Such was the life of an influencer. It wasn’t a traditional job. Heck, as far as most people were concerned, it probably wasn’t a job at all. Getting free stuff, evaluating it, and then sharing the good parts with her massive Instagram following wasn’t exactly a hardship. But it was hard work. Whenever Audrey encountered a derisive snort after the requisite what do you do introductions, she merely smiled. Yes, she got free stuff. Yes, she made a rather staggering amount of money from endorsements and partnerships. Yes, from the outside her job looked as simple as taking a picture of herself with the newest it shade of matte lipstick.

But what people didn’t see were the hours she spent managing her email, her Instagram DMs, and her Facebook messages. They didn’t see the hundreds of queries she received in a single day. They didn’t see the time she spent updating her blog, setting up her tripod, editing her photos, speaking at panels, staying active in her Facebook groups, monitoring comments, deleting spam and trolls, etc.

Audrey loved her job, but it was a job—a full-time one.

Naomi was wrinkling her nose. “Unless you hate your followers, put that down the garbage disposal and never speak of it again.”

“No, don’t!” Claire protested. “That stuff will probably turn into a brick and destroy the garbage disposal and this gorgeous kitchen.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Naomi said, patting Claire’s hand. “Garbage disposals? You’re such a contractor’s wife.”

Claire’s smile was adorable and smug at the same time. “I am, aren’t I?”

Audrey gave a smile of her own as she dumped the unappealing smoothie down the sink. Few things brought her more joy in life than seeing her friends happy, and Claire was definitely happy. Newly married to the gruff, flannel-wearing, bighearted Scott Turner, Claire’s in-love glow was rivaled only by Naomi’s, whose live-in boyfriend, Oliver Cunningham, was everything Brayden Hayes had not been. Loyal, loving, and good.

At the fridge, Audrey pulled out a carafe of orange juice and champagne.

“Yes!” Naomi said, in eager agreement, leaping out of her chair. “Where are the champagne flutes? I knew you didn’t invite us over here just for dirt smoothies.”

“Hmm.” Audrey scanned the cupboards of the kitchen she was not yet familiar with. “No idea on the champagne flutes. You’ll have to hunt.”

“On it.” Naomi set out opening and closing cupboards until she discovered where the movers Audrey hired had unpacked the stemware.

“I love the new place,” Claire said as Audrey set the OJ and champagne on the table before cleaning away the abandoned smoothies.

“Me, too,” Audrey said, glancing around and admiring her new kitchen.