“Dad . . . I can’t get it to work!” Another cardboard boat design sinks into the pool. It’s my third one.
“That’s what an experiment is, Court. Tell me your hypothesis again.” Dad’s relaxing in a lounge chair. He’s pretending to read the paper, but I know he’s patiently watching me.
I go through my entire project, from conception to hypothesis to my third failed experiment.
“Okay, so you’re trying to figure out which design floats best as measured by time above water.”
“Yes,” I say with an eye roll, thinking that I literally just said that.
“Of the three designs, what were their float times?”
I refer to my notes, which I’ve been taking meticulously. “Two seconds for the first one. It basically sunk immediately. Four seconds for the second, and five for the last. They’re so close that I don’t think it’s a relevant variation.”
His eyebrows raise at my vocabulary. Lots of adults do that, but Dad talks to me like I’m older than I am, telling me that if I don’t know a word to let him know and he’ll explain. I like that.
“Did you confirm the timing?”
I snap. “I’ll do all three designs again, float them all at once, and see which is the last man standing. If the results are the same, that would confirm the variation.”
He smiles and shuffles his paper. “I wonder if you could come up with a fourth design for a broader range of test subjects.”
I smile at the memory and how Dad didn’t just hand me the answer but nudged me in the right direction and encouraged me to do more. It’s a lesson I did learn well from him, one I’ve used countless times throughout school and on work assignments.
“I’ve already got a plan, how we can integrate the rollout through a PR campaign for name recognition, then use our restaurants and supermarkets for distribution. First call needs to be to Vaughn Easton in PR, get his design team in on branding and logo developments. AgroStar’s internal memo of calling it ‘Energy Supplement 19-5’ isn’t going to sell anything. I’ll get Jillian on that after lunch.”
Dad grins, nodding. “Proud of you, baby.”
We keep eating, and as I tuck into the second half of my sandwich, he speaks up again. “Don’t forget that your mother and I have our anniversary coming up.” Dad freezes and then laughs. “Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to. I’m sure you have it in your calendar, with annual alerts. But the party is a big deal for Kimberly. Especially after Ross and Violet’s news.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Dad sighs happily. “You know, the best part of this is having all of you close to home to celebrate with us. God knows, the three of you drove us crazy sometimes, but the estate is so quiet without you there. Especially Ross. This empty nest thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He smiles, letting me know he’s teasing. A little.
“That’s not true. We come by to drive you crazy all the time.”
“Hmm, true,” Dad says. “But to let you in on a secret, I miss the morning arguments over what to have for breakfast. Ross with his protein shakes every day, Abi on that vegan kick, and you . . . I will also admit I’m glad you outgrew Honey Nut Cheerios. What was the deal with the straws again?”
I chuckle at my younger self. “That was the summer I considered being a surgeon and wanted to practice keeping my hands steady. Feeding those Cheerios onto a straw was my mission. Ten Cheerios in ten seconds, I think, was my goal.”
Dad shakes his head. “I do remember that now. The girl who fainted at the sight of blood wanting to be a surgeon, and nothing we could say would sway you. And ugh, Cheerio breath.” His face screws up.
“I forgot how much you hate the smell of Cheerios. But . . . I didn’t forget about your anniversary. I already have the gift for you and Mom purchased and wrapped, and though you’re reminding me, I hear you loud and clear. I’ll make sure Abi is there, on time, with no leaves in her hair this time.”
Dad laughs and picks up my pickle, taking a big bite and crunching loudly. “You’re a good daughter and a good sister.”
Chapter 15
Kaede
Another Tuesday, and another day almost in the books. Except this Tuesday feels different from all the others. I’m looking forward to the last hour of work today, that’s for sure.
Well, maybe not ‘work’, exactly.
I’m looking forward to seeing Courtney in a whole new way. She’s always been a private highlight to my days, but now that I’m getting to know her better, know what she looks like when she comes and have felt her in my arms, there’s a reality to those dreams I’ve been secretly harboring. And I’ve been struck by a deeper hunger for her and an overwhelming desire to see and touch her again.
It’s almost time for her to arrive for Zumba, and I plan on catching her before, at least ‘checking in’ on the class and hopefully grabbing a smoothie with her afterward.
I had a momentary lapse where I considered actually joining in to get closer to her, but I quickly remembered that I’ve got zero dancing skills and I’m not eager to make a fool of myself. But I’ll definitely look in the window for a minute or two.
Right now, though, I’m walking the floor, checking on how the gym is overall. And even to my critical eye, things look great. All the research Ross and I did on time flows and usage stats is paying off in real time. There’s no wasted money, no wasted space. Even though we’re at our busiest time, right after work, very few people are waiting, but we also don’t have a bunch of equipment sitting around gathering dust.
“Hey, Kayla, how’s it going?” She’s in axe alley, as always, currently sharpening a hatchet within an inch of its life. Or maybe someone else’s? With her, I’m never quite sure, and she does seem especially tense. She hums but doesn’t look up, keeping safety first, eyes on the sharps at all times. “What’d that axe do to piss you off?”
At that, she does stop sharpening and looks up at me. “Huh?”
I gesture vaguely to the murder device in her hand from a relatively safe distance, and she smiles.
“Oh, just keeping my tools in tip-top shape,” she explains, running a finger along the top, blunt edge of her axe to judge the curve, I guess. “Not too sharp, but I like having pointed corners for impact. The actual edge doesn’t take that much of a beating if you throw it properly. But I’m mostly doing this for show right now.” That last part is nearly whispered, and though I might regret this, I lean in.
“Show?”
Kayla leans over too, giving me one of her sweetest smiles, which definitely means I’m in for a good one that’ll probably leave me mind fucked. “Some of AJ’s meatheads started snickering when I was practicing, so I told them I was prepping for a competition.” That doesn’t sound bad, but the look on her face says she’s not done. After a dramatic pause, she says, “The Lorena Bobbitt speed finals. Sure, hacking a dick off might sound gratifying, but clean, sharp cuts are where it’s at for efficiency.”
I can’t help but cover my own cock protectively as I wince.
Kayla laughs. “They had the same reaction and suddenly had someplace else to be.”
“You’re evil and downright scary as fuck, you know that, right?” I don’t mean it as a compliment, but she sure takes it as one, flipping her hair over so the part goes the opposite way and batting her lashes.
“You say the sweetest things, Kaede. Oh, somewhat on topic . . . did you get my time off request for the competition?”
My brows go up, “It’s not really a Bobbitt contest, is it?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I’m clarifying anyway because . . . Kayla.
“It’s not.” She looks toward AJ and the three guys he’s training. For his part, AJ seems to be punishing them for their comments to Kayla as much as she is with the eye-glaring axe sharpening. At least there’s some employee camaraderie there. “Just a usual seasonal competition. Road to Nationals, you know.”
“In that case, yes, I got it. Just don’t want to be
considered a premeditation accomplice. You got everything planned out?” I can’t help it. It’s the organizer in me that needs to make sure everything is done, even if it’s not my stuff to do.
“Yep, staying at a Motel 6 with a fellow competitor who’s a friend, and it’s right next to the competition site. Just ready to get there and mop the floor with their blood and tears.” Kayla flashes that dimpled grin that makes me think she’s kidding.
“Maybe not the best analogy when you’re throwing axes?” I tease, and Kayla picks up her hatchet. In a move so fast I barely register it, she tosses it in an easy overhand that embeds it deep into the wood target. It’s completely casual, but it still makes me jump, my balls aching as I think of her joke. “Fuck.”
“Who says it’s an analogy? I meant it literally,” Kayla says, doing a quick mime of mopping the floor before thrusting her hands high in victory. “Two men enter, one woman leaves!”
“That’s not axe throwing. That’s Thunderdome.”
“Meh, small difference,” Kayla says before looking over my shoulder, or more accurately, around me because of our height difference. “Speaking of small differences, let me go knock some sense into AJ.”
Kayla heads off as I see AJ waving goodbye to his clients. Kayla doesn’t look mad, more like a woman who’s got something on her mind and you’d best hear her out without speaking. At all.
Good luck, AJ. She’s a handful and then some.
I leave the back area and head toward the front part of the gym, picking up as I go. One Life isn’t half as bad as some gyms I’ve been in, but still, a quick roaming pickup of plates left lying around or out of place helps later in the day.
I’m dropping a ten-pound plate onto a weight tree when a flash of red catches my eye and Missy walks up. She’s got on low-waisted shorts that show off her flat abdomen, but they’re several inches longer than her usual, and her bra is more of a strappy crop top. She still looks flashy, given that she’s in full fire-engine red, and the straps are mighty reminiscent of bondage wear, but I think Ross’s chat with her must’ve worked because it’s at least a slightly more family-friendly look.
“Hey, Kaede . . . got a minute?” she asks, her voice more serious than normal. When I nod, she continues. “Please excuse my father. He meant well. I mentioned you as both an owner and as a man. I’m a bit of a Daddy’s girl, so what I want, I get. My dad was just trying to help his little girl out.”
Listening to her tone of voice, someone might think she’s trying to sound apologetic about it. But I’ve been putting up with bullshit artists, from college coaches to corporate cutthroats, for over half my life, and my bullshit detector’s as finely tuned as an Italian sportscar. And what it’s telling me is that Missy’s a spoiled princess and likes it that way, used to getting what she wants. She’s just trying a new tactic, figuring if throwing the pussy in my face wasn’t going to work, maybe playing the ‘good girl’ might. “I see.”
“I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” Missy purrs, still trying to play the penitent. “I thought . . . well, you always seemed . . . interested, but shy.”
Seriously? Me, shy? Does she really think that’s going to work? I mean, I’m sort of stuck. I can’t just laugh in her face here. It wouldn’t be professional. And while she’s about as dead wrong as she can be, I’m also usually a polite guy. “Missy, the last thing anyone would describe me as is shy. However, I don’t mix my personal and my professional lives.”
Missy, seeing that her little act has failed, reverts back to her normal, real self. She pushes her tits out a little more in her tight top, her eyes take on a predatory shine, and she smiles hungrily, like a succubus on the hunt for a treat. “Pity,” she purrs, running a long, painted nail along my bicep. “I find mixing things up to be most exciting.”
Missy’s eyes cut to behind me and her lips twitch in delight. I look up in the mirror to see Courtney, stone-faced and jaw so tightly clenched I wouldn’t be surprised if she cracked a molar. To most people, she would look tense, maybe a little perturbed. But I can read that girl like a book, and as I turn around, I know by the pace of her stride and the way her chin juts out just a little bit that she’s pissed. In fact, if Courtney Andrews could shoot fireballs from her eyes, I’d be calling the fire department.
But I know Courtney, and I know how to handle this situation. Instead of trying to act defensive, I wave her over. I was a little afraid after our run that things would be awkward, and yeah, it’s bad to see her with Missy basically humping my leg, but this is salvageable. Hell, this is an opportunity.
“Hey, honey,” I begin, giving her a smile as she stands next to me. She doesn’t take my hand, doesn’t even touch me, but I feel claimed all the same by her presence, the heat of her gaze. “I wanted to take a moment to introduce you two. Courtney Andrews, this is Missy Tillman. Missy, this is Courtney Andrews, my fiancée.”
Missy seems smug, probably thinking she can start some shit. But Courtney is in full Ice Queen mode, and inwardly, I chuckle. Courtney’s about to end this girl’s whole life and not even raise her voice.
“Charmed, of course,” Courtney says, her tongue just starting to warm up to deliver the first cut. “Kaede has told me so much about your father. Oh, and you, of course.”
Ouch. I’ve become an expert in verbal jousting, in the little ways that people can say something without saying something. And quite frankly, Courtney’s a master. It’s just a half-second pause, but with a slight change in inflection, in tone, the meaning is clear.
You’re nothing. An afterthought.
“I hope he has,” Missy retorts, trying to come back with a sultry innuendo, but it’s like an amateur trying to fence with an Olympic medalist.
“Actually, I was just telling Kaede what a compliment it is that Mr. Sanders saw enough potential in their proposal to send in a secret shopper. It’s so nice of you to help your father that way. It must be gratifying that no one ever suspected.”
Holy Shit. How does Courtney make something that should be a compliment sound so dismissive, as though Missy is nothing more than an empty-headed socialite who shops for a living?
“I do what I can. You know what it’s like to assist your father, right?” Missy tries to counter, showing her hand that she’s done some research on Courtney now that her name’s been dropped. But her research didn’t fill her in enough because she’s fighting nuclear bombs with cat-fight scratches.
“I did. I learned so much from him. I’m still learning . . . as a VP for Andrews. But you already knew that.”
Called out. I feel like an idiot standing here watching them, head bopping back and forth like I’m watching a good tennis match, but I’m staying out of this. Courtney sure doesn’t need my help, and I have zero interest in helping Missy.
Knowing she’s lost that angle, Missy tries another. “Hope there’s no hard feelings about my friendship with Kaede. I simply didn’t know you even existed.” Missy makes it sound as though we’re having sex on the down low every time Courtney turns her back, which would worry me with any other woman but Courtney because she has nothing to be jealous of. She’s Cristal while Missy is warm, flat Pabst, and they both know it.
For the first time, Courtney lays a hand on my arm, right where Missy was tracing earlier, and this time, the touch sends a thrill through me. “Well, we are rather private people and do like to be discreet.”
“So discreet you don’t even wear a ring?” Missy counters, looking cocky that she just landed a shot.
Courtney smiles at me, snuggling into my side like that’s where she’s always belonged. She holds up her empty finger, meeting Missy’s cockiness with her own swagger. “I wouldn’t dishonor the beautiful ring Kaede got me by marking it up lifting weights. I don’t need to show off what I’ve got.”
Quick as a blink, Courtney looks Missy up and down pointedly, her brow rising ever so slightly in disapproval. And that’s at Missy’s new and improved look. Even Missy has to finally blush, knowing what sort
of outfits she’s worn before.
And with that reddening, the whole thing’s finished. I can almost hear the referee in my mind waving it off. It’s all over. Winner by knock out, Courtney fucking Andrews!
“Well, I do hope to see it soon,” Missy says with a put-upon pout. “Daddy wants to invite you all for dinner. You two, and Ross and his wife, too, of course. Very casual, sort of a get to know everyone dinner since we’ll all be working so closely together.”
I glance at Courtney, lifting an eyebrow. This is it, the moment. Once we do this, there’s no going back. I mean, there’s already no going back, but she could still bail and leave me looking dumped but still spinnable. After all, only our friends know, and they wouldn’t blame her for not going along with this crazy scheme.
Instead, Court lays her head on my shoulder, smiling warmly. “I’d love that. After all, we’re all One Life Gym family now.”
Missy smiles, but the light doesn’t touch her eyes. It’s just a reaction of the jaw muscles to display a set of capped, whitened teeth. “Great, next Saturday at seven?”
“Sounds great. If you don’t mind, though, I need to pull Kaede aside before I do my workout. Good luck with yours.”
It’s a final twist of the knife, considering that Missy’s doesn’t have a whisper of a sweat broken out but has probably been here for a while.
I’m in awe of Courtney and her command of the English language. Everything she says is double-edged, with a surface politeness that borders on dismissive and an undercurrent of I will kill you, bitch, and no one will ever find the body.
And that last bit? I’m bordering on popping wood at the idea of me and Courtney having a good, long workout in private.
As we walk across the gym, leaving Missy behind, I can feel Court’s hand in mine, and it feels natural, like her hand belongs in mine and I never realized it until now. As we head toward the studio, well out of earshot, Court’s already whispering to me.
My Big Fat Fake Engagement Page 18