Page 1 of Not Just Gal Pals

PROLOGUE

JENNY

“So you’re telling me I’ve been canceled?” I blinked away tears, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“‘Canceled’ is too strong a word. More like, um, put on hold?” Serena, sitting behind her glass desk in her expansive office in West Hollywood, shot me an unconvincing smile, showcasing her gleaming white teeth. “Look, I’m sure this will all blow over soon. We’ve just got to sit tight and ride it out.”

That was all very well for Serena to say. She had a whole raft of superstar clients providing a steady income stream that paid the mortgage on her gorgeous Beverly Hills home. Being a fashion-slash-dog-mom-influencer was my only source of funds. A source that was quickly drying up.

I swallowed. “How…how soon are we talking? Days? Weeks? Months?” The rent for my small studio apartment in Los Feliz had increased last month. And my dog Walter’s little mishap with an Instagram-famous cat who, unprovoked, had bitten him at a photoshoot for a “Ten Pets Taking Social Media by Storm” article two weeks ago had resulted in an expensive vet bill. I had some savings, but not enough to keep me going for more than a month or two.

“Maybe a few months?”

Oh god. I swallowed again, the lump in my throat bigger this time. “Didn’t the thing with Tom Henson only last a few days, and then he was back on TikTok like nothing happened? And that was sexual harassment. This was…this was just a stupid mistake, which I’ve completely owned.”

Serena pursed her lips. “That’s true. But I hate to say this, Jenny… He’s a man. And people forgive and forget men faster than women when it comes to social media scandals. So, I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t count on things bouncing as quickly as they did for him.” Either my tear blinking wasn’t as surreptitious as I hoped, or there was an edge of panic to my voice, because Serena’s face softened. “Look, Jenny. You’re going home next week for that wedding, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, why don’t you stay for the holidays and come back in January? You can sublet your apartment and post lots of wholesome content of you in the country.” Serena’s eyes lit up. “You know what? I actually think this is a great idea. You could get pics of you and Walter wearing lots of flannel and walking down cute little country lanes lined with gorgeous fall trees. I bet Bridgewater & Molten would snap you up as a brand ambassador in no time!” Serena stood up and started to pace up and down, clearly excited at the prospect of a new deal, no matter how improbable. Serena was a great agent, but sometimes she got a little carried away.

“Um, I’m not really sure I’m a good fit for their demographic. Don’t they target well-off, middle-aged women who are into gardening and horse riding? I’m almost a decade off being middle-aged, even further away from being well-off, I kill all the potted plants I own, and I like to admire horses from a safe distance of at least ten feet. Anyway, weren’t they just in the news for having terrible conditions in their factories? Given my current ‘not quite canceled’ status, I don’t think that would be the best move. And, of course, I’m against bad labor practices as well,” I added, wincing. I probably should have started with that, but Serena didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, okay, maybe. But you know what I mean. It could be a chance to do something different, to show people the ‘real you.’ And rest and recharge.” A dreamy look crossed Serena’s eyes. She stopped walking and leaned against the glass wall. “You might even meet a hot lumberjack and have a holiday fling. You know, make out on a bale of hay in a rustic barn, cozy up in front of a fire in a log cabin, and go on romantic hikes together.” It was clear from the way Serena bit her lip that she was living out her own fantasy—and that she’d never tried to make out on a bale of hay before. Trust me, it was not comfortable. Despite how worried I was, I stifled a giggle. “And document it all for your followers, of course! Just don’t get too serious. I want you back here early next year. We’ve still got the Whamz promotion booked for January. I called them today, and as long as your followers don’t drop below 2.7 million, they’re happy to go ahead. By that time, I’m sure all will be forgotten, and we’ll be back to business as usual.”

As unrealistic as Serena’s fantasy was—hot lumberjacks were in short supply in Sapphire Springs, and I’d sworn off flings in any event—spending a couple of months back home wasn’t a terrible idea. If I was being honest with myself, I was in a slump, tired of my life in LA, tired of thinking up new content, and tired of the unpredictability of my career.

Being almost canceled was a wake-up call. Something had to change. Perhaps time away from LA would help me work out what it was.

CHAPTER ONE

JENNY

Goddamnit.

I refreshed the page, chewing on my lip and glaring at my phone, willing the numbers to increase. Still only 1,234 views and twenty likes. Urgh.

Apparently, videos of me and Walter in matching flannel, standing in front of a rustic barn in the Hudson Valley with fall leaves floating down on us, didn’t have the public appeal Serena had predicted. I thought we looked super cute, but it appeared my followers weren’t into lumbersexual attire and wholesome fall scenes. I’d roped poor Dad into standing on a ladder and throwing leaves over us for nothing.

A message from Amanda popped onto the screen.

Where are you? We’re starting in 5 mins!

I stood up from the toilet seat I’d been perching on and was reaching for the door when I heard footsteps. My heart sank. I was not in the mood for any awkward restroom encounters, especially not with my former teachers. And since I was in the teachers’ restroom at Sapphire Springs High, that was a clear and present danger.

In fact, the first person I saw when I stepped foot in the high school twenty minutes ago was Mrs. Harding, the English teacher who’d been the bane of my existence in sophomore year. Memories of reading aloud in her class, my face hot with embarrassment as I stumbled over the pages of To Kill a Mockingbird, came flooding back. I had fought a strong urge to turn right around and run as fast as my jumpsuit would allow in the other direction. While I’d enjoyed the social aspects of high school, the academic side of things had been a struggle. A dyslexia diagnosis in my early twenties had explained a lot. Unfortunately, I didn’t get that diagnosis in time to make school a less painful experience.

I breathed out in relief as two women began to speak. They most definitely weren’t Mrs. Harding. I would recognize her voice anywhere.

“Are you coming to the careers talk?”

The other woman sighed. “Yes. Did you see who the panelists are? One of them is a social media influencer.” I winced at the derision in her voice, positive she’d paired her words with a dramatic eye roll. “That’s not exactly a career.”

Usually these types of comments rolled over me like water off a duck’s back. A lot more hard work and creativity went into being an influencer than most people realized, and I was proud of what I’d achieved. But her words hit me harder than usual.

“Yeah. I don’t know what Amanda was thinking. The kids are obsessed enough with their phones as it is. We shouldn’t be promoting influencing as a career option.”

I silently cursed Amanda for convincing me to do this.