“Crap, it’s Zareen,” I say to Brian like he knows who that is. “I need to respond.”

“Take your time,” he says as he gets up to take a closer look at the artwork—a spray-painted abstract portrait of Kim Kardashian doing a push-up. At least that’s what I think it is.

How is it going? her text reads.

Even though Zareen is pretty chill as far as bosses go, everyone at TIF has been a little edgy knowing that we are so close to potentially securing the Voyager account, and Zareen, the big boss lady, has been feeling it the most.

Gaga Glow = HUGE hit, I message back.

Sure, the all-caps is a bit on the exaggerated side considering I only experienced the room for mere minutes and the influencers can’t spell, but the event is a hit. The list of attendees I curated could not have been more spot-on for this early-morning, sneak-peek gym class.

Awesome! Did everyone show up?

The room is packed. Casting was my strong point at the studio, and I’ve found myself carrying that skill here. After all, I coded the list-finding software so that it would automatically dismiss anyone who Tweeted about drinking on a Monday night in the last six months. Why? Because those people—and their hangovers—aren’t reliable attendees. We couldn’t trust them to pull themselves together in time for a brutal Tuesday morning sweat session. We couldn’t let our client down like that.

It’s a full house, I fire off with sheer confidence.

Brava! she sends back. Feel free to head home after and I’ll see U @ BOA.

I let the excitement of a job well done sink in. While the algorithms never steer me wrong, that doesn’t mean it’s any less validating when I see upward of thirteen thousand social media impressions in the first fifteen minutes of the class. It’s just proof for Gemma that burning calories to Lady Gaga’s greatest hits while glow sticks hanging from the ceiling change colors to the beat of the music is something worth bragging about online. That translates to job security for me. And that translates to the ability to continue using my TIF chops to develop my side-project dating app.

Gaga Glow dismisses while I finish texting Zareen. One by one, the girls emerge like extras from a Lululemon commercial, steamrolling Brian out of their way. If they just stopped for a minute, they’d realize he’s the most Instagrammable piece of eye candy they’ll see all day, but instead they are dripping sweat onto the screens of their phones while uploading the selfies they took with the instructor. It’s all so obnoxious and perfect I just want to clap my hands and throw confetti.

“Is the class over?” Brian asks.

“Yup,” I say.

“And is the crisis averted?”

“Yup.”

“Well, then... Remember it’s WeHot with one t—ONE T!” Brian shouts to the crowd, his voice lost in the din of whispered plans to grab kale salads from Whole Foods and take “Outfit of the Day” pics in front of the new Restoration Hardware on Sunset Boulevard.