"Miss Barrett," the man in white gloves said, holding a car door open.
Kylie stood with a crumpled paper bag of peaches and her phone buzzing in her palm. Her voice memo to Jo was still recording in her ear. "Jo, I signed the StreamWave contract. They want me to do a trial stream next week and—" she laughed into the phone, breathy and bright. "—they actually offered a bonus if I hit two thousand live conversions in the first month. I know, right? Peaches for celebration."
"Tell them to give you a golden throne," Jo's voice chimed from the memo, loud and opinionated. "Or at least a decent ring light."
Kylie mouthed the words without thinking. "I'll take a pedestal later. For now, peaches."
"Don't say pedestal," Jo snapped. "You don't need props. You need confidence. Sell the peaches like they're diamonds."
Kylie shrugged to herself and looked down at the bag. The fruit smelled like summer. She had walked to the market at dawn, bargaining in the way she always did: soft smile, quick laugh, the small compliments that made vendors shave a little off the price. That was her practice. That was her way.
"Who's that?" Jo's voice asked on the memo. "Are you on some fancy date now?"
"It's a car with white gloves," Kylie said, grinning even though a knot of worry had settled in her stomach. "No date. Maybe an ice cream truck for grown-ups
