“She is, yes. Poor Rosalind. It’s called The Life and Death of Rosalind Rose,” she said, gesturing in the air with her hands as though she were unfurling a banner. “Rosalind and her story are fictional, but the artist was inspired by the murder of a real French woman named Colette Boucher.”

“I remember reading about her,” I said, still staring at Rosalind’s motionless face. “She was that actress who was murdered by an obsessive fan, right?”

“Indeed. As you can see, poor, dear Rosalind meets the same fate. When all the dioramas are installed, visitors will see our girl leaving her hometown for Los Angeles, striving for and finally achieving her big break, discovering the fame she’d dreamed of isn’t all she’d imagined, and ultimately meeting her untimely demise.”

“The artistry is incredible,” I said, marveling at the miniatures. “Even if the story is a bit gruesome.”

“Exactly. Between the artist’s celebrity, her incomparable work, and the provocative subject matter, I’m expecting this exhibition to draw crowds.” She clasped her hands together and smiled at me, her teeth glittering. “This is where you come in. It’ll make great social media fodder.”

“When does it open?” I asked, looking around the gallery and trying to imagine what still needed to be done.

“Two months. I’ll need you to hit the ground running and lean hard into the promotion on our social media channels.” She paused and frowned. “I won’t bore you with the details, but there have been some hiccups and we find ourselves extremely behind schedule. Making Rosalind a success is our number one priority. I’m sure you can imagine how devastating it would be for us to have an exhibition of this caliber falter.”

“Totally. You can count on me.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She leaned in close and said, “And just between you and me and the doll, if you can pull this off, there might be a promotion in your future.”

“A promotion?” I repeated, unsure I’d heard her correctly. Less than an hour ago, I had been worried about being let go on my first day and now we were talking about promotions?

“I know it’s unorthodox,” she continued, vibrant lips smiling. “But a little bird told me the Director of Digital Content will be moving on soon, and I have a good feeling about you. If you impress me …”

“Prepare to be wowed,” I said, my voice assured even while my nerves twitched. If I had learned anything from working with social media, it was that pretending to have confidence was just as important as—if not more so than—actually having it.

CHAPTER NINE AUDREY

I could already taste that promotion, could hear myself saying “I’m Audrey Miller, Director of Digital Content for the Hirshhorn Museum.” Director was obviously more impressive than manager, and digital content sounded far more mature than social media. I couldn’t wait to tell my mother, who always asked why I was “wasting my time” on Instagram, about how what she called my “internet addiction” had earned me not only a sought-after job but a promotion in record time.