Chapter Three
THREE
HAILEY’S DAILY RULE FOR SUCCESS:
Even bad press can promote your brand, if you’re creative enough to spin it.
Not the best way to wake up in the morning.
Normally, being tagged in a viral video would have my follower count rising, but the post from Sharksfan2008 of the career week presentations—or lack thereof—has me cringing as I peer at it through sleepy eyes at 4:25 a.m. Not just because Warren and I look unprofessional—debating one another instead of keeping our personal feud to ourselves—but because the comments are heavily in favor of Warren’s point of view.
When did work/life balance become the current social narrative?
And there’s no way this teenager has enough of a following to make this post trend. A quick search confirms my suspicion that it was “shared” by Spencer Stanley on his socials.
If I’m keeping tabs on my competition, the competition is definitely keeping tabs on me.
Time to do damage control.
Which means rolling over and going back to sleep, intentionally skipping my morning motivational post.
A few hours later, a refreshing fruity virgin cocktail in hand, Gucci sunglasses on, I float in my pool on my gold floatie shaped like a dollar sign—a gift from an investor client I saved from jail by advising him against a fraudulent get rich quick scheme. Cell phone in hand, I smile and go live to my followers.
“Hey, Hustlers! This is your midweek reminder to breathe.”
A deep inhale and slow exhale as the floatie continues to drift toward the edge of the pool.
“Even hustlers need downtime. Make sure to take a few moments today and enjoy the rewards of your effort. Why else are you working so hard if you can’t—”
My words are cut off as the floatie hits the edge of the pool. A loud hissing is all I hear before I’m swallowed by the toxic-smelling PVC.
None of today’s nineteen horoscopes predicted this was how I was going to die.
Flailing my legs and arms, I hold my breath and struggle to free myself as the middle of the floatie sinks. Vinyl tries to swallow me whole. I continue to fight it off and finally tip free into the water. I shriek and hold the phone above the surface as my body is submerged. Cold water steals my breath (okay, let’s be real—the pool’s heated, but damn, it’s still a shock). Seconds before my lungs are depleted of air, I resurface and reach for the edge of the pool. I quickly stop the live stream, but not before eight hundred followers have viewed the post. Hearts and laughy face emojis pop up on the feed.
At least they were laughing. Mission accomplished, I guess.
I climb out of the water and grab a towel from the lounge chair, then examine the pool. A large crack is visible in the concrete.
Shit. Now I have actual damage to fix.
Miraculously, my cell phone has escaped unharmed, so I pace the pool deck as I make a call. Two rings, then:
“Jensen Pools and Lawns.”
“Mr. Jensen! Hailey Harris.”
“Hailey! How are you?”
“I have a bit of a problem...” I barely have to say more before the most amazing man on the planet sets me up for a service call later that day. My ex’s father is the only male role model I’ve ever had. He’s a funny, thoughtful, wise man and the breakup with Liam was that much tougher because I was also losing him and his guidance. Luckily, through his business, we’ve found a way to stay in touch. But it’s not the same. I’m no longer family.
I disconnect the call as my neighbor, Amelia Cranshaw, approaches. We installed a gate in our shared fence for easier access between the yards. She has to be in her late seventies but doesn’t look older than sixty—the perks of being a former Hollywood starlet who always took self-care to the next level. She wears a beautiful kimono and carries a movie script and I know why she’s here.
“I overheard you on the phone just now, dear. How bad is it?” she asks as she looks at the pool.
“Hopefully an easily repairable crack.”
“Must have been that tremor earlier this week.”
That hadn’t even dawned on me as the cause, but it makes sense.
One small crack...
I nod toward the script. Best to get right to it. Amelia is lovely and her stories about Hollywood in the “good old days” are truly captivating, but if I’m not careful, my day will be gone before I realize it. We’ve been neighbors for six years and in a weird twist of fate, I’d say she’s my only real friend.
“New audition coming up?”
Amelia nods. “My agent sent me this adorable family drama, and I was thrilled...until she told me which role they wanted me to read for. Take a guess.”
“The mother?”
“The grandmother ,” she says as though she’d prefer to play Jabba the Hutt in a new Star Wars spin-off. She catches sight of her reflection in my window. “Guess time really does sneak up, doesn’t it?” she says pensively, almost as though she’s forgotten I’m even here. “Anyway, dear, can you read my fortune?”
“I told you, Ms. Cranshaw, that’s not what I...” I stop. We’ve had this discussion a million times. Amelia believes I’m a palm reader after she caught me in action with a previous client at one of my VIP events and well, it’s better than trying to explain the truth. “Sure. Give me your hand.”
Amelia extends a thin, elegant hand, adorned in expensive jewelry. I take it and study her palm for effect. Then I press my lifeline to hers and the same inexplicable energy runs through me as I’m transported to some indeterminate time in the future...to Amelia’s house next door.
A beautiful but lonely home. Movie posters featuring a young Amelia are on the walls and Oscars line the shelves. Amelia stands in her living room, delivering a monologue from one of her black-and-white films.
On her old-fashioned writing desk is a stack of unsent Christmas and birthday cards addressed to “Aaron Cranshaw.” Her gaze lands on a picture of herself—middle-aged—with Aaron as a boy. She looks sad, regretful as the monologue comes to an end.
“Still haven’t reached out to your son?” I ask gently as I release her hand.
“I’m busy. He’s busy,” she says dismissively. She hates when I get personal, but it’s the only thing I see whenever I “tell her fortune.” I hate to think it’s because Amelia’s days in the spotlight are over. I’d write her a starring role and produce the movie myself before I’d ever disappoint her with news like that.
“What about the role, darlin’?” she asks, almost diva-like. To Amelia, I’m a personal spiritual advisor, neighbor, then friend-adjacent. She has no idea how much I typically charge for this service or how much I value knowing her. While the support and advice giving doesn’t flow both ways, I like to think she’d be there for me if I ever truly needed her.
“Definitely go for it,” I say.
“Won’t I be typecast as a grandma?” She looks worried that this role could prevent her from once again playing the leading love interest, and I genuinely hope she does get those parts again. But until then, “Two words—Betty. White.”
Amelia’s eyes widen with renewed hope. “You think so?”
“Absolutely. Now, go rehearse.”
Amelia hugs me gratefully—the only payment I need—and I cling on a second longer, needing this contact way more than she does.
“Hug’s over,” she says.
“Yep,” I say awkwardly as I release her.
She heads back toward her house. “Good luck with the pool, dear!” she calls over her shoulder.
Alone, I look at the crack in the concrete and my gut tightens with an eerie, sinking sensation. It’s not my psychic abilities at work. This is more of an ominous vibe, as though the crack in the pool could be a sign of things to come...
Hours later, I hang freshly laundered sweaters on the treadmill in my state-of-the-art home gym, which is full of equipment I have no idea how to use. The sales rep at Fitness City must have made his monthly commission off me. But if I want sports clients, I need to get sporty. Or at least give the impression that I know what I’m talking about. Probably should scuff up some of the weights before the VIP party, when I’ll be touring potential athletic clients through the facility.
I mean I could actually use the equipment. Right now, my health maintenance strategy is to avoid fried foods and hope for the best. But I hate working out and despite countless efforts, I’m not a huge sports fan.
Before the incident with Warren, I had zero interest in pro-athlete clients. I can bullshit my way through most industries, with some minor research, but sports seemed to have too many variables, too many unknowns, so it seemed too risky to fully trust my glimpses.
But after that day in the airport, something switched in my thinking. I tried to resist it, but I couldn’t quiet the nagging voice that said maybe I could use my gift for more than success in business—my clients’ and my own. Maybe there was a better purpose. Maybe I could—and should—use my gift in a more altruistic way.
After all, I’d saved Warren’s life. Maybe preventing other injuries would balance out my karma a little. Make me feel less like a fraud for never having to implement the success strategies I advise my clients.
The front gate intercom sounds and I glance at my watch. Jensen Pools and Lawns—right on time.
I hit the intercom button on the wall and static sounds before a muffled voice announces their presence. Great, something else broken.
Upstairs, I open the front door and step outside as I hear the maintenance van drive up to the house. I wait and smile at the sound of Mr. Jensen’s toolbox coming around the corner.
Only it’s not Mr. Jensen.
My mouth gapes and I blink several times, but he’s still there.
Liam Jensen.
My ex, dressed in a polo shirt with a company logo on it, approaches and scans the property. He stops in front of me and I almost reach out to touch him to make sure he’s real. With my “condition,” hallucinations seem like just one step away.
“Hails, long time,” he says with a familiar slow smile that used to make my heart thunder. Apparently still does. My health tracker can shut up anytime now.
“I was just in my gym,” I say lamely to explain the loud, rapid beeping coming from my wrist. Technically, it’s not a lie.
“Good to see you,” he says, his gaze drifting over me. I glance at my athleisure wear—I may not work out, but I can appreciate the comfort of yoga clothes—and quickly try to tame my unruly hair.
“Is it?” Jesus, Hailey—sound more desperate. “I mean, good to see you too... What are you doing here?”
“Dad’s crews were out on other jobs, so he sent me to check out your pool.”
Right. He works for his father. Or at least he used to in high school. Now he’s a big shot architect in New York.
“Oh right... I’ll show you out back.”
I lead the way toward the backyard pool and Liam follows, an impressed look on his handsome face as he takes in my view.
“Ocean view, like you always wanted. I remember driving to the beach every weekend and you’d always talk about owning one of these homes one day.”
“Set goals and...” I stop and laugh, embarrassed. “Sorry, occupational hazard.” Try to be normal, Hailey. “When did you get back in town?”
“A few days ago,” he says and I can’t decipher how he feels about it. But I know how I feel. Sucker punched that this is the first time I’ve seen him. Not that I expect to be his first stop when he’s in town, but a quick text would have been nice.
“I was on the plane when the tremor hit. Had to circle the airport for over an hour.”
An uneasiness settles in the pit of my stomach at the mention of the earthquake. “How long are you staying?”
“Not sure...at least a year.”
My head whips toward him and I get a neck cramp. “What happened in New York? I thought you were designing the new skyscrapers along Seventh Avenue?”
Okay, so I stalk my ex-boyfriend online. Who doesn’t?
“Your dad keeps me posted when he comes to maintain the pool,” I say, slightly flustered. He peers at me with those dark brown eyes I thought I’d stare into forever—back when I was young and naive and thought someone like me could actually have a real, long-term relationship.
Back when I had no idea that fate had other plans. Because Liam’s life was entwined with mine, I could never see his future either.
As far as “gifts” go, this one is severely lacking.
Liam stares at the pool and clears his throat. “Yeah, I, uh...had another opportunity here.”
And maybe now I do too?
Nope. Not going full speed ahead with wedding plans just yet. We broke up for a reason. Though looking at him now, that reason—which I assume was a very good one—is eluding me. He’s only gotten better looking in the last few years—definitely more muscular and his hair is slightly longer, curling around the collar of the shirt. Just the right amount of stubble covers his square jawline. He looks healthy and happy, but there’s something about his demeanor that hints at unease.
“Let’s take a look at this crack,” Liam says, bending next to the pool and examining the concrete.
I stare at him, enamored, as not-so-repressed feelings start to resurface.
Liam was the first guy I ever dated. He was my first kiss. My first sexual experience. My first and last heartache. Opening up to people is not something that comes naturally to me given my predicament. Relationships are based on trust and honesty. Which basically rules me out of ever having one.
So many times over the years, I wanted to tell Liam my secret. Almost did a thousand times, but no one has ever known—not even my mother. And parting with it would mean making myself more vulnerable than I’ve ever found worth it.
Even for Liam.
Breaking up and going our separate ways once things reached that critical point of shit or put a ring on it was probably for the best. Although I can’t help wanting to know his opinion on that.
“Doesn’t look too bad yet,” he says. “Good thing you caught it now, before it completely collapsed and you’d have an indoor pool in your basement.”
Water damage is definitely not something I want to deal with. “Think you can fix it before this weekend?”
Liam stands and grins at me. “Another epic influencer party?”
My eyes narrow. How does he know about that?
“What? I follow you on social media.”
He what? “The Liam I remember acted like he didn’t even know what social media was.” Anti-attention despite being one of the most charismatic, smart, athletic guys in school, Liam was modest and not a fan of what he always referred to as “Look at Me” culture.
Ah, right—the main catalyst in our breakup. Different worlds, different passions, different values.
“Someone once told me I needed to use the power of the socials to advance my career,” he says with a shrug. “But before you get too impressed, I’m following like four people and I have exactly half that many followers.”
I laugh. “Then I’m honored to be one of the chosen few.”
Our gazes meet and hold in what Amelia would refer to as a “beat of romantic connection,” and my lack of recent sexual pleasure decides to fuck with me. Is there a statute of limitations on breakup sex?
Fortunately, before I can embarrass myself in the most epic way by suggesting it, he clears his throat and looks away.
“I can get a crew here tomorrow morning. If they only partially drain the pool, fix the damage and then give it a few days to set, we should have it up and functional for your party.”
“Thank you so much,” I say then hesitate before asking, “Would you like to stay...for a drink? I could make lunch.” We could have that breakup sex we never took advantage of.
Liam checks his watch, shakes his head regrettably. “I have someone waiting in the van. Rain check?”
I hide my disappointment. “Of course. Yeah. Anytime.”
We start to head around front and I turn to him. “If you’re not doing anything Saturday night, you should stop by.” I’m afraid if I don’t set up an exact time to see him again this will turn into that thing where friends say “we should do this again sometime” and it never happens. A future relationship or second chance may not be in the cards, but Liam was my best friend for a significant portion of my life. He was there for me when my mother died, when I launched my business. We have history and if he was back home for a while...
“Thought the party was just for potential VIP clients,” he says.
“Old friends are always welcome and who knows, you might be in need of my services...old friends discount of course.”
“I still couldn’t afford you,” Liam says with a laugh. “But sure. Why not? Not to the coaching, just yet, but the party sounds fun—a chance to see you in action.”
“Great! It’s Saturday night...”
“At 8:50. Because a true disruptor doesn’t operate by customary, standard time slots.”
I’m completely taken aback. “You really were paying attention.” Maybe there is still a hint of something between us.
Liam pauses and turns to me with a look of admiration. “I always thought you were the most fascinating person I knew—of course I was paying attention.”
Should I just kiss him now or...?
“I should go.”
Right.
We turn the corner and walk toward a van with the faded “Jensen Pools and Lawns” logo on the side. I shake my head. “I remember great times in that van.”
“I recall you weren’t exactly thrilled when I drove it to pick you up for prom.”
“I wouldn’t mind being picked up in it...now.”
My flirty laugh dies on my lips as a polished, beautiful woman, wearing a sundress that I know is Gucci because I’ve been eyeing it for months, trying to justify the price tag, climbs out of the passenger side and approaches us. She glances nervously at Liam to do the introductions.
Liam clears his throat and looks slightly frazzled, as though he’d been hoping to avoid this situation. “Sonia, this is Hailey Harris—an old...friend from high school.”
Old friend? How many old friends had lost their virginity in the back of that van?
“Hailey, this is Sonia...my fiancée.”
Okay, that’s just some bullshit. Liam always claimed he wasn’t cut out for marriage. His parents’ divorce when he was twelve totally messed him up regarding the whole lifelong commitment thing.
Reason number two for the breakup. His commitment issues made it impossible for me to feel vulnerable enough to trust him with who I am.
“Fiancée. Wow.” I look closer and recognize his lovely bride-to-be. “Wait. You’re Sonia Banks. Your family owns Banks Resorts, right?”
Sonia looks flattered that I know. She tucks a strand of pretty blond hair behind her ear and nods. “Yes. I’m a huge fan of yours. Your Monday motivational posts get my butt out of bed at four fifty a.m.”
The fangirling was not expected. “Oh, thank you. That’s kind of you to say.” Though it does make me like her more than I want to.
Liam turns to her. “Hailey invited us to her influencer party this Saturday night.”
Her hazel eyes light up. “Really? That’s incredible.”
My smile is so tight, I’m worried about my recent lip filler—again, done to secure a client, not because I have an issue with my lips. Neither had Liam at one time. Now I’m just an old friend in his version of our history. “Great, so you’re both coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it!” Sonia sends a sheepish look at Liam. “I actually didn’t believe Liam when he said he knew you.” She wraps an arm around him and grins up at him. They kiss and I’m not quick enough to look away. “Sorry, Hun-Hun.”
Hun-Hun? The Liam I knew didn’t believe in pet names. In fact, he despised them. And, oh Lord, how I tried. Baby, Sweet Cheeks, Honey Bear... Nothing. Refused to answer to anything other than Liam.
“So, you’ll have a crew here tomorrow?” I say to interrupt the PDA in my driveway.
Liam nods. “First thing.”
“Great. Thank you.” I turn to Sonia. “Nice meeting you.”
She hesitates, then holds out her cell phone. “Would a selfie be too bold?”
Yes. “Um, how about at the party? When I’m dressed properly.” And I’ve had a team of stylists to help me stand a chance of competing with her breathtaking looks.
She laughs, embarrassed, and puts the phone away. “Of course. And I promise I’ll rein in my fangirling by then.”
Liam leads her away and I wave as they climb back into the van. Then my smile fades as they drive away.
That night, with a glass of wine in hand, I Google “Sonia Banks” because, naturally, this has become my new obsession. Internet pages load about the young heir to the Banks Resorts fortune, and photos of Sonia and Liam at a resort opening in the Caribbean only dampen my mood further.
But do I stop there? Hell no.
And the further I go down the rabbit hole of stalking, the more disheartened I am. Turns out Sonia is not some spoiled, rich bitch that I can reasonably dislike, but a wonderfully compassionate person who donates her time and money to charities. I scroll through the articles about her charity work, building schools in developing nations, hosting Christmas dinner at the local food bank and stop on one that reads: “Heir to the Banks chain of luxury resorts, Sonia Banks, donates kidney to stranger.”
I drain the wine in my glass.
It’s not like I wouldn’t donate an organ to a stranger. I just haven’t had the opportunity!
This shit is hard. Maybe I have had too many concussions to understand these complicated psychological theories.
Sitting on a barstool at Deek’s, a quiet local pub, textbook on the bar in front of me, I read the same page over and over, trying to make sense of it. It’s as though my brain can’t absorb information that’s not coming at me in a perfect spiral going sixty miles per hour.
Cliff was the smart one. Born with a heart defect, which was ironic because Cliff had the biggest heart of anyone I knew, sports were off the table for him, therefore he threw himself into academics for our impossible to please father. The lines were drawn very early in our childhood. Cliff was the genius expected to succeed in business. I was the athlete, expected to bring home championship trophies. We fell into our respective roles to give my father something to brag about and constantly struggled for his approval...
Until we didn’t.
Liam enters the pub and I grin—my high school best friend live and in the flesh. The last time I saw him was at Cliff’s funeral and I’d been far too messed up to appreciate the reunion. Liam had always been like a second brother to me and we’d drifted apart since he moved to New York. My weekly golf game with his father—the one I wish I’d had growing up—helps to keep me in the loop about what’s happening in his life.
“Thought I’d find you here,” he says.
“Hey, man, heard a rumor you were back in town.” I quickly shove the book into my duffel bag—I’m probably going to fail this course, therefore keeping it to myself seems like the least embarrassing option.
We fist bump then share a manly one-armed hug.
Liam climbs onto the stool next to me and flags the bartender for a beer. “How’s the team this year?”
“Going all the way to finals.” If I can keep Marcus from staying out late before practice. He’s been dragging his ass lately and I can tell the kid’s not getting enough rest...enough of anything a professional athlete needs to function at his best. I know he’s drinking despite my rules and I hope he hasn’t crossed the line into other harmful substances.
“Wouldn’t expect nothing less,” Liam says. “And it appears you are in hot demand at high school career days.”
I shake my head and take a swig from my beer bottle. “Those fucking kids with their viral videos.” If Liam, Mr. Anti–Social Media, has seen the video of Hailey and me going at it—and not in a fun, clothes off way—then the rest of the world must have. Not that I’m trying to protect my reputation these days, but looking like a jackass on the internet is something I try to avoid. Doesn’t exactly send a good message to the impressionable teens on my team.
“I can’t believe the two of you are still trying to slit one another’s throats,” Liam says with an amused chuckle.
“She destroyed my career and subjected me to an airport security search.”
“In all fairness, she was banned from air travel for six months too.”
“She started it.” I refuse to feel bad that she missed an important event. Her career seems to be doing just fine. That billboard on the highway says it all.
“That’s mature,” Liam says, nodding his thanks to the bartender as a beer is placed in front of him on a coaster. He raises his bottle to mine and we cheers before he takes a swig. “Look, I’m heading to her party Saturday night. You should come.”
“I’d rather have another cavity search.”
“There’s someone special I want you to meet.”
I turn to look at him in surprise. Now it’s getting interesting. “You’re actually bringing a date to Hailey’s?”
Liam shrugs. “She’s cool with it. In fact, she and Sonia have already met.”
I think about it then grin. “You know, I think I will tag along. Can’t resist a good train wreck.”
“Seriously, it’s not like that,” he says. “What Hailey and I had is in the past—we’re cool.”
“Okay, man, if you say so.”
If there’s one thing I know about Hailey Harris, she is absolutely not cool with the love of her life dating someone else. In fact, going to this party now serves a dual purpose—this Sonia person may need a bodyguard.