Influencer (Influencing Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  And so that is what I shall do.

  I head into the darker months as a successful businessman, but I will emerge from them as one of the most powerful men in my country. But crucially, I will still be everybody’s friend and so nobody will be plotting my assassination.

  Not even those people on the yacht on Saturday, who would surely want to do just that if it weren’t for the fact that when the explosion rips through them, their body parts will end up scattered in the sea.

  Maybe I should have gone along to watch after all.

  #1DayBeforeTheParty

  #JetSetter

  Emily Bennett

  I’m back in the sky again, soaring amongst the clouds, thousands of feet above the ocean and relying on a feat of engineering to get me to my destination safely. It’s a good job I’m not afraid of flying because I spend half of my week at a high altitude. But there isn’t really time for phobias about plunging into the ocean in a flaming ball of wreckage when your schedule demands that you are in several different countries in as many days.

  Fortunately, I’ve always enjoyed being on a plane and today is no different. We departed from London three hours ago and we will touch down in Miami in about four hours, or maybe sooner if the pilot is right about the possibility of a strong tailwind. I don’t mind if it takes an extra half an hour or not. I don’t have any plans for this evening after all.

  I know, it’s sad for Friday night in Miami. I should be at a club or a party in a penthouse apartment. Popping bottles with friends or taking selfies in a VIP area. But I’ve purposely kept tonight free.

  I’ve told everyone that it’s because I will be getting my beauty sleep for the epic yacht party tomorrow and that is partly true but it’s mainly because I don’t really want to go out and get drunk without either my boyfriend or my best friend beside me. Ryan is still on the West Coast and isn’t due to fly back east until Sunday and Mason is in Asia, taking an overnight flight on her private jet just to make it to Miami in time for the party in the morning.

  I know several people who will be out in the clubs tonight on South Beach but they are mainly the other influencers who used to work for Sebastian and I’ll see them in the morning anyway as we board the yacht and prepare to spend the whole day together.

  So in the end I am just planning on having a quiet one. Check into my hotel. Run myself a bath. Light some candles and have a glass of wine. Get a good night’s sleep.

  How very rock and roll of me.

  Of course, I will still be taking plenty of photos and keeping my PhoGlo followers updated on my evening. I might even try on a few dresses and ask my fans for their opinion on which one I should wear tomorrow. But whatever I do, I plan on being tucked up in bed and fast asleep well before midnight.

  Am I turning into my mother already? No that’s silly, I think to myself as I take a sip of the water that the stewardess served me. Just because I like a night off every now and again doesn’t mean I’m old before my time. Besides, my mum would never do half the things that I’m doing on a daily basis. For a start, she hates flying. Always been terrified of it. It’s the reason so many of my childhood holidays were spent in the UK or, at best, France, where our destination could be reached by car or ferry.

  Anything but a plane.

  The rare times we did go abroad were usually because my dad and I had begged mum to let us go somewhere a little more exotic than Cornwall or Eastbourne, but it was never to a place more than a couple of hours flight time away. Usually Spain or Portugal and even then, mum would grip the seat handles tightly on take-off and landing, refusing to remove her seatbelt for the duration of the flight in case we encountered some turbulence or a window blew out and sucked her out into oblivion.

  I had never felt the same fear when jet engines rev up on the runway or when my ears start to pop during take-off and landing, although I will admit that to this day I still keep my seatbelt on until we have touched down.

  Mum definitely put the fear into me about being sucked out of a window.

  It’s a shame that she still has this phobia of flying, especially now that I am earning enough money to take her anywhere in the world. I have offered to fly her to Australia or Thailand or even just Greece, but she has refused all my suggestions. She is quite happy being at home, with her feet firmly on solid ground, where she doesn’t have to worry about being sucked out of any windows.

  Now dad has gone, it’s even less likely that she will want to fly again. He would have jumped at the chance to take me up on some of my offers of far flung destinations. He was like me, in that he loved adventure and the thrill of the open road. Mum has always been a home bird and that isn’t going to change now.

  It’s even more of a shame now that I’m with Ryan, because I highly doubt that she will ever have the courage to fly to New York and visit us. We could have put her up in a nice hotel and taken her around the sights. Watched a show on Broadway. Enjoyed the ridiculous portion sizes at one of the restaurants near Times Square. Gone to the top of the Empire State Building. She would love NYC and I would have loved to have been her tour guide.

  Most of all I would have loved for her to meet Ryan on his home turf. I feel like it would have been easier to get to know a loud American man in his home country as opposed to meeting him for the first time in the sleepy English town where mum lives.

  But if mum refuses to get on a plane then I have no choice. I will have to bring Ryan to her and hope that his confident, Americanised persona won’t jar too much with our sleepy family home setting. It will be fine, but it would be nice if mum could be a little more flexible. There’s a big world out there and I wish she would see more of it.

  The plane cabin shudders slightly and the water in my cup almost spills out on to my table. Suddenly I am glad mum isn’t on the plane with me now. She’d have probably screamed at that little bit of turbulence, bless her.

  I finish off my water just in case there is any more shaking to come and check on the tightness of the seat belt strap across my waist before settling back into my seat and closing my eyes. I’m not particularly tired but I don’t feel like reading or watching a movie and so sleep seems like the next best option.

  There is also the small matter of the in-flight Wi-Fi being down which means I’m not able to get online and kill a couple of hours tweaking my PhoGlo profile page. I had thought about changing my profile picture today but in the end decided against it, thinking it would be better to wait until tomorrow, when I would have so many cool photos from the yacht party to choose from.

  Social media is already buzzing with anticipation about the upcoming party. Just before I boarded my flight today, I saw that Zack had announced the names of the lucky competition winner, Kim, and her guest, Kelsey, who would now be joining us on board his yacht tomorrow.

  Kim and Kelsey are two best friends from Oklahoma and both their names are glowing on PhoGlo, which means that millions of people are talking about them in their posts. I am excited to meet them tomorrow and will be happy to pose for any photos that they want.

  Who knows, maybe this prize will be the start of their very own influencing careers. They are bound to get heaps of new followers after this. But if not then they will at least return to Oklahoma with a great story to tell and memories that will last a lifetime.

  Miami. Bahamas.

  Yachts. Fireworks.

  DJ’s. Champagne.

  Celebrities.

  I suddenly open my eyes again.

  Never mind Kim and Kelsey, even I’m excited about tomorrow.

  #TheEveOf

  Anna Akari

  I can never sleep the night before a job because my mind is always racing with excitement. I guess this is how most children feel the night before their birthday or on Christmas Eve. All the presents. All the adulation. All the fun. I’m the same, except I’m not squirming with nervous energy about tearing open some wrapping paper or blowing out candles on a cake.

  I’m just excited to kill some people tomo
rrow.

  Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to get much sleep tonight, I have abandoned the whole idea of bed entirely and have spent most of the evening sitting inside a nightclub on South Beach. Miami is well known for its nightlife and there is no denying that there are many loud and colourful venues packed into this city, all of them filled with equally loud and colourful characters.

  Since I’ve been out tonight, I’ve seen strippers, drag queens, athletes, frat boys, wealthy businessman and models, just to name a few, and I’ve been approached by many of them too. I’ll admit I do look good tonight, sitting at the bar in a slinky black dress, my long legs crossed and my ten-inch heels on show. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the busy bartenders and I can see exactly why so many men, and women, have attempted to take me back to their hotel rooms tonight.

  I’m a beautiful, young woman.

  And I’m alone.

  But they have no idea how much of a chance they really would be taking in approaching me. If I were to flutter my eyelids at somebody and agree to accompany them back to their room, while they might be imagining a night of passion between the sheets, I would just be imagining spraying their blood all over those same sheets.

  Sex to most people is the best thing on Earth but to me it’s just as boring as sitting in traffic or buying a crappy airport sandwich. Murder is my biggest turn on, so anyone who goes home with me tonight will do well not to end up in a body bag with their photo on the evening news.

  I try my best not to encourage people when I’m out in the clubs. I keep myself to myself, just sipping my cocktail and watching the DJ’s do whatever it is they do when they are behind the decks. But of course that doesn’t stop the hordes of horny clubbers who spot the single woman at the bar and think they have a shot of talking her into bed.

  When they engage me in conversation, I make sure not to flirt with them, or excite them, or do anything that might lead them on. I even turn down their offers to buy me a drink. I have plenty of money, even though it is difficult to spend it because the bar staff who serve me my drinks often insist that it is ‘on the house.’

  The people trying to seduce me sometimes get frustrated and accuse me of being a tease when they find out that I won’t accept their offer of a drink, or a dance, or the chance to go back to their hotel room. They can’t possibly know that I am turning them down for their benefit, not mine.

  I would love nothing more than to be alone with any one of them in a king-size bed or a spacious shower and have all the time in the world to torture them and drain the life from their body. But somehow, I don’t think they would enjoy their death as much as I would, which is why I do my best to politely refuse their requests.

  It would be easier if I just stayed in my hotel room on my own because then I wouldn’t have to be around so much temptation in the clubs, but I’m young and can’t be expected to spend Friday night on my own. Besides, the night will go quicker for me this way, sipping my drinks and nodding my head to the beat of the dance tracks, than it would if I were tossing and turning in my bed, waiting for sunrise to come.

  It’s almost midnight in Miami now and most of the people that are due to be on the yacht tomorrow will already be in town. I have checked the social media accounts of the eight people I am being paid to kill this weekend and I have seen that all but one of them are in Miami now.

  The only one who hasn’t arrived here yet is Mason Manor. Her last post was from an arena in Tokyo, where she was watching a performance from Tesha, a musical artist capable of selling out such a large venue. I was slightly concerned when I saw that one of my targets was still on the other side of the world when she is supposed to be here in the morning but a quick scroll through some of the comments underneath her post alleviated my worries.

  Several people told her that they couldn’t wait to see her at the party tomorrow, including Emily Bennett, another of those names on my list. It seems that even though Mason is in Japan right now, she still plans on being on board that yacht when it sets sail from Miami in the morning. Which is good for me because otherwise I would have to find and kill her separately and I’d really rather just get it all over and done with in one go.

  The bomb I will use is wrapped inside the birthday present in my hotel room, as is the uniform I will wear to get myself on board the yacht disguised as one of the hospitality staff. There is little that can go wrong with my plan and even if any obstacles do crop up, I will just eliminate them as easily as I am going to eliminate all the influencers tomorrow.

  I notice a bald man in an unbuttoned white shirt staring at me from the other end of the bar and I avert my eyes from him quickly in case he gets the wrong idea. He looks to be in his fifties at least and if his age weren’t enough to tell him that he shouldn’t be in a place like this then the vast amounts of sweat pouring from his overweight body should be. He looks like he is only one drink and two songs away from a heart attack and so quite why he thinks a night in bed with me would be good for his health is a mystery.

  Yet here he comes, stumbling towards me through the crowd of clubbers, licking his lips and thinking that out of all the men in this place, he will be the lucky one who will get to take me home. As he approaches, I make a quick decision about whether or not I should go to his room.

  It might be fun. I could strip him naked, tie his hands to the bedrail and then drive shards of broken glass from a champagne bottle deep into his neck. It’s certainly tempting.

  But I shouldn’t really mix business with pleasure. I’m here to do a professional job tomorrow and there is no need to over-extend myself with any extra-curricular activities so close to the big day. But as the man reaches me and slurs out whatever pick-up line he had thought of on his way over here, I decide that the night is still young and since I won’t be getting much sleep anyway so close to a big job, I might as well make the most of being a young, free and single woman in one of the hippest cities in the world.

  ‘Let’s go’ I tell the man, sliding off my bar stool and taking him by the hand, leading him across the crowded dancefloor and out into the warm Florida night.

  I’m going to give him the best night of his life. It will also be the last night of his life but at least he will be the happiest man in Miami, right up until the moment I split open his carotid artery and watch all the blood in his body pour onto his bed linen.

  #TheDayOfTheParty

  #PartyTime

  Emily Bennett

  Good morning from Miami.

  The sun is shining and in a couple of hours I will be setting foot on a million-pound yacht that will take me and the rest of the lucky passengers to The Bahamas where we will be treated like kings and queens for the day. It’s an exclusive event and millions of people around the world will be glued to their phones for the latest photos and videos from on board. But I have my invitation and unlike before I was an influencer, when I had to pretend to be living the good life, today I will be living it for real.

  I’ve picked out a gold-toned hoop bandeau bikini but before I put it on, I am going to drop to my hotel room floor and do fifty ab crunches. It’s definitely way too late for exercise to make any difference to my figure today but it might give me the boost of confidence I need to carry this outfit off amongst so many other toned and sculpted bodies. At least until the alcohol kicks in and then I won’t care about anything.

  I really should get out of bed and get the exercises out of the way before my shower but five more minutes scrolling through PhoGlo won’t hurt. I run my thumb across the screen and see the array of colourful photos that the people I follow have posted. There’s a shot of Mason on her jet as she flew into Miami overnight. She’s sipping champagne and getting a pedicure from a beautician. All at 38000ft.

  Classic Mason.

  There is the excited post from Kim, the lucky contest winner, alongside her best friend Kelsey, whom she’s chosen to bring with her on the trip. I started following them both when they were named as the lucky guests who will
be on board the yacht with us, and so far their posts have been entertaining. They both seem to have a great sense of humour and don’t take themselves too seriously, which will definitely be a nice alternative to many of the selfie-obsessed influencers who will also be on the yacht.

  And then there is the usual post from Ryan, in which he let all his followers know which city he is performing in tonight and mentions if there are any tickets still available.

  I always like his posts and my thumb is instinctively going for the yellow heart button to like this one when I suddenly notice that his caption doesn’t follow the usual precedent. Instead of telling his fans where he is and how they can see him, he is telling them that his show tonight in Phoenix is cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances. He promises his fans in Arizona that he will be back soon and that they can seek a refund through the ticket office at the theatre he was due to appear at tonight.

  It doesn’t give any details as to why it has been cancelled, and I haven’t had any messages from Ryan this morning other than the Good morning beautiful text that he sent me at 7am when I was still sleeping.

  Is he okay? Has he had an accident? Is he upset about the cancellation? I know how he hates to let his fans down and so I presume it was a problem with the venue but still I feel the worry of not knowing if it might actually be a problem with him.

  I leave PhoGlo and open my Contacts list. I tap on his name and hold my phone to my ear as I hear the ringing at the other end and hope he answers to let me know that everything is okay. But he doesn’t pick up and after six rings my calls just gets his voicemail message.

  I leave a message, asking him if he’s okay and telling him to call me when he gets this. I don’t want to come across as too needy or concerned, even if that is exactly how I’m feeling right now. I’m sure everything is fine and that he has probably just gone back to sleep, knowing that he has the rest of the day off now. He’s due to fly to New York tomorrow and I will meet him at his apartment in Brooklyn then, so it’s only one more night until I get to see him.