"Stop drooling on camera—you’re not a late-night sketch!" Flynn snapped. "I wasn’t drooling," I said, grinning. "I was emoting." "Emoting doesn't erase the GIF that just sold your dignity to the internet," Flynn said. He flicked his thumb across his tablet like he could swipe the whole disaster away. Jovie laughed before she meant to. "Okay, but that GIF is gold. People are splicing you into cats now. Cat-Kaelyn." "I am not a cat," I said. "You are trending under three different animal tags," Jovie reported, eyes bright and fingers urgent on her phone. "And someone added a sad trombone to the clip. It's at one million views in ten minutes." I squinted at her screen. The clip started when I tried to eat a prop donut on camera and the monitor delayed my laugh by half a second. The delay made me look like I was chasing the camera with my mouth open. Someone had looped it, added a wobble effect, and layered mocking captions. It was ridiculous and mean and funny in a stomping-on-ego kind of way. I laughed. Then I stopped. "You see the comments?" Flynn asked, not looking up. He had that spreadsheet look where every joke was a number. "They’re framing this as 'unprofessional.' Brands notice 'unprofessional.'" "I see them," I said. "They also called me 'adorably deranged.' That’s not entirely wrong." "That’s not the point," Flynn said. "The point is your image