Page 3 of Never Date a Celebrity

The video probably had a thousand hits before Imogen had even hit the street. And by morning, it had gone viral. After that came the edits—they received a lot of traffic too. Then there were the comments. Strangers praising Chelsea for “choosing herself.” Thousands calling Imogen bitter, controlling, jealous, dead weight. Some said Chelsea had glowed up and left her behind. Others said Imogen looked plain, miserable, possessive. One person had said they hoped Imogen felt like she had a hair stuck in her mouth forever. And that was one of the kinder messages. There were even some who wished Imogen actual harm.

Imogen had always thought she had a thick skin, but apparently it wasn’t thick enough. The reactions hurt. Along with her broken heart came the horror of what people thought of her—all because they watched an edited rendition of Chelsea’s life for eight minutes a day.

A couple of days after the breakup, someone found Imogen’s phone number and bombarded her with hate texts. Then someone else found it. Then dozens more after that. She had to change the number not once, but twice. And to make it worse, Chelsea kept posting different edits of the video because apparently breaking up with your girlfriend and recording it was great for hits. And six months later, people at Clover Insurance still whispered when Imogen walked by.

Imogen’s phone buzzing with a text message was a welcome interruption, yanking her sharply from the nightmare she replayed too often. She glanced down at the screen.

URGENT MEETING REQUIRED. SECOND FLOOR BATHROOM. NOW!

Imogen huffed out a laugh. Piper.

Another message appeared beneath it.

Seriously, it’s important. Piper’s not Piper-ing for no reason today. Hurry. That one was from Niamh.

Now, if Niamh said it mattered, it mattered. Imogen wasted no time. She grabbed her jacket that she had only just draped over the back of her chair and headed for the stairs. By the time she reached the second floor—a strange choice considering none of them worked there—she was moving fast enough to feel her feet burn despite her choice of sensible heels. She pushed through the bathroom door so hard it banged against the wall.

“Ssh!” Piper rushed at her, seized her arm, and dragged her towards the sinks where Niamh stood waiting with folded arms.

“Why are we shushing?” Imogen asked. “What is this?”

“Did you not get that this is covert?” Piper whispered sharply. “We’re on the second floor for Christ’s sake.”

“Pipes, I told you, there’s no one else in here,” Niamh said, speaking at a reasonable volume. “I know because you made me check all the cubicles. Three times.”

“It’s called due diligence,” Piper snapped.

“Why are we on the second floor by the way?” Imogen asked. “I did wonder.”

“Because we couldn’t risk having this conversation on our own floors,” Piper said, flinging her arms up in the air. “Or worse, fifth. HR? Imagine someone overhearing.”

That clarified nothing. If anything, Imogen was more confused. She looked between them. “What conversation?”

Piper and Niamh looked at each other, seemingly having some kind of silent conversation with their eyes. Then Piper nodded a few times, and Niamh stepped forward. “Okay. You’re going to say no immediately.”

“That’s a terrible start,” Piper muttered. “I knew I should have been the one to ask her.”

“But after you say no,” Niamh continued, blatantly ignoring Piper, “We’d like you to think about it anyway.”

“You’re making it sound like it’s something terrible,” Piper said, practically whining now.

“Fine, then you ask her—”

Imogen raised her hand to try and stop the two of them bickering. “Think about what?” she interjected.

Piper inhaled dramatically and held out her arms like her moment had finally arrived. “We’re leaving Clover, moving halfway across the country to run an adorable wee pub in an adorable wee village, and we want you to come with us.”

Silence.

Imogen stared at her. Then at Niamh. Then she laughed. Paused for a second. “No.”

“See?” Niamh said.

Piper folded her arms. “You didn’t even consider it.”

“I don’t need to consider it. You just asked me to quit my job and move to the middle of nowhere to run a pub.”

“A charming pub,” Piper corrected her.