To Color Your Life

The night was disgusting. Relatively disgusting.

In fact, she had such dreams, the content of which turned out to be so pleasant that it was disgusting.

They say that during sleep, the brain analyzes and structures the information received throughout the day and enters it into long-term memory. Since Emily had spent the previous day reading three, not the most "modest" love novels, her brain had to analyze what was received.

But why the hell in every plot the main character was with the face of Justin Evans?!

"Ugh, damn you!" the girl threw back the coverlet and sat down. The mirror opposite reflected dark circles under the eyes, tousled hair and a rumpled T-shirt. At such moments, Emily was glad that her poor eyesight did not allow her to see this morning "beauty" from a distance of three meters.

She put on her glasses, picked up the phone, and froze with her mouth open.

"What the…," the display was littered with missed call notifications. Among them, out of nowhere was a notification from Instagram , which Emily found very strange, and the girl decided that it was some kind of bug.

She checked the time. There were still three hours before work.

Then why did Kat call her so many times?

"Hello?" She called her colleague's number, and the latter immediately picked up the phone, "Catherine, did you call me? Did something happen?"

"Emily! It happened! An amazing thing has happened!" The blondie's joyous scream deafened Hayes for a moment, "Our team's sales beat Gregor's team sales by three times in the first half hour of the issue!"

"Ehm, congratulations," Emily replied, unsure of how to react. Based on Joyce's reaction, the news was good.

"All thanks to your article! It has the most views in the last six months! You even broke Gregor's record! I can imagine how mad he is!"

Emily didn't know Gregor, and she didn't want to imagine him in a rage. She decided that she would sit out this month as quietly as possible, receive her recommendations and forget this strange department as a bad dream.

At the thought of a dream, pictures of night throwing on the bed in the company of the hot hero of a love story appeared in her head.

"Baby, I worked on your corporate Instagram account. Justin has already posted the post, so don't be intimidated by the activity. It's always like this with him. Moreover, he rarely uploads photos with girls. Chao! I'm waiting for you at work! Don't be late for the planning meeting in three hours!" Catherine sent a savory kiss through the phone and hung up.

Emily scratched her head. She was not used to such a fuss in the morning. Article, you're saying. Common, you all! It was the most common article!

She honestly wrote what she thought. Erotic novels were not included in her area of ​​interest, but she tried to be as objective as possible.

The girl clicked the Instagram icon.

[bemybaby and 1547 more people started following you.]

"What?!" she rubbed her eyes, rubbed the lenses on her glasses, and read the notice again.

How many of them followed me?

Emily was not a social media fanatic. She forgot the password for her only Facebook account two years ago. And even then, from the published posts there were only pictures with cute cats.

Catherine forced her to create an Instagram page the other day and subscribe to the magazine's official account to keep abreast of all contests and publications. She complied with the request, without giving a name or photo, and only subscribing as "Temporary Editor Hayes"

[justin.evans mentioned you in his Stories,] another notification read, and Emily pushed a button.

Damn it!

A photo appeared in front of her eyes. Yes, not just a photo, but a mega-super-frigging-great photo!

If she did not know, then she would have never guessed herself on this photo! More precisely, her ass.

But the boss's cheeky look was familiar to her.

Catherine Joyce was definitely a photographer from God.

"And my grandmother said that my butt got bigger. My butt is normal, a very pretty one, in fact," the girl felt her self-esteem rise by several points.

As Catherine had promised, Emily's face was not visible. But it was enough to generate even more interest from the audience.

"The next week, a strict teacher will personally take care of my upbringing. You will be able to see her in the next issue of Pharaoh magazine. Exclusive and this month only. You can all eat your hearts out. She is mine."

The signature under the picture and almost half a million likes caused Emily even more stupor than the night fantasies about her own boss.

She is mine.

Throughout the sentence, her brain was repeating those three words.

She is mine.

Heat along with anticipation enveloped her body, transforming the room into the epicenter of the Gobi Desert.

It's just physiology, she soothed her chaotic heart. It's just marketing, she explained, the words got stuck in her head like an annoying song.

She is mine.

Her ex boyfriend never told her this. But sometimes it was so desirable that he shouted to the whole world, "Look! She is mine! Only mine!"

The girl began flipping through the posts' feed of Justin Evans, looking at the photographs of the man. Without a doubt, this impudent man was handsome.

One and a half million subscribers were proof of that.

Expensive cars, beautiful villas, islands with palm trees and white sand. The life in Mr. Perfect's photographs was strikingly different from that led by Emily.

Quiet evenings with a cup of hot cocoa and an interesting book were ideal for her. Personal nirvana, which she is able to create herself.

For such a man, that would be boring.

Emily threw the phone aside.

The sudden gloom scraped under her skin, causing nausea.

"I have to drink something sweet," the girl concluded, slapped herself on the cheeks in approval, stood up on the bed, and uttered in a full voice, "Emily Hayes, you are the greatest in the world! Smart, beautiful, capable and cool! You easily achieve your goals and strive only forward! On to new victories!"

She patted herself, got out of bed and, jumping on one leg or the other, went to the bathroom.

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, the girl pulled on her old worn jeans, wrapped her hair in a careless bun, grabbed the keys to the apartment from the table and headed for the door.

Somewhere between putting on the first and the second sneaker, Emily froze and looked at the laces. Then onto her jeans. She turned her head and stared into the mirror opposite, contemplating her "stylish" outfit.

For some reason today, the usual clothes she chaotically put on every morning looked dull and tasteless. Emily looked more like a schoolgirl than a graduate of a prestigious university.

You're about to turn thirty, she remembered her grandmother's comment.

The girl took off her sneakers and returned to the room. After digging around in the closet for about twenty minutes, Emily ended up wearing a light dress just above the knee. She did a make up, styled her hair, which took another thirty minutes.

Now a charming girl was looking at her from the mirror, ready for a date with the guy of her dreams.

Stop! What the hell is with a date and a dream guy?!

Emily stared at the cutie in the mirror as if she were a cynical traitor to her homeland.

Why the hell did she decide to dress up for a coffee trip across the street from home?!

The mirror image blinked in embarrassment. You know for whom. What if he will be there again? So handsome, always well-groomed and stylish. One and a half million followers on Instagram. And here you are in your stretched T-shirt and frayed jeans!

"Ugh, Justin Evans, damn you!" the girl growled and in one movement pulled off her dress. Well, who was pulling her by the tongue about "marry the first comer"?!

Emily looked around. And when did she manage to create such a mess? Before the girl got to the coveted dress, half of the things were on the floor and around.

"A mess in a house is a mess in my head," she concluded expertly. General cleaning is the best remedy for unnecessary thoughts!

Emily pulled her carefully curled locks back into a ponytail, wrapping the ends of her hair at the top of her head. Then she wiped the lipstick off her lips and put on shorts and an old T-shirt.

[justin.evans started following you.] A notification popped up on the phone.

Hayes rolled her eyes. It was only the second day, and she no longer wanted to go to work.

How do you look at the boss now when provocative images from nightmares pop up in your head every now and then?

"It's all physiology. A common reaction to an attractive man," she muttered to herself.

Emily picked up a few things off the floor and stuffed them back into the closet.

"Even Sigmund Freud said that..."

Continuing the session of self-psychoanalysis, the girl drove away from the thoughts of the best coffee in the city, which was waiting for her across the road. And an equally alluring visitor of her favorite cafe, the meeting with whom turned out to be fatal.

Her heart was beating fast breaking all the limits that Emily has set for herself. Like the sports car, it started the engine and prepared for the start of the race.

The last thing to do was to wave the flag and press the gas pedal.