“Elle’s roommate locked herself out, so we had to run to her place, and we just ended up hanging out there,” Scarlett says, leaning against the doorway of my study. “We ordered pizza and did peel-off face masks and watched this really cheesy movie on Netflix. But it was fun.”
“Ah.” I imagine the three of them gathered around Elle’s living room—not that I know what it looks like, but I picture it like something out of a chick flick. Quirky throw pillows. A velvet sofa in some whimsical color. Potted plants. A flickering candle that smells like boutique perfume. “Well, that sounds like a lovely time.”
“They’ve been best friends since college,” Scarlett volunteers. “They’ve lived together for almost a decade or something like that. And they’ve only gotten into two fights ever—both times over stupid stuff.”
I page through the magazine in my lap and offer a simple “Riveting.”
While Elle is nothing short of intriguing to me, I’d be doing myself no favors becoming invested in her personal life.
“Elle showed me a picture of her sisters,” Scarlett continues. “Did you know she has three? And she’s the oldest. Her youngest one’s getting married at the end of next month. And all of their names start with E . . . Emma, Evie, and . . . I forget the other one’s name.”
Her lips twist at the side as she snaps her fingers.
This is the most I’ve heard her talk about anything in months.
“Eden,” she says. “That’s the other one. But Evie’s the one getting married. And she’s marrying Elle’s ex-boyfriend’s little brother. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Absolutely wild.” I flick another page before glancing up. “Oh, Scarlett. Your English Comp instructor emailed me today about the paper you recently submitted. Said it was your best work yet—and not only that but the best one in the class.”
Her eyes light, and a faint smile paints her lips.
“Very proud of you,” I say. “You know, if writing is something that interests you, I’m sure Elle could give you a few pointers.”
Dragging in an exhausted breath, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. “Yeah. Guess I’ve never really thought about it before.”
“You have plenty of time to figure out what you’re good at in this world, but the sooner you find out, the easier life gets,” I say. “I speak from experience. Learn your strengths and never look back.”
I learned long ago that acting like you had it all was a one-way ticket to having it all. I’d been out of college a few years, working dead-end jobs and barely making rent, when I’d stumbled upon an article about YouTubers making millions of dollars creating videos about mundane, everyday things. They were mostly ten- or fifteen-minute day-in-the-life sorts of things, but I quickly realized the ones with the fancy houses in the background and the killer wheels and the slick haircuts were racking up all the views. Not only that, but the most successful vloggers were spilling content over to other social media platforms, growing their fandoms and doubling down on affiliate commissions, promotional contracts, and overall notoriety.
While I didn’t have a dime to my name, I had connections.
A best friend with a vintage Porsche.
A cousin in beauty school needing to practice men’s cuts.
A local photographer trying to build his high-fashion portfolio.
A buddy with a rich uncle who let me rent out his luxuriously appointed guesthouse for dirt cheap as long as I kept an eye on his place when he was gone on business.
For two solid years, I Great Gatsby’d my way to a multimillion-user following, and in the proverbial blink of an eye, I found myself making cameos and appearances, being interviewed on morning talk shows and for various men’s magazines.
Just like that, a certified nobody named West Maxwell became an international household name. But all the money, sex appeal, media coverage, and influence in the world could never fill the void Will left when he died.
The satisfaction of my milestones was always short lived. Little bursts of wonderful would always sizzle out. I’ve found that’s been a running theme in my life so far—nothing ever lasts.
Honestly, I’m not sure how long Made Man will be around. If it were up to me, it’d be forever. I’m doing everything in my power to push it to the top, working around the clock to secure the hottest talent for our covers, pushing my writers to churn out the most relevant content, and listening to my readers’ invaluable feedback. Our third year in business, we blew our competitors out of the water fivefold in sales, and ten years in, we’re number one in our niche. But print media is dying a slow, painful death. Sooner or later, I imagine we’ll be strictly online, and I’m prepping a team who will take us wholly into the digital stratosphere over the coming years.