The past few years I’ve started to skip over the pages and pages of sex I typically get from my favorite authors. I’ve been veering away from the pages and pages of sex I used to write too. I know, I know, not what you want to read in a romance writer’s blog, right? But it’s true. I still absolutely love a good love story, and sex is part of that. But the story is more important to me these days than the sex.
The story is its own kind of sex, if that makes any sense at all. I love digging into a lead character’s career, mind, motivation. It makes the picture richer when they do finally lay down. And let’s face it, my characters do still have sex a lot.
But in this blog, which picks up roughly where last week’s leaves off, Sinna’s girls are in town and she’s knee deep in work — deeper than usual — trying to clear her plate a bit so she can spend time running around Seoul with them. It’s a peek under the skirt, or behind the scenes, if you will, at what her life as a costume designer and business woman is like. You know, just in case you too get tired of reading so much sex. *coughs*
The picture is V of BTS. Duh. I’ve been watching these YouTube FMV of him to various songs lately, and his neck is kinda short, but it literally does not matter because his jawline, throat and habitual come fuck me — you know you want to — gaze could not be sexier, you know? Mmm.
Sinna knew when Tommy and crew landed things would be even more hectic than usual. So, she worked like a galley slave to get things in good shape before she took some free time. Plus, there was this bum ass talk show appearance to deal with. If it went well Mr. Big Wig had already hinted there would be others.
He was seriously getting on her nerves. She needed to be on the job while she was sleeping, bathing, eating, and actually walking to the damn studio. “People act like style on this scale just drops out the damn sky,” she muttered.
She’d started answering some work-related questions via short Instagram videos, which had the unintended benefit of increasing her following – and contributions since brands loved being casually mentioned as she showed different pieces – and it had already doubled when gossip grew about her possibly dating Tan. The company Instagram account, which was updated most frequently with idol pictures, had recently cracked 3 million.
She sighed irritably. Bed one idol, and your whole world changed! Thank God she and Tan agreed to play it smart and avoid an openly public relationship. Nothing had been confirmed, and she was dodging questions and interview requests like blows.
Once people started commenting that she posted more pictures of him than the other members on her personal account, Sinna figured fuck it. She could play coy and be a tease at the same time.
She even got ruthless and posted a picture of him sleeping. Not in bed – that might be too much for the conservative Korean crowd, and technically they were still a secret – he was adorable dozing on the set of a photo shoot, conveniently wearing an outfit from a designer she was trying to cultivate. It worked. It got almost 2 million likes, and the designer reached out to see if she wanted more clothes, just as she intended.
“Did you read this?” Cressida waved her iPad. “Instagram is doing away with likes.”
“I saw it. Something about mental health, right?”
“But that’s bad business for us, right?”
“I don’t think so. Our follower count keeps rising, and that’s what really counts. We’re not posting for likes anyway. We’re feeding the public’s rabid interest in stylish idols. Plus, I read that we can still see the count. So, if anyone asks, we can still provide numbers. Once they do away with likes, followers will be a key metric for engagement.”
Business was booming at home too thanks to the online hype and her Granny’s capable leadership. The old lady even helped with social media, though she just sent pictures along, she refused to actually post them.
“That’s all we need is for my ass to push the wrong button,” she claimed.
Sinna wasn’t mad at people for their rabid attention. Tan was ridiculously fine. His shy but undeniable sexiness was like catnip for the Dolls. But why they were pretending to want her was just annoying. Sure she had mad style, but it was him and the 501K boys they were really after. Be honest with your shit, man.
Still, Instagram was proving to be quite profitable personally as well. She’d accepted two of many offers to do endorsements. One for a brand of organic Korean juice she liked, and another for a skincare line she used regularly. She only accepted the deals if she could stage and shoot the posts herself. That way she could control her image, and ensure the aesthetic didn’t clash with her feed.
“I gotta have some integrity with this social media shit,” she told Saint, who just grinned.
As predicted, he’d given her hell, but he was having a wonderful time with the latest experimental project she’d given him: Create a branded video with original choreography. Tan agreed to star in it, and Saint was choreographing a dance to roughly three minutes of live music so she could showcase clothes from their style partner.
If the video got a certain amount of exposure, the brand agreed to pay her a capped percentage-based bonus on top of her fee and more importantly provide 501K with clothes for the tour. The bonus was as good as hers. She’d post it on her personal and business feeds, and once she tagged Tan and 501K, it was a wrap. Saint was posting it on his feed too, and his many friends were guaranteed to share it.
He refused to tell her what song he picked. “Wait and be surprised, with your side hustling ass.” Sinna just rolled her eyes and hoped he wouldn’t turn her hair white.
“Not too sexy, Saint. We’ve got a deadline. Keep it somewhere between titillating and erotic.”
He just laughed.