13. Go Your Own Way, Fleetwood Mac
"Go Your Own Way," Fleetwood Mac
Victoria
“This is so exciting,” Grace said, bouncing on her soles while I unlocked the ground floor unit. “We’ve wanted to expand, but haven’t had time to look for new studio space. Thank you for doing this for us.”
I bit back the response that I wasn’t doing this for her. I’d invited Mallory to my new building to pitch her studio expansion. Instead of coming alone as I hoped, she brought along Grace as the studio manager.
“Remember, Shrimp, you don’t need to move,” Alexander said, holding the door open.
“But it is a fantastic opportunity,” I said, glaring over his sister’s head, "and won't last long."
The vacant unit was previously built out for retail. We dodged the clothing racks and etageres, stepping over disembodied mannequin limbs strewn around like a crime scene.
“Wow, it’s bigger than it looks in pictures,” Grace said, her hazel eyes scanning the high ceilings and dusty hardwoods.
“That’s what she said,” Mallory joked.
“2100 square feet. Your classes consistently sell out, so you’ve proven the marketability.”
“You don’t think it’s too big for her to handle?” Alexander asked.
“I wouldn’t show it to her if I thought that,” I replied, my polite tone accompanied by an icy glare.
I spread my arms, drawing attention to the white oak floors and giant windows, already visualizing the finished studio’s soft lighting, neutral fabrics, and modern point-of-sale system. This would be a dream compared to their current space—the narrow staircase to the second-floor unit, cluttered reception desk, and lounge of bohemian furniture. Photos of the new space would blow up on Pinterest, and may beworth pitching for a feature in Yoga Journal .
Now I just needed Mallory to embrace my vision. “Picture this: You walk into reception here—”
“Could we keep the racks to sell yoga pants and props?” Grace asked. “Vendors are always reaching out with wholesale offers, but we don’t have room.”
I choked on my instant denial of Grace's surprisingly helpful idea, with an approving nod like it was part of my existing plan as my hands created a runway to guide them. “Students walk through reception to choose between two studios—”
“ Two studios?” Mallory coughed.
“One regular, one hot. The heated studio will act as a central furnace for the entire building.” I glanced at Alexander, who kept his office chilly so he didn’t sweat through his wool suits. He smirked at my nefarious plan to heat our upstairs offices to a reasonable temperature.
“But we can’t afford to hire that many new team members, can we, Grace?”
“Sure you can,” I cut in before Grace could reply. What did a social worker know about growing an empire? “The second studio means more classes—”
“Just think, Mal,” Grace interrupted, stealing my thunder, “a dedicated space for the teacher training means we wouldn’t have to cancel Saturday classes. And didn’t you want to run workshops?”
“I guess so,” Mallory ran a fingertip along a window ledge.
“Arm balances, inversions, maybe an aerial yoga workshop!” Grace counted on her fingers, and I bit back back annoyance that my walk-through was taking second billing to The Grace Show.
“Think the ceiling could handle that much weight?" Mallory inspected the rafters, her voice playful. "Maybe we could install another kind of swing, for recreational use?”
I considered the ceiling, estimating where load-bearing beams would be.“We could talk to a structural—”
“Let's finish the tour, then discuss upstairs. I don’t want to leave Connor alone too long,” Alexander said, arms crossed over his broad chest. What was his rush? Connor had spent years working for us, why was he treating him with kid gloves?
Grace squeezed his shoulder. “Connor will be fine.”
“The changing rooms stay, you can add equipment storage,” I said.
“Plumbing hookups?” Alexander asked.
“Next to the bathrooms.”
“Showers?” he asked.
“Not worth losing studio space.”
“Too bad, you wouldn’t have to go home to shower after my morning class,” Grace said. Is that why he didn’t breeze into work until 9?
“Maybe I’ll install one upstairs if it gets him to work at a decent hour,” I said dryly, and he pouted. Ugh, living with the human equivalent of a puff pastry was making him soft.
Mallory cleared her throat. “If there’s plumbing, could we do a coffee bar?”
Both Alexander and I winced. He explained, “Your insurance premium will skyrocket. Workers comp in case your employees get burned, or increased liability if a customer slips.”
“Food licenses will slow down the buildout and require you to follow food safety regulations. You could sell pre-packaged food that’s made off-site,” I said, turning to Alexander. “Do we still have connections at VitaGreen? They owe you.”
“I love their cold-pressed juices,” Mallory said as Alexander’s scowl was replaced with a cocky smirk, a momentary glimmer of the ruthless shark who used to share my office—and my bed.
“Your brother here led their acquisition of several juice factories to expand to national distribution.” I ran my hand over his shoulder, gently grazing his bicep. “Remember our celebration after they finally signed?”
His cheeks flushed. Yeah, he remembered how after the ink dried, we had a private celebration.
That deal earned us both the 'Young Lawyer to Watch' award, and the bonuses hadn’t hurt, either. I’d spent mine on a rental property and offered to bring him in as an investor.
My hand lingered on his arm long enough that Grace narrowed her eyes. She shifted closer, interlacing her fingers with his. “Isn’t that the bonus you used for our house’s down payment?”
His shoulder shifted away. “Guess I was saving it for something special.”
My palm lingered in the air before I smoothed my dress, guiding them through the Employees Only door. “We can decide on food service later, let’s look at the office space.”
Mallory sighed in disappointment at the small desk the previous tenants had tucked into the corner. I dug my fingernails into my palms, restraining the urge to scream about the amazing price I was offering, how if she would commit already, she could update it to her heart's content.
Before I left real estate as a career, I stopped being a buyer’s agent because clients are too damn indecisive. I didn't have the patience for their wishy-washy shit like my mom did.
‘We’re not coldhearted snakes chasing a sale, Vickie,’ she told me once after a particularly emotional client meeting. ‘We’re matchmakers. We help our clients find the perfect space to live their dreams.’
My stomach twisted as I tried to keep my face impassive. “This could be your office space, since you probably won’t need much.”
It was a tight fit, the air heating as we all squeezed into the poorly lit concrete storage room. Mallory asked, “Where would Grace sit?”
My teeth clenched. Why was everything always about fucking Grace ? “She’s only part-time. Does she need a desk?”
“She’s the studio manager, of course she does,” Alexander said sharply.
I faced my business partner, ready to snap that he should stop cutting me off at the knees. Grace raised a peaceful hand. “No, Alex, Victoria’s right.”
“What?” Alexander and Mallory chimed in unison.
“I can run payroll from home. I don’t need a desk,” Grace said.
“But the workshops, the staff scheduling …” Mallory moaned. “You need to be here. In person.”
Grace gently touched Mallory’s shoulder. “I already quit, you know that.”
Wait … Grace quit? Did she get a job somewhere else? Would she move away, opening the door for Alexander to do the same?
I schooled my features into concern.
“And I didn’t accept your resignation,” Mallory said, hands on hips.
“Then I’ll keep quitting,” Grace replied. “I’m already so busy at the hospital, now I have even less time.”
“But Alex is here,” Mallory whined. “He can do bedtime some nights.”
Bedtime? Is that why he was always leaving the office early, because she had a strict bedtime for him? I bet he loved that.
Alexander rested a hand on Grace’s lower back. “I’ll do what I can, but it’s not fair to Grace to spread her so thin.”
“You know this is the right move,” Grace said, rubbing her palm over Mallory’s bicep. “Expanding the studio, doubling the classes, running workshops … all that will give you the money to hire a full-time studio manager. Somebody who can make this place their number one priority. We both know I can’t do that.”
Mallory's lip wavered. She whispered, “I can’t do this alone. You know I never planned to start a business. Teaching yoga was the only thing I was good at.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t even know how much money I made, kept forgetting to pay myself until I hired you,” she told Grace. My grip on my phone tightened, digging into my palm. “I feel like I figured out how to run the current place, and now doubling it? Without you? It’s … it’s a lot.”
The three of them stood in a little cocoon, Grace comforting Mallory with Alexander hovering over them. He told his sister, “Don’t leap into something you’re not ready for.”
Mallory’s watery eyes met mine. “Can I think about it?”
I nodded calmly, counting down the minutes until I could find a tenant who respected the value of my offer. One who would pay three times as much as I was offering Mallory out of the goodness of my goddamn heart.
Guess that was the price of being altruistic.
Alexander herded them towards the elevator. He lingered behind while I turned off the lights … preventing me from smashing my foot over a mannequin’s neck.
“Come on, Victoria,” he said, tone pacifying like he was talking a petulant child down from a tantrum … even though I was being reasonable while he talked my potential tenant out of a deal. “Connor’s waiting upstairs with champagne to celebrate your new building.”
Is that why he was rushing back upstairs? A wave of relief hit me at his thoughtful recognition of the milestone.
“This may be a Navy town, but you’re not smashing the bottle against those gorgeous columns out front,” I said. “Thank you for planning this.”
“Oh, it wasn’t my idea. Grace thought we should celebrate.”
There went my good mood. She had to be so fucking nice , didn’t she? Her fake sweetness was going to give me diabetes.
As the elevator doors slid shut, I stabbed the third-floor button and gave my reflection a silent pep talk that I’d handled setbacks larger than an indecisive tenant. But when the doors opened, a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
Connor lifted a cheap pink teacup.
Mallory raised her pinkie.
And a little girl’s giggle rang out through my foyer.