Chapter 3 #2
I lead Jeffrey and Ross through the weight floor to the back walled-off area, where two guys are doing heavy farmer’s walks, two hundred pounds in each hand as they go down the fifty-foot strip of AstroTurf set aside for movement exercises.
“What sets One Life apart is our zones system,” I explain at Jeffery’s lifted eyebrow.
“Too many big box gyms claim to have everything for everyone, but they really fall flat everywhere. Small studios might cater perfectly to one audience, but that’s it.
We want to be on the front line of trends and truly be for every type of athlete.
Our studios, the basketball court, and the general weight area all give a certain population a space to feel comfortable and catered to.
Like here, we have an area for powerlifters and strongmen.
All of this is overseen by our head trainer, AJ.
We plan to have area-focused interests in each location, like hockey in the north or continual current pools in the south for swimmers. ”
“I see.”
Not trying to read anything into his comment, I plunge on.
“One thing this location provides that no other does is axe throwing. There are leagues and million-dollar competitions springing up, and we’re already hosting monthly events along with classes and private training sessions with our resident expert, Kayla.
She’s a world-class, ranked axe thrower, and she’s exclusively ours. ”
Jeffrey hums at that. Good or bad? I’m not sure.
Thunk.
“Yes! She will keeeeeel!” Kayla calls out.
As we round the corner, I can see her pulling an axe out of the wood target’s bullseye at the end of the alley.
Kayla’s dark brown hair is cut in a short bob and flipped over to one side, her eyes are big and brown, and her plump lips are framed by dimples.
She looks like a pixie at only five foot even in her bare feet, and people often underestimate her.
But that’s a mistake they only make once.
I’ve seen her take on guys twice her size, both in the axe alley and off, and win easily, so I pity anyone who thinks she’s weak. She’s a fighter and tougher than a box of nails.
I clear my throat and Kayla looks up, tossing her favorite axe in her hand, catching the handle easily with every flip. “What have we here?”
I take charge of introductions because Kayla is a little rough around the edges and might introduce herself with ‘Who the fuck are you?’ even though I told her about the investor visit today.
“Jeffrey, this is Kayla Jacobs, number-three women’s thrower in the country.
Kayla, this is Jeffrey Sanders, a gentleman interested in investing in One Life Gym. ”
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Adopting a charming smile, Kayla goes to offer her hand but then pulls back when she ‘remembers’ that her hand’s covered in chalk, making Jeffrey crack the first ghost of a smile since his arrival.
“Dang! George Clooney had better move the E-F-F out of the way, ’cause there’s a new silver fox in town! ”
She flashes her dimples at Jeffrey while fluttering her eyelashes as if that’s going to cover up her backhanded compliment.
Meanwhile, I immediately tense up and nudge Kayla gently with my foot, yelling with my eyes.
The basic translation is something along the lines of, “What the hell are you doing?”
Kayla’s eyes glitter with amusement and the cockiness that comes from being so damn good at what she does. In denial, I pray that she’ll tone it down. Of course, because there’s zero luck in my day, she doesn’t. In fact, she amps it up even more.
She shoulder nudges Jeffrey—well, it’s her shoulder and his elbow—and feigns a stricken look. “I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I? Pure compliment, Big Daddy . . . I mean, Jeffrey.” She tops that off with a wink, as though that will save her.
Or this meeting.
I can only brace for the worst. It seems like Jeffrey is unsure how to react when he suddenly bursts into laughter. Perhaps Kayla flat-out broke him? “Hoo, girl. That’s the funniest thing anyone’s said to me in ages!”
Kayla throws me a triumphant smirk. She knew what she was doing the whole time. If I were a betting man, she even planned it.
Jeffrey shakes his head in disbelief at Kayla’s nerve, still chuckling. “Axe thrower, huh? I don’t believe it.”
He’s verbally sparring with Kayla, teasing her the way she’s teasing him. It’s . . . weird, and it’s either going to be our saving grace or our death knell. That I can’t tell which scares the shit out of me, setting my paranoid prepper tendencies into overdrive.
Kayla’s smile doesn’t leave her face, but a hint of steel enters her voice. “I can give you a demonstration, if you’d like.”
Jeffrey gestures at the wall, more than ready to see if she’s bluffing or has the cards to back up our puffing her up. “Please.”
Kayla shoos us off to the side, out of her way and into the safety zone, before walking to the throwing line.
The energy that nearly constantly buzzes through her disappears in an instant and she goes dead-still.
Her eyes laser focus on the bullseye before lifting the axe and letting it fly in one smooth motion.
With a whoosh, it sails down the alley, hitting the bullseye with a dull thunk.
“Yes!” Kayla shouts, pumping her fist in victory. Then she offers Jeffrey a fist, and to my surprise, he pounds it with zero care about the chalk. Who knew Kayla would be our secret weapon? Well, other than her.
“That is quite something, young lady.”
Kay drawls out in an accent she does not usually possess, “I might be little, but I pack a big punch.”
There’s a moment of dread where I’m sure we’re dead in the water, but then Jeffrey inclines his head. “Indeed.”
Kayla’s eyes dance, having made her point. “Thank you.” She curtseys like she’s an Eighteenth-Century princess when she’s the furthest thing from it. Somehow, her cheesy as a Chicago-style pizza methods seem to have melted Jeffrey’s austere coldness because he’s nearly eating out of her hand.
“I’d like to introduce you to our lead trainer too. After you.” Ross guides Jeffrey out of the axe area.
I glance back, and Kayla waves innocently, looking completely sure that she could get away with murder. Funny thing is, I’m not sure she’s wrong.
As we walk back to the training area, Jeffrey seems to be looking around with fresh eyes. And dare I say, liking what he sees?
I wave AJ over. “Hey, Bossman, what’s up?” he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though his step-counter controls whether he gets to stand still or not.
“Jeffrey, please meet AJ Bradford, our head trainer.”
AJ is in charge of the training program, my right hand with that group.
He’s a thickly muscled guy, thanks to his years as a wrestler and weightlifter, but one conversation with him and it’s clear that he knows his stuff.
His interview was so long, so well-informed, and so utterly confusing to me that I had filled up half a page on my notepad with terms to look up by the time he was done.
“Good to meet you, Jeffrey,” AJ says, carefully shaking hands so as not to crack bones. “How can I help you with your goal here today?”
Jeffrey blinks. “Show me what you do.”
“Gladly,” AJ says, ready for such a softball.
He goes into how he takes a new client through goal setting, restrictions and modifications, time lines, and then develops a personalized plan.
As he shows off some of his standard movements, he explains, “The first five sessions are part of the process to be sure they understand form, function, and each movement. After that, they can choose to continue with me or on their own. If they work on their own, I always recommend an update meeting in twelve weeks to ensure that they’re on target, make adjustments where needed, and cheer their successes. ”
AJ glances past Jeffrey, not liking whatever he sees. “Excuse me, guys. Duty calls.” He walks off, calling out, “Don’t even think about taking that off the rack without a spotter!”
Jeffrey watches silently as AJ assists the member with his heavy lift. With a nod, he turns back to us. “I’ve seen enough. The facility and staff live up to your proposal.”
“Does that mean you’d like to move forward with an investment plan?” Ross asks carefully, teasing at the hook now that we’ve got Jeffrey on it.
“I am. Let’s set a meeting to go over the details and get to know each other better. We can sign the contract then. So, drinks on Friday at my house?” Jeffrey looks from Ross to me, a gleam in his eye that I don’t like.
He’s a businessman, and we all like to think we have the upper hand at all times, but something tells me Jeffrey’s got something up his sleeve. Only one way to find out, though.
“Of course. We’ll be there,” I say agreeably.
As Jeffrey leaves and Ross and I fist-bump a successful proposal, worry digs deep into my mind.
I’ll be researching Jeffrey Sanders again, even though I have multiple times already.
That’s my job, to know everything before anyone else does, and I don’t like that Jeffrey thinks he knows something I don’t.
Already, my mind is replaying bullet points like I’m a walking, talking encyclopedia . . .
Jeffrey Sanders began his investments in biotechnology at the age of twenty-five.
Made his first million by the time he was twenty-six.
Portfolio includes giants in industries from oil and gas to banking to venture capital investments.
The list goes on and on, but still, I think I’ll do another bit of research tonight.