Chapter Seven
August’s muscles melted in relief as he sank into his couch cushions and let out a gusty sigh. Finally. The day was over, and he was home. Alone. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.
Thanks to Nicholas and Sloane, he’d survived the first wave of folks stopping by, hoping to catch a glimpse of SugarBae. But then the second wave came. And the third.
He’d escaped to the kitchen, but he could still hear them as they got rowdier and rowdier demanding to see him. So, after giving serious consideration to fleeing out the back door in search of alcohol, he’d girded his loins and put in an appearance. He’d gotten himself into this mess, with an assist from Sloane, and it was up to him to live up to his responsibilities, even as he daydreamed about coming up with a scientific discovery that would allow him to fade into the yellow walls of the shop.
Still, he’d never aspired to be a rock star. After today, he had to pat himself on the back for his good judgment. Being a rock star sucked.
His… fans (and he still wanted to hurl at using that term) kept looking to him for wise, aspirational words or something. At least that was the motive of the respectful ones. The not-so-respectful ones? He’d never been propositioned so much in his life. Women were super bold and quick with their hands when they wanted to be. He had no choice but to respect the game, but that’s not how he expected his Wednesday to go.
August released a sigh, but really, this was his fault. He’d gone on that rant all by his lonesome.
Tonight, he wanted to do nothing more taxing than watching a basketball game. His social interaction reserves were shot.
August picked up the remote and turned on the TV. MSNBC was on. He wasn’t exactly a news junkie, but he liked to stay abreast of what was happening in the world, even if it was often depressing as shit. His finger hovered over the Channel Up button when the anchor said, “Tonight’s special guest is Melinda DeJesus, better known as the artist MDJ.”
All of August’s relaxed muscles tensed up again.
He stared blankly as his ex-wife filled the screen. Logically, it wasn’t a surprise to see Melinda, one of New York’s most heralded artists/activists, on TV. Fame and accolades had always been inevitable for her, but still he wasn’t prepared. He shook his head in bemusement. Her locs, dyed a dark gold, hung midway down her back. August touched his own locs. They’d decided to grow them together one long-ago night during their senior year in high school. Back when they were still each other’s biggest support system.
They’d met in middle school, in a youth support group for kids who’d lost parents. By sophomore year in high school, they were dating. By the time they graduated high school, they’d promised to marry and be together forever. They’d married a week after graduating college. Forever had lasted three years.
“MDJ, thank you for joining us tonight,” the anchor added.
“Thank you for having me.” Melinda nodded, sending her signature dangling turquoise earrings jingling. She’d debated between silver and turquoise for weeks. She’d decided on turquoise because of the mineral’s mystical powers or something.
“We wanted to have you on to talk about your new book, Happiness, and how it gives voice to the many people across the country, across the world, who are unhappy in their relationships and trying to find their way out of them.”
August groaned. Really? They’d been divorced for five years. She’d moved to New York as soon as she’d told him their marriage was no longer working and couldn’t be saved. In other words, he hadn’t been the person she needed him to be. He hadn’t been worth trying for. He hadn’t been able to change the mind of the person he’d agreed to love and cherish for the rest of his life. That failure stuck with him to this day.
They hadn’t spoken in years. There was no need to. They lived completely different lives.
Was she mining their marriage for inspiration? Why hadn’t he changed the channel yet?
Melinda nodded. “Yes, my ex-husband and I were never destined to live the rest of our lives together. We were too different, but too stubborn to admit it.”
August let out a deep, heavy sigh. There was no relief in it this time. Only pure, unadulterated exhaustion. Lesson learned. Never ever say the day couldn’t get any worse, because it absolutely could.
“Our audience might not know you were married to professional football player August Hodges.” A photo of him in his uniform on the sidelines, squinting into the sun, appeared on the screen.
August squeezed his scalp with both hands and groaned.
Fucking A. Yes, info about who he used to be married to was only a Google search away, but bringing it back to the forefront of people’s minds was the last thing he needed. He wasn’t ashamed to have been married to Melinda, but answering questions about his personal life sounded like the worst form of torture, second only to answering questions about himself.
The anchor leaned forward, a faux concerned tone entering her voice. “What happened? How were you different and unable to overcome those differences?”
Melinda took a deep breath, as though the end of their marriage still hurt. “I’m an artist, and I was being stifled. I had to leave and explore and take risks. My ex-husband was never interested in that. He never took risks, never took the road less traveled to build anything on his own. I had to leave to reach my potential. And I want all the people who feel stuck to reach their potential too.”
She meant she hadn’t loved him. Or that he hadn’t been good enough to love. Not for the long haul, anyway. The story of his life. During their trial separation that turned permanent, he’d often told himself that if he could’ve been who she needed him to be, then maybe she would’ve stuck around. Logically, he knew that wasn’t the case, but what the hell did logic have to do with feelings? He’d tried, and he’d failed in his marriage. Facts were facts.
August tugged on the collar of his shirt like that would help draw air into his suddenly tight lungs. Damn. Thinking about this shit was the worst. Why hadn’t he stopped by the kitchen for a beer or sip of whiskey before heading to the living room? He’d heard all this before. Plenty of times. He thought he’d moved beyond the hurt, the feelings of failure, the feelings of abandonment. Ultimately, their marriage didn’t work. Being miserable so you didn’t have to say you failed was a losing proposition. Therapy had gotten him to that place. And yet… he blew out a breath. Why did it hit different tonight?
Maybe because of what Sloane said. That he needed to step into the spotlight in order for Sugar Blitz to really grow.
“What advice would you offer to those who are afraid to take risks, like your ex-husband?” the anchor asked.
Melinda looked straight into the camera. “You only have one life to live. Don’t let fear of being acknowledged for who you are stop you from realizing your full potential. Don’t be a passive participant in your own life. Don’t be scared to take risks.”
Was that it? Was he scared to take risks? Is that how he wanted to live his life?
Two days later, Sloane stood outside the corporate headquarters of San Diego Today, a media company that focused on all things San Diego. From highlighting those working in the community to make the city the best it could be for its residents to the best new restaurants to exposing corruption at city hall, SDT could be counted on to be there. She loved the positive nature of the website and how they were trying to make a difference in the lives of residents. Working here would be a dream come true. Now, all she had to do was impress the powers-that-be during her interview.
She’d rehearsed her presentation over and over. She’d practiced her answers to typical interview questions. She was ready. The nerves dive-bombing in her stomach would chill once she started her presentation. Hopefully.
Her phone rang. She dug it out of her messenger bag and smiled. Answering was not a problem. “Hey, bestie.”
“Let me guess. You’re nervous,” Felicia answered.
“I am.”
Felicia hummed in understanding. “Which is only normal. But you got this. You are a fabulous social media manager who is going to kill this interview.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.” And one of the nicest people Sloane knew.
“No, I’m saying that because I witnessed the miracles you produced and the brilliant ideas you came up with for years. You got this.”
Sloane squared her shoulders. “I’ve got this.”
“Yes, you do. Now go before you’re late.”
Sloane ended the call and strode inside to the receptionist’s desk and confidently gave her name. The woman, who introduced herself as Daisy, told her to take a seat. “Would you like some coffee while you wait for Emily?”
“No, thank you,” Sloane said. Coffee? That was the last thing she needed. All kinds of calamities were possible with the dark liquid. She could spill it on her dry-cleaned power suit, leaving a big-ass stain and scalding herself in the process. The coffee could upset her already-in-turmoil stomach, and she’d find herself upchucking all over the blue suede of the chair she was sitting in. Yeah, no coffee for her.
She took a seat and tried to take an undetectable deep breath. She was the only one in the waiting room, but the walls might have eyes or something.
A minute later, a woman came down the hall toward her, her heels clicking on the floor’s dark tiles. Emily Chan, the director of marketing. Sloane recognized her from her internet research on SDT. Emily had started with the company eight years ago after earning her MBA from USC. She was a quickly rising star in the world of corporate marketing. Sloane could learn a lot from her, assuming she nailed this interview.
Sloane planted her feet on the floor and rose gracefully, silently thanking her mother for all those dance classes as a kid, even if she’d always been more likely to be cast as Candy Cane #5 rather than the Sugar Plum Fairy in the annual Christmas recital.
“Sloane?” Emily asked. She wore red slacks and a crisp white button-down shirt.
“Yes,” she answered, holding out her hand. Emily was about Sloane’s height, with her shoulder-length dark brown hair cut into a stylish bob. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You as well. I’m Emily. Please follow me.”
Sloane caught glimpses of offices and cubicles as they made their way down the hall and through the office suite to the conference room.
“Please, have a seat,” Emily said, gesturing to the leather seats around the sleek glass table dominating the middle of the room. Sloane did her bidding, placing her messenger bag at her feet.
“I thought it would be better to meet here instead of my office,” Emily said, joining her at the table. “This place is much better equipped for presentations. I was very impressed with your résumé. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”
Sloane ran through her prepared remarks, making sure to hesitate here and there, so she didn’t sound completely rehearsed. Emily nodded, encouraging her to continue. As she became more comfortable discussing past projects she knew like the back of her hand, the nerves started to slip away.
“Why do you want to work here?” Emily asked when she finished her opening statement.
Because you’re hiring and I have bills to pay!
Because that was so not an acceptable answer, Sloane went with, “I’ve been a fan of SDT for years. When I moved to San Diego a few years ago, I used the website to catch up on what was new and exciting in the city. SDT is growing with podcasts and other ventures, and I’d love to contribute to that growth.”
Emily nodded, studying her. But Sloane couldn’t read her. She wouldn’t want to play poker with this woman.
“Why don’t you show me your presentation?” Emily finally said.
“I’d love to.” Sloane retrieved her tablet from the messenger bag and hooked it up to the audiovisual cables carefully tucked away in a hidden compartment in the table. She picked up a remote off the table and turned on the large-screen TV hanging on the wall at the opposite end of the room. After a few taps on the tablet screen, her presentation deck appeared onscreen.
She’d put together a sample program of how she would use social media to boost the company’s fortunes. She’d done her research. Their market share had been on a steady rise over the last decade but had stagnated over the past few years. Social media could change that like no other medium. It was a new day. Commercials and ads wouldn’t do it. She had some great ideas, if she did say so herself. Her confidence swelled as she went through the slides. She loved marketing and had a special place in her heart for social media. One day, she wanted to lead her own marketing department. This was her next step.
“That was a great presentation,” Emily said at the conclusion.
“Thank you,” Sloane said, beaming, adrenaline pumping through her system.
Emily propped her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers together. “However, I’m a little concerned. You’ve never been the head of a social media department. You’ve talked about your former company and how you helped with some of their most successful campaigns.”
“Yes.” Sloane bit her tongue before she said anything else. She wanted to yell that they had all been her ideas, that her former boss had taken all the credit, but bad-talking former employers was so not kosher, especially after she’d quit. True or not, it would come across as sour grapes.
Sloane did her best to give off I’m-not-worried vibes as she searched for something more appropriate to say. Did it matter, though? Emily was still silently watching her. Was she about to be told no, she wasn’t a good fit, putting her back at square one in her job search? Back to contemplating dipping into her savings, which she guarded like an endangered species? She was there to help the account’s population grow, not plunder it for ill-gotten goods.
A knock sounded on the door as the nerves she’d been so confident were gone rose from the dead like the villain in the last act of a slasher flick.
“Come in,” Emily called out.
Sloane frowned. Someone else was joining the interview? Her stomach sank. Or maybe the interruption was Emily’s out, so she had an excuse not to turn Sloane down in person and could send an impersonal email later? Neither option sounded optimal.
The door opened, and a man entered. Sloane gasped. Not just any man, but Preston Bridges.
Aka, her longtime nemesis.
They’d gone to college together and lived in the same dorm. Which wasn’t too terrible except they shared a major and he showed up in all her classes like a bad penny. They’d competed for everything in college—from scholarships to the presidency of their college chapter of Young Marketing Leaders of America to high honors in their classes.
She’d moved into an apartment junior year only to discover he was dating her roommate, Anna. Which again, wasn’t too terrible. What was terrible was that he was an ass.
Friendly competition, she could deal with and thrive in. Sabotage and plain douchery were another matter. Hell, he’d even cheated on Anna and broken her heart. Because he was an ass. Sloane had wiped her roommate’s tears and gotten drunk on cheap tequila with her while they conjured up all kinds of torturous ways of ending Preston’s life. Sloane had been thrilled to stand up for her former roommate last year at her wedding to a man who treated her like the most precious gold.
Preston still looked the same. Asshole exuded from his pores. His black shoes were so shiny she was surprised he hadn’t blinded someone yet.
What the hell was he doing here in San Diego? They’d attended college in Illinois. She’d scoured the company’s organizational chart. He wasn’t on there. She would have recoiled in horror if he had been, and begun plotting the best way to avoid him at all costs if she was hired.
But maybe she was overreacting. She hadn’t seen him in years. Maybe he’d matured. Become a fine, upstanding citizen.
“Well, hey, if it isn’t Sloane Bell!” he exclaimed. Sloane’s teeth clenched so hard she was surprised the clamping sound didn’t reverberate through the room. He knew good and damn well her last name was Dell. He’d tried buttering her up enough when they were undergrads, so he could meet her brother, to make that mistake. Her first instinct had been correct. Once an ass, always an ass.
“Hi, Preston,” Emily said. “Thanks for joining us. Why don’t you have a seat?” After he smartly took a seat on the other side of the conference table, the better to avoid Sloane’s kick in the shin, Emily continued, “Do you two know each other?”
Sloane pasted on a smile. “Yes, we knew each other in college. But it’s Dell, Preston, not Bell.”
He grimaced and slapped his forehead. “Yes. I’m so sorry about that. Please forgive me.”
Sloane struggled not to roll her eyes. Why hadn’t he moved to Hollywood and tried his hand at acting? Marketing was obviously not his true calling. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time. Time flies when you’re having fun.”
Especially when I don’t have to see you every day . Her eyes flashed the warning, even as her smile never wavered because she was a pro, baby.
He got the message. His ubiquitous smirk dimmed a tad.
“You two are probably wondering what’s going on,” Emily said.
Sloane sent a more gracious smile her way. She wasn’t going to let Preston throw her off her game.
“I was impressed with both of you and your presentations,” Emily added. “However, in order to make a final decision about who to offer the position to, I need to see a little more from you two.”
Sloane sat up straighter. What did that mean? At least she was still in the running for the job. Whatever Emily wanted, Sloane was prepared to give her.
“Sounds like a plan,” Preston, that swarmy bastard, said, oozing slime. He was handsome in that bland, no-notable-features way. Medium build. Pale skin, light blond hair slicked back with too much hair gel, and ice-blue eyes.
“You both have worked at high-caliber businesses, but I want to know what you can do. Alone. With that said, I’d like to see you take on a client of your choosing and become the company’s de facto social media manager for the next two weeks. Whoever runs the best, most successful, most impressive campaign will be offered the job.”
“And I’m prepared to deliver,” Preston said. “I’ve been freelancing for Pedal. You might have noticed they’ve been getting some press lately.”
Emily nodded, while Sloane’s teeth clenched harder. Everyone had heard of Pedal, the exercise bike that had taken the at-home exercise equipment world by storm. Its parent company was a small startup that had found success on the West Coast and was poised to expand their success and reach to the rest of the country. Even if people were uninterested in exercise, they’d surely seen the company’s social media posts in which they challenged other bike companies to a race and encouraged their followers to join in on the fun. He’d been responsible for those posts? She’d laughed at them, like everyone else. She’d laughed at something Preston had come up with? Would she see pigs zooming through the air if she looked out the window?
Of course, there was every possibility in the world Preston was lying. She wanted to ask why he was pursuing an opportunity elsewhere if he was such a social media expert for another company, but that would invite questions about why she was here, and there was no way in hell, purgatory, or heaven she was answering that question in front of him.
Emily nodded. “Great. I’ll need to see proof and acknowledgment from Pedal that you are indeed the one in charge of their social media at the end of the period.” She turned to Sloane. “What about you, Sloane?”
What about me?
Sloane refused to let the panic grabbing her by the throat choke her. She couldn’t say, “I’m currently unemployed, so I won’t be able to meet the challenge.” Not with Preston sitting right there. Not with her pride on the line. Not with her desire to get this job consuming her. She had to say something, come up with a terrific idea that would counteract the bead of sweat clinging to her forehead. Counteract the arrogant stare coming from Preston.
Sloane balled her hands into tight fists under the table. “My brother co-owns Sugar Blitz, the cupcake shop. I’ll be revamping their social media presence and website.”