Bad Influencer by Kenzie Reed
Chapter Two
Jillian
My heart is trying to jackhammer its way out of my chest. Why are there security guards here at this time of night?
This never happens. I know that for a fact. I’ve been doing recon for the past couple of weeks, which was pretty easy for me. I bartend at the Nowhere Special lounge on the ground floor of the Bradford Building, right next to where the Billboard of Evil looms large over downtown Seattle. I’ve schmoozed with the bored security staff, bringing them snacks and gourmet coffee, and learned where their security holes are.
Well, first of all, they talked to me. That’s a security hole right there.
More importantly, I learned there’s only one security guard at the front desk from midnight to 8 a.m., and according to the intel I’ve picked up, the guard who works Monday through Friday naps at his desk from around 2 a.m. on. And he naps hard.
The billboard looks out over a small park, which is empty at night. There’s nothing valuable in the park, nothing that can be stolen unless there’s a burglar with a fetish for benches and common shrubbery. There’s no reason for multiple security guards to be there. Not at this hour.
As I scramble down, a spotlight sweeps over the sign, then another one joins it. A chill lifts the hairs on the back of my neck. They came prepared.
One of the spotlights lands on me, and I freeze.
Okay. I’m busted, but we don’t all have to go down. Bronwyn and Ari need to make a clean getaway, and I can help by distracting the guards.
Clinging tightly to the scaffolding, I look down and yell, “Oh, hello! Fancy meeting you here!”
Fancy meeting you here?Did I just say that? Am I going to offer them tea and crumpets next?
“Come down right now!” a voice bellows through the bullhorn.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing! Obviously!” I yell. I very slowly climb down one more step.
“Get a move on!” The bullhorn sends his angry voice booming up at me.
“Cool your jets!” I shout back. “I’m coming down as fast as I can! If I fall, I’ll have to sue you, and it’ll be hell on your insurance!”
I continue descending as slowly and deliberately as I dare. There are five security guards, dressed in black from head to toe, with black radios clipped to their shoulders. They look like angry ninjas. Actually, they’re so broad and bulky that they look like members of a football team dressed up as ninjas for Halloween. I don’t think they’d appreciate me telling them that, though.
I drop to the ground with a light thud, bow at the waist, and beam an enormous smile at them. “Well, hello, gentlemen. What a great night for a stroll. It’s beautiful out, am I right? I love this time of year. Not too hot, not too cold—”
“Backpack,” the bullhorn guy grunts, gesturing at it. He’s one of those no-neck guys who’s practically as broad as he is high. Muscles on top of muscles, a stiff formal bearing that says he probably spent time in the military, skin mahogany dark, hair buzz-cut in an army-style crewcut, and eyes snapping with anger.
Still stalling for time, dragging out every second I can, I bob my head agreeably. “Yes, I have one.”
Bullhorn grunts, “Hand it over.”
“Where’s your warrant?”
Does he need a warrant? I should know the answer to that question. I come from a very legal family. My older brother’s a patent attorney, and my father is a criminal court judge who’s been nominated for a federal court position. Unfortunately, I was not born with the legal eagle gene. I used to literally fall asleep at the dinner table when my dad was quizzing Theo to help him prepare for his LSATs. We’re talking snoring and drooling, or so I’m told. Theo would throw bread rolls at my head to wake me up.
Bullhorn Man grabs the backpack and yanks at it, making me stumble a step.
“Rude,” I snap.
“So’s trespassing. Give it to me.” He pulls harder.
Annoyed, I unbuckle it, slide it off my back, and hand it to him.
He unzips it and peers inside. “Well, well,” he says.
“That’s a deep subject.”
He shoots me a look of utter disgust. Okay, so I can be a bit of a smart aleck when I’m nervous.
Scowling, he tosses the backpack to one of the guards, who catches it in one hand.
He grabs me by the upper arm, gripping it a little more tightly than necessary, and marches me towards the building. At the door, he waves a security card, and the door whooshes open.
The wheels in my head are spinning as I’m hustled into the elevator. They obviously knew I was coming… but how?
Forty floors later, I’m frog-marched off the elevator, which opens into the reception area for Bradford Family Amusement Parks and Resorts, Inc. They own the building, and occupy the top few floors.
I’ve never been in here before. The red and gold reception desk is modeled to look like a ticket taker’s booth. Scattered around the room are tabletop models of Bradford family rides, with teeny people in the Ferris wheels and merry-go-rounds. Miniature hot air balloons hang from the ceiling among cottony dangling clouds. I would find it adorably whimsical if I weren’t surrounded by an angry ninja squad.
“I’ll take it from here,” Bullhorn says to his goons, then hustles me through the reception area, past a bunch of offices, and into a large rectangular conference room. The walls are adorned with framed posters of their amusement parks throughout their 125-year history.
My cranky captor shuts the door behind us and leans against the table. I glance around the empty room.
“Looking for someone?” Bullhorn growls.
I shrug. “I see the Bradfords aren’t here.” Since I made a huge amount of trouble for them with the whole Green Hills thing, and they clearly knew what I had planned tonight, you’d think they’d be here to gloat.
Do I feel a tiny prickle of disappointment at Elliott’s absence? No, I do not. Aside from the animal abuse, which is an instant dealbreaker, every time I see that jerk, he stares at me like I’m some kind of insect he’d like to swat.
And unfortunately, I see him a lot. Elliott comes to Nowhere Special pretty regularly, during the day to have lunch with his executive secretary or after work to grab a drink with some of the other employees. Every damn time, he glances my way and then makes a point of stationing himself so his back is to me. Like he can’t even stand to look at me. And it’s not because I busted his family on the animal testing lab—I’ve worked at the bar for ten months, and the testing lab incident happened six months ago.
My bartending job, oddly enough, is how I got tangled up in this whole affair in the first place. In addition to bartending, I’m an influencer. Before the lab incident, I’d built up a following of a few thousand for my MyFace account dedicated to fighting animal abuse. Ari, Bronwyn and I would dress up in costumes and go to protests, then post the pictures.
Justice 4 Animals, a shadowy online activist group, found out that I worked in the office building owned by the Bradfords. They sent me an email calling me a hypocrite for working in a building owned by a family that benefited from animal abuse. I investigated, found out about Green Hills, and the next thing you know, I was a lab-raiding celebrity.
“The Bradfords send their regards. I’m Trevor LeBlanc, chief of security. And you’re Jillian Fletcher.”
I preferred thinking of him as Bullhorn. I take a step back away from him and glare. “You recognize me.”
“Everyone recognizes you.”
True enough. Being an accidental influencer with a worldwide following of a million-plus will do that for you.
I lean back against the wall, folding my arms across my chest. “And you were expecting me, obviously. How?”
“How do you think?”
I can’t imagine. The only people who knew about my plans were my housemates, Ari and Bronwyn, and the Justice 4 Animals Group. They contacted me again several weeks ago to tell me about the game hunting park that the Bradfords were building. I did my research and confirmed the property purchase, and when they pestered me about what I was going to do about it, I told them. But they wouldn’t rat me out… would they?
I just shrug. “It doesn’t matter. You aren’t going to have me arrested. Because I’m on to you guys and your vile plans.”
“Are you really, now,” he drawls, sounding bored.
“Yes, I am. And here’s the thing. I don’t object to hunting animals for food. I don’t love it, but it’s been a part of human existence since before we started walking upright, and I’m not trying to shut it down.”
He snorts. “Oh, good. I’m sure hunters everywhere are breathing a sigh of relief.”
His attitude is really starting to tick me off.
“What I do object to is importing exotic, endangered species, breeding them, and then caging them in a small area and letting people shoot them for fun.”
“And?”
“And I’m going to tell everybody.”
“Oh, I don’t think you are.”
A prickle of unease lifts the hair on the back of my neck.
“I want my one phone call.” I try to sound tough, but my voice cracks and rises to a shrill note of panic.
“I’m not the police.”
Ice water rushes through my veins.
“Are you planning on killing me to keep me quiet?” I try to keep my voice jovial—ha ha, of course I’m joking—but Trevor doesn’t crack a smile. Instead, he tilts his head to the side like he’s considering it.
I take a step backwards, my eyes widening with alarm.
“There are people who know where I am!”
“Oh, you mean your two friends who ran off and left you? I’m sure we can find them with minimal effort.”
Oh, damn. Did he just threaten my friends? Stuff’s getting real.
He grabs a folder from the desk near him and slaps it down in front of me.
“You’re half right about the Bradfords’ plans. So were those Justice 4 Animals people who have been emailing you. Our company is planning on opening up a property in Montana,” he says. “It’s a wildlife rehabilitation facility. They’ll be providing natural habitats for exotic animals that have been rescued from illegal private zoos around the country, because it’s generally impossible for those animals to survive on their own in the wild.”
“But you’re letting people come in and shoot them.” My words come out in an alarmed croak.
“Yes. With cameras.” He smiles sardonically. “The Bradfords will be allowing a limited number of paid photo-shooting safaris to help fund and publicize the operation.”
I sit there in stunned silence.
A metallic taste fills my mouth, one that’s all too familiar. It’s the taste of shame and bad decisions.
This is an absolute nightmare. I mean… it’s great for the animals that will be rescued and rehabilitated. It’s terrible for me. If they’re telling the truth, I’ve been an idiot. And I no longer have any excuse for trespassing on their property with the intent of vandalizing their billboard.
And when I go to jail, it’s not just going to embarrass my parents. It’s going to ruin them. My timing for this epic screwup couldn’t have been worse.
My mother’s in the process of selling her textbook publishing company and retiring. She and my father are going on their dream vacation in September, for their fortieth anniversary; they’ll be spending a month in the Mediterranean.
And my father has been nominated for the position of circuit court judge. It will be the pinnacle of his career. Well, it would have been. I’ve just destroyed his chances.
Being nominated for a federal judgeship is no small thing. There’s a pretty intense confirmation process, as part of which not just my father but our entire family are viewed under a microscope, and I know that the investigators are already side-eying me because of my flighty reputation—Jillian Fletcher, socialite and party girl, with her wacky environmental stunts! But I would have been able to justify exposing a private game reserve where rich hunters stalked endangered animals.
I won’t be able to explain away climbing up and vandalizing a billboard for no reason. Nor should I try. It’s inexcusable.
“It’s illegal for you to access my email,” I say faintly. “You need a warrant for that.” I am 99.9 percent sure that’s true. Maybe… 95 percent? Now I wish I’d stayed awake when my father and Theo were talking about law stuff.
Then again, the fact that my brain refuses to get more specific than “law stuff” is a pretty good indicator that staying awake wouldn’t have helped.
“We didn’t access your email account, but we were able to access Justice 4 Animals’ emails. We tracked them down after they continued defaming our business, and one of them gave us access to his emails in exchange for us not pressing charges.”
No, no, no… “I saw the plans!” I protest.
He snorts in contempt. “They doctored the plans to make it look more dramatic. Public interest in their group was waning, and so were donations. They got ahold of some of our early plans, jumped to the wrong conclusions, and did some creative additions using Photoshop to make sure you’d be on board.”
Nausea sloshes through my stomach, and my tofu scramble dinner threatens to make a reappearance. My family always says I never look before I leap, but I really thought I’d done my due diligence on this one.
I could try to argue that I was taken in, that my intentions were good…but I still broke the law.
He leans against the desk, scowling at me. “Now, we can do one of two things. Call the police and press charges, or… you can come work for us.”
My eyes fly open wide in astonishment. “You… say what now?”
“Here’s the deal. I’m telling you this in confidence, because frankly, I hold all the cards. I imagine you know that recently, Mr. Bradford had some health issues and took early retirement. Elliott has taken over his father’s role as CEO, and he is now the public face of the company. The problem is, Elliott is a very serious guy. I mean, he lightens up when he’s with friends and family, but up until now, he hasn’t shown that side of himself to the public. We need to find a way to get Elliott to reflect the fun and joy of Bradford Family Resorts.”
Fun? Joy? Elliott?
I can feel those first two words fist-fighting with the third word, even in my head.
He’s hot as hell. Even I can’t deny that. But the only way to get a smile on that face would be to put it there surgically.
“You’re worried about the investors and the takeover attempt,” I surmise. At his look of surprise, I regain a little bit of confidence. I stand up straighter and square my shoulders. “Know thy enemy, as they say. I studied up on your company before I decided to climb that billboard. I’ve seen the articles. There’s an offer from a competing company called Park City Properties. They want to buy your company, and you have some investors on your board who are considering accepting that offer and forcing the sale of the company. And you’re worried about having Forrest Grump as the CEO of a company that’s supposed to be the face of family fun.”
He nods in acknowledgement. “Well, that’s where you come in. I’ve seen you at the bar. I’ve read about you in the press. People like you. You know how to have fun. You make people smile, plain and simple. We want you to make Elliott smile.” At my shocked look, he grimaces in disgust. “Not like that, for God’s sake.”
“I don’t understand what you want me to do.”
“Officially, we’re contracting with you to be a brand ambassador and plan some social media campaigns for us.”
I squint at him skeptically. Me. Working for… an amusement park?
“Unofficially,” he continues, “you need to bring out the fun side of Elliott Bradford, and show it to the public. We need to turn his image around before our final investors’ meeting in late August. It’s right after our 125th anniversary celebration. The investors will vote on whether or not they want to sell to Park City.”
The fun side of Elliott Bradford. He said those words. Does he also believe in mermaids?
“You’ve heard about the company’s latest park opening in Colorado?”
I nod. “Yeah, everyone’s heard of it. Next week, right?”
“Yes. You’ll go with him for their soft open, and then the ribbon cutting ceremony of course, and you’ll plan events and stage photo opportunities and post about it on your MyFace account, and get your influencer friends to share pictures and videos.”
“And Elliott wants this?”
He shrugs. “He’ll go along with it. However, a word of warning. He’s not happy about us trying to lighten up his image, so I wouldn’t rub that part of your contract in his face unless you want him to chew your head off. What with his father’s health issues, and the hostile takeover thing, he’s a little tense these days. Just focus on the brand ambassador part of your job, work on some good campaigns with him, and things will go a lot more smoothly.”
I frown, chewing my lower lip. Turning it over in my mind. This whole deal feels off somehow. “You’re the chief of security. Why are you even getting involved in the company’s image?”
“Because it needs to be done.” He pins me with a fierce stare. “I grew up with Elliott. He was like a big brother to me. I consider the Bradfords to be family. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect the Bradfords and this company.”
“Apparently,” I mutter.
Lovely. I’m being blackmailed into hanging out with Oscar The Grouch’s better-looking brother. Then again, what are my options? Jail, and the knowledge that I’ve destroyed my family?
“So all I have to do is take this job, and you’ll let the little misunderstanding about the billboard drop?”
“All you have to do is take the job and succeed,” he corrects me. “You triple our MyFace following, at a bare minimum, increase engagement, and turn Elliott’s image around. If you succeed, we will not press charges.”
“I can help you increase your follower count, but ‘turn Elliott’s image around’ is a subjective assignment. How would you measure that?”
“Well, if the investors decide to sell the park, you can start fitting yourself for a nice stripey prison jumpsuit.”
He shoves a sheaf of papers at me.
I scan them quickly. It’s never a good idea to sign anything without having an attorney read it first, of course. My family would be appalled by what I’m about to do, but then again, what’s new?
It states that I’ll be planning social media campaigns for the Bradford family and will submit all posts to the head of social media for approval and posting, and that any statements that I make about the family or their company must be submitted to their PR department for approval first. It also outlines the consequences if I fail.
I sign it in a daze. Trevor starts reciting various terms, conditions and expectations, but I only half hear him.
I have to come in tomorrow and fill out a bunch more paperwork for HR; I need to clear my schedule so I can travel to Colorado day after tomorrow, blah blah blah, jail prison blah.
It won’t be hard getting someone to cover my shifts at Nowhere Special, and as for the few brands I’ve agreed to represent as an influencer, I can do that anywhere. My contracts just require me to be photographed using vegan leather products from one company and reusable water bottles from another company.
A few minutes later, I’m outside the building, climbing into the limo that Trevor had waiting for me, ready to take me home.
The limo pulls away, and I stare out the window at the billboard, where I could swear to God Elliott’s now smirking down at me.