“Are they still together?” he asks. “Didn’t they basically break up?”
“Not exactly. They’re still touring.”
“Without their leader.”
“What? Do you think we’re going to jinx our teams’ championship chances if we pick a band with a new lead singer?” I can’t quite keep the bitterness out of my voice, but I’m disappointed. I’d desperately wanted this to be fun, something he liked. Instead, he’s making me feel like I’ve somehow ruined everything. It’s an even stranger reaction to the one he had about my new team name. “We wouldn’t want you to risk your team’s success with a broken up band, would we?”
“Harper.” The annoyance in his voice when he says my name, something I’ve seldom heard before, gives me pause. He lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hands through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry. The band is okay. The music is okay. Everything—”
“Everything is okay?”
“Harper . . .” He gives a pained expression. “Can you please hold off on the sarcasm? It’s been . . . a day. And not a great one.”
“Okay.” I fold my arms and lean back on the couch. I don’t particularly care for his tone, but I comply.
For a moment, I take a step back to look at this situation. Brook’s face is buried in his hands. His shoulders are hunched forward. Like he’s defeated, or tired. But, he’s seemed tired all day. All week, truth be told.
He hasn’t shown any excitement about winning the game on Friday. Not in the same way he did after the first game. I’d figure he’d be thrilled. Shouldn’t being a head coach make victory that much sweeter? Has he heard something more about Pax? Are the treatments not going well? Is something wrong with one of the players? Is he under some kind of pressure from the parents or school? Did one of his assistants violate rules?
My mind races with all the possibilities, each as probable—and at the same time unlikely—as any of the others. The only constant is that they’re making me realize that maybe this is about more than a song. This has nothing to with Journey or me.
Much as I’d prefer to storm out of the room or pout, I swallow hard and ask, “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, for what seems like the twentieth time today. His voice is more contrite than before. “It’s a good song.” He takes my hand and links his fingers with mine. “I should’ve been more enthusiastic. And I don’t think Journey is a jinxed band. Even if I did, I . . . I don’t want you thinking I care about winning football games—real or fantasy—more than I do about you.”
“I don’t. Not really.” I cover our linked fingers with my other hand and squeeze. “I was being dramatic.”
“You were reacting to my bad attitude. I’m—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry.” I squeeze him to soften the interruption. “You don’t have to be sorry. There’s a lot going on in our world right now. It’s going to take adjusting.”
“Or I just need to chill out.” He offers a lopsided grin. “Can we do this over?”
“Do what?”
“Our Sunday Night Football song.” He releases me and picks up the discarded phone and headphones.
“Should we try a different band?”
He shakes his hand. “Journey is good. Perfect. You were right. We’ll have fun with them. There are a lot of possibilities.”
“There are.” I take a deep breath, because my heart still needs a moment to steady. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” He smiles, and this time it actually reaches his eyes. “My air guitar skills are a little rusty. I need the practice.”
Week One Recap: North’s Lady Crushes the Opposition in Season Opener
Talk about making a strong start. Based on their performance in week one, the men of North’s Lady certainly aren’t messing around. Her team put up major points early in the Thursday night game, and they didn’t stop there. The players kept up the momentum throughout Sunday and all the way through both Monday night games.
Veteran Quarterback Todd Northwood spearheaded the victory by racking up more than thirty points. He threw four touchdowns and tallied up plenty of passing yards. Coming off a season-ending injury last year, North is back and, by all appearances, stronger than ever.
North’s Lady also saw significant success with her wide receiver corps. Based on their efforts this week, not to mention their impressive results in the pre-season, we can expect to see even more from these players in the weeks ahead of us.
Running back Duke Smith scored two touchdowns and ran for more than 100 yards. He was definitely worth taking as the first overall pick of the draft.
With the highest total points for the week, North’s Lady would have defeated every other team in the league had she gone up against them.
You’re on notice, Mega Ballerz. Barring serious injuries or poor decision-making on the manager’s side, this is the team to beat. Good luck with that.
Record: 1-0
Chapter Six
WADE IS WAITING FOR me in my office when I arrive at work on Thursday morning. I do a double take in my doorway. Am I late? My eyes fly to the chrome clock hanging on my wall next to a framed copy of my diploma and a print of Monet’s San Giorgio Maggiore At Dusk. No, it’s five till eight. I’m technically early.
Does he realize what time it is?
Catching me staring at him out of the corner of his eye, Wade turns in my guest chair. “We need to talk.”
My stomach drops, but then I remember the last time he bombarded me in a similar manner and decide not to worry until it’s time to worry.
I hang my purse on the back of the door and cross the room to sit behind the desk. Folding my hands on the desktop, I calmly wait for him to tell me what he’s doing here.
He shifts in the chair and taps his fingers on the armrest. “We need to go shopping.”
“Do we?” I lean back in the chair, crossing my legs. “I already ordered the coffee you wanted for the break room, and I had to buy it in bulk so we could get a good price on it. If you’ve changed your mind, it’s too late. You’re just going to have to drink it.”
“Coffee?” His eyes narrow in confusion. “Why would I care about the coffee?”
“You were in here complaining about it on Tuesday,” I remind him. “You said the light roast I’ve been buying isn’t strong enough.”
“Oh, right.” He shakes his head. “Thanks, but that’s not what we need to buy.”
“If you want a new office chair you have to wait.” I reach for a file in one of my cabinets. “I can’t remember when it’s your turn to upgrade, but Gio gets to go before you.”
“I’m talking about engagement ring shopping,” he says in frustration.
Oh. I suppose that should have been a given. In my defense, I haven’t had any of the new coffee I ordered yet. “Okay . . . let’s go shopping.”
“You promised you’d help me, and . . . well . . . nothing has happened.”
“You haven’t said anything about it since our first conversation,” I remind him. I speak gently, because that’s how you deal with crazy people. “You’re the one popping the question. I figured you’d say when you were ready to take that next step.”
“I didn’t want to bug you with everything going on with Brook . . .”
“But you were willing to come in here the other day complaining about coffee.”
“I wasn’t complaining about coffee.”
I give him a hard look, and he concedes. “Okay, maybe I did. A little. But in my defense—”
“Ring shopping,” I interrupt. “Let’s stay on the topic.”
“Right.” He nods and clears his throat. “I’m being a little crazy.”
“And erratic. That’s understandable. I’d be nervous if I was planning on marrying Amelia.”
“Ha ha. If you’re done joking, I’m trying to be serious here.”
“Your heart is on the line, I get it.” I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Let’s go engagement ring shopping. When?”
> “Can you go Saturday?”
I shake my head. “Can’t. Your future wife wants to go to the Applejack Festival on Saturday.”
“That’s right.” He sighs. “Thanks for going, by the way. I love Amelia, but apples aren’t really my thing.”
“No thanks necessary. It’ll be fun.”
“What about Sunday?”
“That’s fantasy football day.” He’s a founding member of our league. I shouldn’t have to remind him of that.
“What about going in the morning?”
“How many ring stores are open on a Sunday morning?”
“You’re right.” He tugs at the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Could we go sometime after work?”
“Sure. Pick a night.”
“How about Tuesday?”
“I’m teaching a crocheting class.”
“Thursday?”
“Thursday night—”
“Football. Right.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Why is this so damn hard?”
“We could look online during lunch. That way you can have some ideas before we go into the store. It might make that part less daunting.”
He nods, relief covering his face. “That would be great.”
“It’s a date. Now,” my eyes flash to the clock again, “I should probably get a little work done so we can justify that personal Internet usage later.”
Wade releases a light laugh. “Good point. I’ll see you at lunch.”
After he leaves the office, I open up a spreadsheet on my computer. Anderson asked me to compile statistics about sales during the past twenty-four months, which will take some serious number crunching. Not my favorite part of the job, but fortunately the computer can do most of the math. Most people cringe about the amount of data entry that goes into this job, but I find it soothing. Unlike most of life, spreadsheets make sense.
What doesn’t make sense is why our dealership is going through such a big downslope in revenue. If the data is correct—and I entered everything myself, so I’m sure it is—we aren’t netting quite as big of results as we should. I double-check the sales figures. Just as I thought, they’re steadily improving. But why are our profits so low?
I click through the various spreadsheets in the file until I land on one I haven’t worked on before. It’s not exactly hidden, but it is farther into the workbook than my job assignment ever takes me.
“‘To Other Franchise Locations,’” I read aloud. I scroll through the page. Ten percent of our net goes to the Texas locations. Six percent goes to New York. Three percent to Missouri. A whopping twenty percent goes back to franchise headquarters. Naturally, a chunk of our money is supposed to go to HQ. That’s how the owners make money. But this is an additional twenty percent beyond the set standard expected from each location.
Based on what this says—and I can’t be sure until I verify it with Anderson—our location is carrying the rest of the dealerships.
But why? I hesitate only a second before I pick up the phone and punch in Anderson’s extension.
“Do you have a minute?” I ask as soon as he answers, unable to keep the trepidation out of my voice. “I’m going through the sales file like you asked and, well, I have a few questions.”
He lets out a low sigh. “Give me two minutes.”
Two minutes. That gives me enough time to organize my thoughts, or at least calm down enough not to pounce the second he walks through my door.
I double-check the figures and confirm that the exact amount of money missing from our figures is funneling out to these other locations. It’s been occurring almost as long as I’ve been working for the dealerships. Even if you consider downturns in the market, the other places should be standing on their own by now. Or they should have been sold off or consolidated years ago. It makes zero sense to carry that much deadweight for so long.
It’s not like it’s my money, but this discrepancy bothers me. It shouldn’t, but I wonder why I hadn’t ever discovered the extra money pumping in when I worked in Albany and Dallas. It was probably above my pay grade, but I should have noticed.
I also figure the owners would have let me in on the secret when they accepted my transfer request and sent me to Lincoln with orders to help the location tighten up finances. At the franchise meeting in May, the owners pulled me aside again and told me how important it was to monitor our expenses and make sure everything was operating as efficiently as possible. In June, they’d decided not to bring on another salesman and mechanic even though our business levels demanded it.
By all accounts, we aren’t the problem. It’s everywhere else. So why are we in hot water? Headquarters and the other locations should be thanking us for their existence.
My emotions and thoughts are nowhere near collected enough when Anderson steps into my office and closes the door behind him. He wordlessly takes the chair opposite my desk and crosses his legs. He silently waits for me to explain why I’ve called him here. Only, based on the awareness in his eyes, he already understands.
Taking a deep breath through my nose, I keep my tone carefully measured. “Why are we sending out so much of our revenue to other parts of the franchise?”
Anderson sighs again, only this one is much heavier. “Because the other locations just aren’t sustaining well enough on their own.”
My breath catches. Of course I already knew this, but somehow hearing Anderson admit it out loud makes it all the more real. “Then why are we being monitored so much more closely than everyone else?”
“Because right now, we’re the only profitable part of the business.” Anderson leans forward, resting his elbows on the armrests. “And right now, they want more profit. At least until the sale . . .” he trails off and turns his focus to the floor.
“Until the sale goes through?” I guess. “They’re selling us?”
He lifts his eyes back to mine. “Can you keep a secret?”
“That’s a yes then?” He doesn’t answer, but the lines of stress etched around his eyes tell me everything. “Is it just us or everyone?”
“Right now, the owners are assessing whether or not to make a total or partial liquidation.” He taps his knuckles on the armrests. “Before they make their decision, they’re trying to figure out their net worth and what they could get for it if they dismantled the entire business.”
“Why is this happening now?” I ask, my stomach turning at the thought of how many people would lose their jobs if they just sold off each asset bit by bit. “Why would they keep everything running for so long, through so much, only to call it quits when things are finally showing signs of growing?”
Anderson shrugs. “I’m not their confidant. I only know what I’ve been told.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“You never told me your answer. Can you keep a secret?”
“Yes, of course,” I answer. I’m sure I can, even though it seems like everyone should know how close they are to being handed a pink slip. If he tells me everything, maybe I can do something to prevent that from happening. No clear cut solution comes to mind, but I need more facts. “Whatever you say stays between us.”
“Okay. Of course I trust you.” He picks up a stapler from my desk. He opens and closes it over and over. “Apparently, the owners are about a breath away from filing for divorce.”
He waits for me to react, but I don’t. Honestly, out of everything else I’ve discovered in the past ten minutes, that’s the least surprising. There’s never been any real indication of love between them. Their relationship always seemed so cold and businesslike.
“And rather than divvy up their business interests . . .”
“They’re considering dividing their assets on a purely financial level,” he finishes. “They’re considering it with all of their business interests, which go beyond car dealerships.”
I nod. “What’s stopping them from just doing it?”
He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He clamps the stapler shut a final time. �
�And there’s no way of predicting what the liquidation will mean. We could be sold in our entirety to someone who wants to keep us open.”
“Or they could decide it makes more sense to fold and sell the remaining inventory.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “So what do we do?”
“We do our jobs.” Anderson sets the stapler back on my desk, neatly aligning it with the tape dispenser. “And we hope they show mercy.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees. “But what other choice do we have?”
He’s right. There’s nothing we can do. Short of praying the owners rekindle the spark in their relationship—or decide they love being business owners too much to give up their interests—all we can do is wait and see.
BY SATURDAY, I’M STILL at a loss of what to do about everything at work. I wish I could talk it over with Brook, but I promised Anderson I wouldn’t say anything to anyone. That extends to my boyfriend. Even if I could tell Brook without breaking my word, I’m not sure I would.
He’s been even busier this week than he was the week before. If his meetings and practices run any longer, he might as well sleep at the school. It would save him the time on the ten-minute commute. I’m trying really hard to be understanding. I’ve caught myself at least half a dozen times before I turned into “the harper.”
It’s harder than I imagined. I want to support him. I want to be there. But I also miss him. While he’s usually up and out the door before I can register that he’s kissed me good-bye in the morning, I see him every night.
See is the key word. He’s been arriving home well after eight every night. Then, he usually has a pile of homework to grade or game tape to watch or game plans to review. I can tell he’s trying to be more positive around me, but just knowing that I’ve made him feel like he has to be more careful sends me on a guilt spiral.
Relationships take effort. But I’m afraid I’ve turned ours into another job for him.
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