I was sick of the way he talked to me, like I was nothing but an upstart compared to him, an old sage who had been in the business a lifetime. Never in my life had I felt the urge to hit an old man, but I felt as though I could have made an exception.
Eager to burn off the anger, I rose quickly and walked over to the window so I didn't have to look at his smug face.
"You really let me down," I told him, forcing my voice to remain calm. "This could have benefited both of us tremendously. Your board has made an enormous mistake."
He said nothing, but I could hear him slurping his tea.
At the window, I looked out across the Boston skyline. I could see a few of my gyms dotting the cityscape, their blue and green lights glittering among all the brown brick. But there should have been more of them where Eddie's gyms now stood.
I tried to fathom why he was being such a difficult old bastard. Didn't he want me to buy him out? Didn't he want to be rich? Surely, he couldn't go on working as he did, not at his age.
Then I thought of the board he spoke of. The faceless suits that made all the decisions for him.
Assholes, I thought. What the fuck do they know?
Then it dawned on me.
They may not know shit about running gyms, but they knew the language of money.
"It's the shares, isn't it?" I wondered aloud, still looking out the window. "They're still shareholders, so if I buy you out, they won't be able to cash in on the price hike after the acquisition."
Behind me, Eddie spun around in his seat, still sipping on his tea. "You're too smart for your own good," he said, setting the dainty cup down on the saucer with a clink. "I'm sorry things couldn't have worked out between us."
"I'm sorry, too, for wasting my time on you."
He set the cup and saucer on the table, unfazed by my insult, and said, "Have a good day, Mr. Banks. I trust I'll be seeing more of your commercials on the television."
And just like that, he walked away, closing the door with a click as he departed.
"Bastard!" I raged now that I was alone. The buyout should have gone smoothly. His gyms would be mine and Banks Fitness would be double the size it was now. But how could my dream turn to shit so quickly?
I wanted to punch a wall, but instead, I smoothed my suit, took a deep breath, and pressed the button for Sandra's desk.
"The meeting with Eddie is over," I said. "Bring a scotch on ice over to my office, will you?"
"Certainly."
As I walked to my office, she was already setting it down on my desk. When she saw my face, her eyes crinkled with concern.
"Not good news, I take it."
"No," I said, taking a sip of scotch and grimacing at its strength. "But fuck it. There'll be more opportunities to grow. This is nothing but a blip on the horizon. Won't be long until Eddie realizes what a mistake he made. "
* * *
Lunchtime came and went, and I was still reeling from the bombshell Eddie had dropped. I didn't want to be angry, but I couldn't help it. I'd been eyeing his gyms for months now, and never for a second did I think I wouldn't get them. But bureaucracy, as usual, got in the way?
I sat at my desk, sipping an espresso, trying to calm my anger.
I'd worked so fucking hard to get to where I was, and I was so close to getting to where I needed to be. But then Eddie had to throw a wrench in the works and hold me back. I shouldn't have taken it so badly. Business was a fickle mistress and temperamental at the best of times. I had to admit that I couldn't always get everything to go my way, but I couldn't help but feel a swell of rage. I may have been a hard worker, but since the divorce, I'd thrown myself into overdrive trying to make the company grow to newer heights. Yet it wasn't growing at all. If anything, things were moving backward.
I didn't get it. I'd built this place from the ground up using nothing but tried and tested traditional business strategies that always worked. So why weren't they working now? Why was our latest advertising campaign failing? Why couldn't we take over Goldwyn's, for Christ's sake! It should have been a done and dusted deal!
My head was spinning when I heard a knock on the door. "Yes?"
"It's your interview candidate," Sandra's voice announced as she opened the door. "Becca Canmore."
Conducting an interview was the last thing I wanted to do, and if it was anyone but Becca, I might have considered canceling. But now that she was there, there was no harm in seeing her.
"Sure, let her in," I said, sighing.
From the foyer, I heard the click of heels on the marble floor, and a second later a figure appeared in the doorway. At first, I wondered who the hell the model was who had stumbled into my office. Then I realized she was no model.
"Becca! Wow, I almost didn't recognize you."
The last time I'd seen her she was in jeans and a hoodie, carrying boxes to her car. But here she was in a tight pencil skirt that hugged her curvy hips, a tight-fitting blouse that accentuated her large, round breasts, and black stilettos. Her face, though free from makeup, was glowing and her skin was radiant. And her previously short hair was now long and flowing down her back.
"You look great!" I blurted out before I could stop myself. "I mean, you look so grown up now. Please, take a seat."
Fuck, she's gorgeous, I thought. This is not what I expected.
Appearing confident, she sat down elegantly in front of my desk and crossed her legs. "Thank you for seeing me," she said, her voice no longer babyish but mature, almost husky.
"You're very welcome."
Sitting back down at my desk, I noticed her legs were pointing in my direction, her skirt riding up her thigh to reveal the shapely form of her muscles.
Take your eyes off her! She's your best friend's daughter!
But I couldn't stop myself. It was like I was being faced with a stranger, As though the Becca I used to know was long gone and replaced with this absolute goddess.
"Okay, so your dad told me you have some ideas," I began. "He said you don't want to waste your time in the gym with all the other trainers. That you want to make it up to corporate."
"That makes me sound like an arrogant brat," she laughed, her voice filling the room. "What I actually meant was that I'd eventually like to progress up through the company, not just spend every day sweating it out with the clients."
"So you'd like to be here for the long haul?"
"Absolutely," she replied positively with a nod of her head. "I don't flake out."
I could see that. She may have been dressed femininely, but there was no denying the strength of her body, a body that had been crafted through hours in the gym and sheer sweat and determination.
She could be the face of the company, I thought to myself. She'd sell a million more memberships than that nightmare Gigi.
"So tell me some of your ideas," I encouraged. "Your dad told me you've got plenty."
A slight look of nervousness flashed across her face, then it vanished as she began to talk. "Okay, so I've been studying your company for a while now."
"You have?"
"Yes. At college we had to do a module on sports business management, and I chose Banks Fitness as my case study for my assignment."
"Wow. Impressive."
"Your company really stands out because you focus on a high-class clientele from a celebrity background. You're luxury all the way. Your prices are high, your clients are the biggest and baddest, and your gyms are synonymous with the celebrity lifestyle that everyone craves. But I think you're missing something."
"What’s that?" I asked, leaning forward eagerly.
She was on the ball, the words tumbling out her mouth as though she'd rehearsed them a thousand times. She looked as though she gave pitches like this every day of her life.
"You're missing out on folk like me, on the wannabees, the students, the millennials who want a million-dollar body on a Dollar Tree budget."
I sat back in my seat and let her words sink in.
"I know what you'r
e thinking," she said. "That I'm nuts. That the whole point of your business is that it's high end and luxurious. That you don't want to stoop to a lower demographic. But tell me this, how many celebrities are there?"
I shrugged.
"Thousands, right?" she said. "But do you know who there are more of? People who want to be celebrities. For every Gigi, there's a thousand girls on Instagram wanting to be just like her. And that means getting access to all the things she has. The clothes, the makeup, the body..."
"The gym membership..."
Shit. She's really onto something.
"I mean, think about it. Remember when Maseratis were only for millionaires, but now you can lease them monthly. Every damned neighborhood has some guy whizzing about the streets in one of those things. It didn't hurt them to target the little man, did it?"
She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke.
“I know you're thinking I'm just some jumped up college kid with her head in the clouds. And you'd have every right. But I really think I can show you an angle your missing. A way to reach a new demographic that's uncharted territory for you.”
For a second I was stunned. In all my years in the industry, I'd never interviewed someone with so much confidence and belief in themselves. I was impressed by her, that was for sure. And not just with the way she spoke but in the way she carried herself and the effortless grace and glamour that oozed out of her.
What struck me the most was that she probably didn't even care that she wasn't wearing makeup or that her hair wasn't styled in the latest fashion. It was as though she didn't even know how good she looked. All she wanted was to talk business, and, my God, there was nothing sexier than a woman with her business hat on.
But at the same time, I had to think rationally. I couldn't just give her a job because she had the gift of gab, and I definitely couldn't give her a job because she was hot as hell. Then there was the matter of her being Bob's little girl. I never was one to indulge in nepotism and had always believed people had to earn their place in a company. So did Becca deserve a place at Banks Fitness? I was in two minds.
“I appreciate you coming in today,” I told her. “You definitely have a lot of strong ideas. I'll be in touch as soon as I make a decision.”
Looking disappointed, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Oh.”
The slump of her shoulders as she stood showed she felt rejected. She knew what I'll be in touch meant. But the look in her eyes said fuck you. I don't need your job anyway. And I didn't doubt that if I didn't give her a position, someone else would in a heartbeat.
“Well, thank you for your time,” she said, shaking my hand.
I couldn't help but notice she wasn't wearing the long, acrylic talons so many women like Olivia and Gigi wore, but had opted for clipped, unpolished nails. They were no-nonsense hands. Hands that lifted weights and worked hard. But despite the lack of girly finishings, her skin was silky soft and warm to the touch. And I found myself holding onto her hand for a moment longer than necessary.
“Goodbye, Matthew,” she said. She held my gaze for a second, smiled, then left. I watched her walk away with her head held high, her shoulders back, and her gait smooth and balanced.
“Wow,” Sandra said as she watched Becca disappear into the elevator. “That girl makes Gigi look like an old fishwife.”
“Doesn't she just?” I said, still feeling her the silken touch of her hand in mine. “She'd make a Victoria's Secret model look average.”
Becca
"’Sup bitch!"
"How did the interview go?"
"Ugh."
"That good, eh?"
"It was a freakin' disaster."
"Tell me everything."
I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. The room had remained untouched since I moved away to college. My cheesy boy band posters were still on the walls. At one end of the room were my sports trophies from school, piled high in a pyramid so they took up an entire wall to themselves. On the other end were all my sketchbooks and diaries, meticulously filed away in chronological order. Nobody had really seen any of them, not even Dad. Only Janey had seen some of my drawings and poetry I'd created in the privacy of my own room when I couldn't sleep.
Everything I penned was about my mom, and I saw my art journals and diaries as a way to communicate with her, saying all the things I couldn't. The juxtaposition of the diaries on one end of the room and the trophies on the other was a stark contrast that portrayed the binary opposites of my personality. Competitive, sporty, and practical at one of the spectrum and soft, creative, and sensitive at the other. Between the two sat my bed where I lay now, commiserating as I stared into Justin Timberlake’s eyes.
"I fucked up," I told Janey. "I was so nervous that I tried to pretend I was all confident and ended up coming across as a total douche."
"Shut up. I bet you didn't."
"No, I really did. I basically went in, sat down, and told him how I could make his company better. I mean seriously! Could I be any more embarrassing?"
"But that's what you wanted to do, wasn't it? Tell him all about your ideas for the company, right?"
"Yeah, but not like that."
"So what did he say?"
"That he'd be in touch."
"That's it?"
"That's it," I said. "He'd be in touch. That basically means no, right?" I asked.
Janey was ominously silent. "Not exactly," she eventually said.
"Give me a break. That's exactly what it means. If he wanted to give me a job, he would have been like ‘awesome, you start tomorrow’. But no. He couldn't have shown me the door quick enough."
"You're probably looking too much into it," Janey said. "I bet it went fine. You're worrying about nothing.” She scoffed. “You're always like this. If you don't get things perfect the first time you start freaking out."
"That's true. But I just can't shake the feeling I messed up."
"So what? Everyone messes up from time to time."
"Not me."
That wasn't exactly true. No one was right all the time. But generally, I threw myself headfirst into a task with as much energy as I could gather and gave it my all. Sometimes, my over enthusiasm would bite me on the ass, like the interview with Matthew. He probably thought I was a cocky bitch, strutting in there and telling him to change demographics and target new audiences.
"Okay, but enough about the interview," Janey said, interrupting my thoughts. "Is he as hot as you remembered?"
"Oh, my God, he's like ten times hotter! Seriously, the second I walked in there, my heart was beating like a hummingbird's. Age has treated him well,” I told her, sighing longingly. “He's got to be one of those mythical people who look better the older they get. He even has these little gray hairs poking out the sides of his temples, and they are just frigging adorable."
"Oooh, like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman?"
"He's ten times hotter than Richard Gere."
But there was something else I'd noticed about his appearance. The last time I'd seen him, he was a bouncing ball of energy and ambition, and although at the interview he presented himself as his usual alpha self with an iron disposition, there was a hint of exhaustion behind his eyes. Like he was jaded by life. Like he needed to get the hell out the office and have some fun.
I could show him a good time, I thought. He could do with a young thing like me to zap that tiredness right out of him. And I sure as shit wouldn't mess him around like that bitch Olivia did.
"So when do you think you'll get your answer from him?" Janey asked.
"Who knows," I sighed. "It could be next week or next month. Either way, not knowing is driving me nuts."
"I reckon you should just forget all about it for a night."
"How the hell am I supposed to do that? I can't think about anything else."
"By coming out with me and Harry," she proposed. "Come on. We'll hit a few bars, head to the clubs, dance the night away."
"Aw come on! You used to love going out dancing. Just you and me and the dance floor."
"Yeah, but it's not just you and me anymore, is it? Harry will be there."
"Do I detect a touch of bitterness in your voice?"
"Not at all. I'm just saying I'll be a total third wheel all night."
"Aw, don't be like that. Come out with us. It'll be fun and we can play matchmaker for you."
"No. You're always trying to hook me up with guys."
"I just want you to be happy!" Janey moaned. "I mean, what's wrong with you getting a boyfriend?"
"I have absolutely zero time for a boyfriend right now.”
“You've been saying that for months!” she grumbled. “You need to learn to have a little fun. I'm not saying you have to get into some serious relationship. But what's wrong with just fooling around?”
Nothing, except fooling around wasn't my style.
In college I'd had a few boyfriends, if you could even call them that. We'd hang out, go on a few dates, and maybe share a few kisses, but that's as far as it went.
The truth was that I just hadn't met anyone I truly connected with, and as for all the passion and fire in my loins I was supposed to feel, no guy I’d met had caused any of that.
As far as Janey and all my other friends were concerned, I was a regular young woman with the normal needs and urges I was expected to have. What they didn't know was that even though I had just had my twenty-third birthday, and although I had grown accustomed to receiving my fair share of male attention, I was actually a virgin.
It wasn't something I sat down and made a decision about, and it definitely wasn't for religious or moral reasons. Put simply, I just hadn't met anyone who rang my bell the way Matthew always had. Maybe it was stupid to wait for someone who turned me on the way he did, but I’d done it anyway. I was worth that, wasn’t I?
“Let's meet for lunch tomorrow,” I said. “And you and Harry have a great time tonight.”
“Sure I can't tempt you to come out?”
I was still staring at the ceiling but wasn't focused on a thing. In my mind I was thinking of Matthew and how good he looked in his suit. And how domineering and in control he appeared in his luxurious office.
Knocked Up by Daddy’s Best Friend Page 3