I lift my brow pointedly. I do not answer. Ice Queens don’t need to.
“Uhm . . . okay. I’ll go get some coffee. It’ll take a while for my copies to collate and staple.”
As soon as I’m alone, I sag and freak out. I pull out my phone, texting Kaede quickly.
Me: Need to talk. Emergency.
Two minutes later and approximately five peeks down the hallway, and I’ve gotten no response. But I do know exactly where Missy went . . .
Dad’s office.
Fuck. What do I do? Calm down and think, Courtney. Be rational.
As if I can do that when Missy’s here! And in there with Dad! Shit, shit, shit!
Oh, the angel and devil are arguing again. Great, just great.
I could go into Dad’s office, big as daylight and twice as badass, and ask. But that might ruin Ross and Kaede’s deal with Sanders if I’m aggressive. And it would make Dad wonder as well. I’m not in the habit of barging into his office mid-meeting to demand answers from anyone.
Or I could go in and act surprised. Oh, Missy! What a surprise! Kiss-kiss. But that’s showing my hand in the middle of the game. Not smart.
Maybe it’s nothing or about something completely different. Dad does mentor young business students . . . nope, doesn’t fit since she’s not a student. He donates to causes, so maybe she’s trying to get him to sponsor the 5K event? But Ross doesn’t want that, would never allow it, and Dad has been encouraging Ross to step out on his own, so there’s no way they’d cross lines like that now.
Money. I keep coming back to that because other than Kaede, it’s Missy’s focus. Dad’s got money, not in the same realm as Jeffrey, but they might be working on a deal together that I don’t know about? One that Missy is presenting?
But that doesn’t seem right, either. Missy might be smarter than she lets on, but she’s not the kind who’d work hard enough to make a presentation worthy of my father’s time, though she might get an appointment on her name alone.
I’ve been so deep into AgroStar, is it possible there’s something in the works for another department, maybe with one of the other execs up here? No . . . I would’ve seen something in the weekly updates. The name ‘Sanders’ or ‘Tillman’ would set off big, huge alarms for me.
I check my phone again, but Kaede hasn’t responded.
Maybe he’s on the floor and his phone’s on silent?
I doubt it. He’s avoiding you and you know it.
Shut up! I have to do something. Fine. I have to tell Ross.
My hand shakes a little as I wait for Ross to pick up, and I’m just about to hang up and try the front desk of the gym and have both Kaede and Ross paged when he picks up. “Hey, Court, what’s up?”
“Missy’s here. At the office.”
I can hear Ross sit up, his feet banging on the floor, or maybe it’s his elbows on the desk. “She’s where?”
“Here! At the office! In Dad’s office!” I whisper loudly. “She was walking around the executive floor like a bloodhound searching for an escapee. I thought she was looking for me, but she went into Dad’s office. I don’t know why, but something’s rank in Denmark. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” Ross says. “Not yet. I need to think and talk to Kaede. What’d he say when you told him?”
It’ll only hit me later that Ross assumed I called, or tried to call, Kaede first. But right now, it flies over my head as I peek down the hallway. “He didn’t answer so I called you.”
“I’ll handle it. Don’t do anything. Go back to your office and let me handle it, Court.”
Ross hangs up, and I peek down the hall. No blonde bimbos in sight, so I hurry to my office, where Jillian looks up in surprise. “You’re back fast. Morgan not there?”
I ignore her question and put the files I’ve been holding on her desk. I lean into my palms. “Jillian, I need you to do something for me.”
Bless her, she sees the stress on my face, the tension in my eyes, because she doesn’t flinch at all. “Anything.”
This is crazy. And Ross told me he’d handle it. But maybe Abi was onto something—tell me not to do something and I’m sure as hell going to do it if it’ll help someone I care about.
I wish I could do it myself, but I need help. It’s the only way to pull this off. Luckily, Jillian’s fuchsia lips are tighter than Fort Knox and I know I can trust her, no matter how nuts this is going to sound. “I need you to take these to my dad’s office for approval and signatures.”
“Okay,” Jillian says, reaching for the files, but I slap my hand over top, cutting her off sharply, and she snatches her hand back.
“There’s more.”
Now comes the weird part. Jill nods, eyes wide and locked on me.
“I want you to sit in the outer office with Dad’s assistant. Gossip and keep an eye out. If she asks, tell her I asked you to wait because I need the signatures today.” When Jillian nods, I continue, lowering my voice. “There is a woman in his office. Blonde bimbo type, Ariana Grande ponytail.” Jillian’s eyes narrow, and I can read her mind. “Not like that. But I want to know what they’re talking about. Are they friendly or adversarial? Any intel you can get about what she’s up to without being obvious.”
“Who is she?” Jillian asks, her voice at a near whisper.
“Missy Tillman, Jeffrey Sanders's daughter.”
Jillian’s eyebrow lifts. She knows the name. “Jeffrey Sanders, as in the billionaire investor? I didn’t know he had a daughter.”
I nod once, sharply. “Sanders, as in Ross and Kaede’s investor. Be discreet. Nothing obvious, but I need to know what the hell she’s up to because it can’t be anything good.”
Jillian grins. “Ooh, I like Secret Spy Courtney. I won’t do you wrong.” She gives me a half-ass salute and stands, straightening her skirt and putting what I assume is her game face on. “You know us EAs are ninjas around the office when we want to be. People like that don’t even realize we exist unless it’s to order us around. Even then, we don’t register. We’re invisible.”
While I get what she’s saying, Jillian is not invisible. Ever.
She’s wearing black today, but there’s nothing ninja about her outfit. Her black pencil skirt has tufts of white tulle gathered around the hem, her black sweater has a chunky diamond rhinestone collar that could blind you if the florescent lights hit it right, and her pale white legs are covered in black lace hosiery. She stands out in a crowd and is extremely memorable. But I have to hope that the unusual appearance will at least make her seem nonthreatening.
“Thank you, Jill. I owe you one.” I give her a nod, and Jillian preps for her mission, peeking out the door before walking out.
I risk a glance after her, seeing her stomp down the hall like a woman on a mission. She stumbles badly, almost falling, but she catches herself against the wall with a loud thud. She straightens her glasses, which have gone askew from the near-miss, and looks back to flash me a thumbs-up.
I smile, giving her a thumbs-up too before collapsing against the wall in her office. I look up, praying that this works and she finds out something, anything helpful.
She’s a hell of an assistant, but despite her bragging, she’s a shitty spy.
I’ll never tell her that part, though. She’s got guts, and she’s right, Missy will probably just dismiss Jillian on sight.
I look at my phone, debating whether I should text Kaede again. But he hasn’t answered me yet. Maybe I’ll let Ross handle that part.
Maybe I should change my name to Coward Courtney.
Chapter 24
Kaede
The morning sun is cooler than it’s been for the past few weeks, which is probably a good thing. It’ll help the runners, for sure, but it’s not so cold the other participants will be too tight to work safely. I shake a bit myself, trying to get loose. Because cool weather or not, I’m already sweating lightly.
Today’s going to be one of the biggest tests of my life, and I haven’t been this ne
rvous since my first televised college game. Then, I puked in the bathroom before the coach’s pep talk even started.
I can’t do that today. No puking, McWarren. Fight through.
I’ve been working myself to the bone for the last two weeks, doing my share of the event arrangements and double-checking along behind Missy. I didn’t trust her to start with, but after her surprise visit to Morgan Andrews, I wanted to make sure she wasn’t slipping a poisoned pill into the prep.
Surprisingly, she’s done everything on her list under budget and early. It’s actually professionally admirable. Maybe I didn’t give her enough credit. But it was a reasonable worry, considering the amount of time she’s been putting in with AJ on the floor, working out while giving me come-hither looks.
Kayla’s about ready to kill her. I’m about ready to let her. Hell, I might encourage her and provide an alibi.
And okay, maybe I’ve been hiding out from Courtney and Ross a bit too. I’ve used the event prep as an excuse, but that’s all it’s been, an excuse.
At the anniversary party, when I saw Ross looking at me speculatively and Morgan eyeballing me for daring to dance with his daughter, I knew I was in too deep. I forgot my place at the table. I’m thankful to have one, but I don’t belong with those people. Not really.
And Courtney hadn’t been exaggerating. I’d met Blaine Cleveland the Second, who was quite proud of his surgeon son, Blaine Cleveland the Third. In fact, between the Clevelands and the Hollingsworths, I was sort of surprised. It’s the first time I’ve been in a crowd and my playing college football and having a bowl game ring was just ho-hummed. And when we talked work, they made One Life seem like a home gym. I guess compared to places like Andrews Consolidated, it kinda is. But I’m damn proud of it.
And that bowl game ring.
So take that, Cleveland the Second.
My phone dings, and I check it. I’ve set up alarms all day to make sure we stay on schedule because I'm expecting something to go awry. That’s always the best way to prepare—plan for the worst and have alternative plans ready to go into action in a moment’s notice, all the while hoping everything goes off without a hitch. It’s a methodology that’s served me well.
I hope things run smoothly because after my conversation with Ross, we feel certain that Jeffrey is up to something. He and I met for hours after hearing about Missy’s little visit to Morgan, talking through the information Courtney got from her assistant. Problem was, it wasn’t much more than Missy’s appearance and meeting with Morgan. We still don’t know what the meeting was about, and when I suggested that Ross just ask Morgan, he’d shut me down quickly, saying that he wasn’t ‘running to Daddy’ like he’s scared, and even if he did, that would put Courtney in an awkward position too. Telling company business, even to family, isn’t exactly welcomed with smiles and head pats in the corporate world.
Ross seemed to believe that I didn’t answer my phone when she called because I was with a member, but I felt like shit for lying to him. Even more so for lying to her. I wasn’t consulting with anyone. I was talking with AJ and just shooting the shit. I chose not to answer because I thought her ‘emergency’ was about us. It’s all that had been on my mind and I assumed, incorrectly, that she was as hyper focused on it as I was.
As I am.
I just don’t know how to explain to Courtney that as much as I want her, as much as I’ve fallen for her . . . Missy was right. I’m Cinderfella, and she’s a princess. And despite Disney, cartoons, and even Harry and Meghan, guys like me don’t end up with princesses.
Or if we do, we end up pulling them from their ivory towers and getting them kicked out of the royal family. I won’t do that to Courtney. I won’t ever hurt her that way, even if it tears my guts out to be without her.
Stop thinking about her, loverboy. Not now. Prioritize.
I have to focus on today and pray for the best. It irritates the hell out of me. I want to confront Jeffrey and ask what the fuck is going on, but Ross assured me that coming at him directly would be a mistake. I’d conceded that point, even if I hadn’t wanted to. So we’re playing it close to the vest, careful and watchful today.
Shit . . . lost in my thoughts again. Focus, Kaede. Don’t drop the ball at the ten-yard line.
I take a quick look around, looking for any fires to put out. It doesn’t take me long to find one.
Missy is talking to her press buddy. He’s ready for the camera in a polo and khakis, and while Missy is dressed somewhat decently for a change in a One Life T-shirt and yoga pants, the shirt is knotted tightly at her back and the pants are second-skin tight.
Though it leaves nothing to the imagination, her wardrobe isn’t the bad part. Nor is the concerning bit that she’s clearly giving Sanders credit for everything and trying to ‘explain’ things to the reporter.
No, the bad part is that she is in a One Life shirt, representing us while demonstrating a variety of moves . . . incorrectly. That has bad press written all over it and is not what we need.
“Yo, Ross!” I call, jogging over lightly to him. “Check Missy? I need to finish rounds and warm up.” And I’m staying far, far away from her and her octopus arms.
Ross looks over and growls. He’s doing his usual face-of-the-company gig and co-emceeing today, sharing the duties with the sportscaster from our local news, which means Missy is definitely stepping on Ross’s toes. Plus, Ross doesn’t look happy at Missy’s hamming it up. “What the fuck is she doing? She doesn’t know a deadlift from a deadpan.”
That’s not quite true, but whatever it is Missy is selling that move as, it’s definitely designed to highlight her ass, not actually work it in any effective manner.
“Why I said something,” I comment. “Can you handle that? And jump in with the reporter so she doesn’t make us look like fools?”
Ross nods, smoothing his own One Life shirt to be ready for the camera.
I glance down to my tablet. What’s next? Kayla.
I look over to the area we marked off for the axe throwing and see her already chatting up a small crowd, showing off her favorite piece. I go over and listen for a second, making sure she’s not going too crazy and scaring the masses. At a break in her chatter, I give her a lift of my brows. “You good?”
Without missing a bit, she gives me a thumbs-up. “Yeah, targets are looking good, lanes are set, and I’ve got my axes ready,” Kayla assures me. “Even gonna do a few trick shots.” She says that part with an eyebrow wag to the designer-lumberjack guy standing next to her, and he smiles, completely charmed by those damn dimples.
I blink, unaffected. “Why do I not like the sound of that?”
“Don’t sweat it, Boss Man. I’ve been practicing a few new moves for weeks now. I can do ’em in my sleep.” She tosses the axe blade over handle a few times, entertaining the crowd. “Ooh, maybe that can be my next trick? Blindfolded, so I can’t see the target. You’d hold the apple for me, wouldn’t you?”
The not-a-lumberjack looks nervous but reaches down and finds some semblance of balls and nods. I have no doubt if push came to shove, he’d bail on that, though. I certainly would. No way would I let Kayla throw an axe at me . . . or anyone else. Not because I don’t trust her aim but because I do.
I point at my eyes with V’d fingers and then move them to her. “Careful, Kayla.” She purses her lips, giving me a kissy face and a wink, and I choose to take that as her agreement.
Okay, list check. Next? AJ and Stacylynne, who are both chatting with the DJ. Perfect. I can check three items off my list at once.
“How’s it looking?”
“All set up, Boss,” AJ assures me, lifting his chin toward the strongman area. “I gave the truck harness a check for the pull, the pressing medley is ready, and the cars are the last thing to get dialed in. We’ll be able to run two competitors at a time for the car lifts, head to head on it. More exciting that way, so it’ll be better for the fans.”
“Good. Stacylynne?”
“T
he DJ said my part is the easiest. I gave him my playlist, told him no wikki-wikki-ing with it.” She holds one hand to her ear and record scratches at the air with the other like a DJ. “My peeps know the choreo, know the songs, and if he throws them off by messing with their flow, they’ll eat him alive.” Fear of a mass of Zumba participants booing the DJ takes root in my gut. That was one scenario that hadn’t even occurred to me, but she’s right. Stacylynne’s people are . . . vehemently and violently passionate about their dancing.
“Great,” I tell her, turning to the DJ, who is eyeing Stacylynne with open fear, which is kinda funny considering she looks like the hippie child of a Flashdance lover in her tie-dye legwarmers, neon tights, and slashed One Life top. All of which are accented by twin buns on either side of her head, a bellydance scarf, and wrists full of jingle-bell-covered rubber bracelets.
The DJ nods. “We’re good, boss. Music, don’t mess with the Zumba one, announcements. I’ve got everything.”
I nod, checking my list again. It’s all done.
AJ taps his watch. “You good, man? You need to hit the zone, pronto.”
Ding. My iPad goes off again, agreeing with AJ. Time to start warming up unless I want to end up under the surgeon’s knife with a torn hamstring. I had a buddy in college that happened to, and those screams will always be my inner reminder to be diligent about warming up.
I head to the ‘backstage’ area set up behind the DJ booth and get on one of the bikes we’ve pulled out of the gym to start loosening my legs. Looking at the truck pull setup, I’m going to be busting myself hard. The supplied vehicle is a dealer tow truck with a brand-new F-150 on top, emblazoned with flags, one with the One Life logo and the other with the dealer logo. Missy said the flags were better than a full wrap, and I hate to say it, but she was right. There’s just enough wind to make them blow gallantly. It looks pretty sweet. Other than the twenty-three thousand pounds on the tire I’m going to pull.
My Big Fat Fake Engagement Page 28