn straight we do.” Glenn grabs College Boy by the collar, and in a blink, I’m back to being alone. Only this time, I don’t mind it so much.

Mia bolts over, faux worry playing on her pretty face. “BB! Babe! Are you okay? I can’t believe the puppy put his hands on you!”

I don’t even pretend to believe her. Instead, I scowl without speaking until she squirms.

“Whatever the kid told you, I had your best interest in mind.”

Putting on my sweetest smile, I step closer to Mia. “Telling a random guy in a bar I like aggressive men, that’s in my best interest?”

She waves dismissively. “Please. He was harmless. Friend to friend, you need a good dicking. You’ve been off ever since Ryan dumped you. Maybe you should try to get him back.”

“He cheated on me.”

Mia shrugs. “Yeah, but he’s so good for your brand.”

So much for sisterly solidarity. I beeline straight to the exit. I need out of here. The club, yes, but maybe the town, too.

The early October air cools my skin, and I let the background noise of the city calm me. Twenty minutes and one chatty rideshare later, I’m home, scrubbed of makeup and College Boy’s touch, curled up in the one room in my showplace apartment that is truly me. It’s also the only one I never film in. No, this space is all mine.

Pulling my plush purple comforter to my chin, I scroll through my socials. I thumb through my feed, ignoring the snarky comments and hearting the kind ones. I’m about to close out the app, ready to be done with the day, when a tagged post catches my attention. It’s me at the club, dancing with College Boy. Great. I have a margarita and a far off expression as I sway to the music. The caption says Blakely Bradshaw is a bitch and a tease. Left me high and dry tonight after acting like she wanted it all night.

That little punk. Expecting sex from a partner because they danced together, or for any reason, is dangerous. I’d like for someone to teach him a lesson. With their fist.

My damn cat-killing curiosity gets the best of me, and I open the comments. The most liked ones are at the top, my attention instantly drawn to them.

urMomisafour: That’s bullshit, man. Girls like that are always cock teases. Think they’re too good for us regular guys. Love to see her try and live without her team of stylists and sycophants for a week. Doubt she’d even make it twenty-four hours.

InsrtScr33nHere: Right? Bet she’s ugly as shit without all that makeup and filtering.

OverIt: Naw, she’s still a fox. With a personality like that, she’d have to be.

GeekGuad: Someone should drop her spoiled ass in the middle of nowhere, Naked and Afraid style. I’d tune in to that train wreck.

Maybe it’s the lingering effects of the alcohol or the adrenaline from the drama on the dance floor, but these random comments spark an idea. One that will get me away from this place while affording me guaranteed content. It’s perfect.

For the first time in days, a real smile pulls at my lips. I can’t wait to spring this on my manager.

“Dammit, Kirk! This is a great idea!” I spring up, my chair falling over with my sudden rise.

Kirk raises his slim shoulders. “Blakely, it’s a fantastic idea, but also dangerous. An unknown guide, the wilderness. Maybe we should pitch this idea to Ryan?”

I squeak at the sound of my ex’s name. “Ryan? Are you shitting me right now, Kirk? No way. One, he’d never be willing to leave town for a month. Two, he’s never lived anywhere besides Austin. Three, he’s a douche canoe.”

Kirk fights off a grin. “I’m not sure your third reason is valid to the discussion. And to your second point, despite how you grew up?—”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

Holding his hands out placatingly, Kirk motions me to sit. “Calm down. I’m not saying no.”

At my glare, he stops talking. “It’s my idea, and it makes more sense for me to go! Besides…” I inhale slowly and flip personalities, pushing down my anger to draw on my social media darling voice, the voice I perfected as I became Blakely Bradshaw , social media influencer extraordinaire. “The buzz will be amazing; I’m the ultimate city girl. The draw of me spending a month roughing it in the country practically writes itself. Documenting my experiences—hiking, communing with nature, shooting a bow, or whatever you do in the wilderness.” I play dumb and wave my hand as I continue, not giving Kirk a chance to stop me before I’ve said my full share. “People love a fish out of water story, and there’s no cuter fish than me. Admit it. I’m right.”

Anxious pangs flutter in my stomach when Kirk doesn’t respond right away. His sharp brown eyes take on a far-off look. The one that means he’s running through potential liabilities, pros, and cons. He’s the best at his job; there’s no question about it. He’s taken his roster of social media clientele to entirely new levels in the few years he’s managed us, picking up several musicians and artists along the way. International investors are knocking at the door, looking to buy into his management firm and expand it.

“Blakely, we can make this work, and it’s a fantastic idea. But, and don’t take this the wrong way, look at yourself.” Kirk grabs me and walks me down the hall to one of the many full-length mirrors mounted around KJ Media Management headquarters.

I wink at my reflection, my face fully made up, my nails recently manicured, my blonde hair perfectly styled. Then it hits me—Kirk’s point. Can I make it thirty days without all this?

Straightening, I meet his gaze in the reflection. I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, and I’m not about to now. I drop the Blakely Bradshaw shield and let Kirk see me—the real me.

“I need the break away from,” the words are thick in my throat, “my lonely apartment. Away from having to be on all the time.”

He gently squeezes my bruised arm. Concern floods his features at my flinch. “BB, what happened?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Honestly.” I slip off my cardigan and show him the light bruises on my skin. Before he can say anything, I cover the marks. “Last night, some kid at Folklore didn’t get it when I told him I wasn’t interested. Coupled with Mia’s reaction and some feelings I’ve been fighting for a while now, I… I need this, Kirk.”

Desperate for a change in subject I flash a bright smile, thankful when Kirk lets me play pretend. “Plus, I’m no fool. I didn’t make it this far without knowing a good shtick when I see one. This is a career-changing move.”

I face my manager and friend, shoulders back, head high. “People will tune in just to watch me fail—I won’t,” I say with a toss of my hair, “but it’ll draw tons of fans and haters alike. ”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll take care of the arrangements. I’ll ensure you have Wi-Fi at the cabin to upload stills and large recorded videos. Depending on where you end up for this, the unlimited data on your phone will hopefully work for live spots.”

Kirk paces around me as he works through the logistics of the things I wouldn’t have considered. “A week should be plenty of time to find a guide, get your things in order, buy gear, map out a few stock posts, and reach out to sponsors. We’ll need transportation—flights possibly—and a car service to drive us; that way, I can at least see you off before leaving you alone for a month.”

In a teasing tone, Kirk adds, “You’ll have electricity and indoor plumbing, but the idea is to see you in the country. The untamed wild. Maybe leave the beauty queen look and designer threads at home?”

Tapping my chin, I hum. I’ll have to really streamline my morning routine.

“So, assuming I can find someone willing to agree to this, what’s their plus?”

“It’s a ton of free publicity for their business, plus a month with me in a cabin. Who wouldn’t want that?” My stomach rolls when I think of College Boy’s grabby hands.

As if reading my mind, Kirk bumps my shoulder. “Yes, you’re right, of course. But I mean it, Blakely. If you’re doing this, I expect daily lives, stills, and check-ins, if for no other reason than to make sure you don’t get chopped into pieces during a livestream. God, can you imagine the press?”

In a deadpan voice, I say, “Yeah, my getting turned into a wind chime would devastate your bottom line.” Kirk blanches at me. “What? You missed that episode of Criminal Minds ? All kidding aside, if you don’t want me to get killed, don’t pick a weirdo!” I can’t help but smile. I trust Kirk to thoroughly vet whoever he picks. He’d never send me into any sort of danger .

Kirk rubs his forehead. “If you weren’t so damn good?—”

“We both know you’re going to give in. Stop fighting it.”

He purses his lips, and I know I’ve won. Fist pumping in triumph, I crow, “You won’t regret this, Kirk. This will be massive!” With a giddy grin, I kiss his cheek, laughing at the blush heating his skin.

“Get out of here. I need to call my husband and tell him I’ll be late.” He dismisses me, his words softened by the friendly tone. “Finding someone who can handle you won’t be easy.”

The high I get from social media, the buoyant lightness that only comes with likes and comments, fills me now. This time, though, it’s even better. I created this happiness for myself. I made this happen.

As I bounce out the door, I call back, “I don’t know what you mean. I’m a dream, and you know it.”