Chapter 21
KAEDE
Shoot me now.
It’s my new mantra, mixed in with an occasional ‘Seriously?’
I know it’s a ridiculous statement, but I guess it’s better than Fuck my life. But there’s so much truth to it now. It feels like I’m walking a minefield and it’s made even going to work, something I love, a chore.
Like now. I’m in the staff conference room with Missy. I thought this would be best because my office desk is against the wall, and I want to keep something, like a table or a ten-foot pole, between us while we discuss the upcoming event.
That and the conference room has security cameras with sound. I’m covering my ass, literally and figuratively.
It hasn’t stopped Missy, who’s taken every opportunity possible to lean back in her chair and cross and uncross her legs pointedly while I write on the whiteboard.
It might as well be a Basic Instinct moment, but at least she’s got on workout shorts that cover her crotch.
That’s about all she’s wearing, though, booty shorts and a sports bra with full hair and makeup.
I thought Ross talked to her? Actually, I know he did, and she was better for a while. Which makes me think this outfit was selected especially for this meeting. For me.
Fuck my life.
“So the big thing is going to be the timeline,” I tell her, looking at how we’ve got things laid out from our previous meeting and the two emails I used to try to unsuccessfully avoid today’s meeting and sex-you-up attempt from Missy.
“We know we can get the media there, but to get more than a lame ass ten seconds on the morning news and a generic photo in the paper, it’s going to need to be an exciting event. ”
“Well, duh,” Missy says, stretching her arms over her head and trying to press her boobs forward again. “Everyone likes exciting.”
It’s been like this the whole meeting. Pose, stretch, copy my words with an implied innuendo that I didn’t use.
A few minutes ago, she even managed to make wood chopping contest sound sexual. Okay, maybe that one was a given, but for the love of fuck, can we focus here?
“So to insure we have no lulls in energy, we need to keep the events staggered,” I continue, ignoring Missy’s non-contribution to look at the board.
“The 5K is one of the big events, of course, but there’s a gap between the start and finish.
Nobody wants to stand around for twenty minutes to a half-hour doing nothing before the first runners start coming in. ”
“Okay, let’s do a three-event strongman thing,” I declare, writing on the board. “That’ll get good optics, especially if we do a cool event like a truck pull with the One Life logo on the truck. Then the 5K starts, then a Zumba demonstration—”
“Oh.” She holds up a bubble-gum pink nail.
“What if we have the course for the 5K go around the front parking lot? Twelve laps is about three-point-one miles. Then we could have space for the Zumba people in the middle. Add in the strongman stations, the axe throwing alley, the DJ on the stage . . . that would make for a stellar picture!”
I blink as I visualize what she’s describing.
“It might be a logistical nightmare, and the runners would need to be clear that it’s a lap race, not a road race, but that would be a great picture of vibrant energy, lots of people, and highlight the different types of members we cater to.
” Surprised, I add that to the schedule and continue down the list. “The strongmen can do event two, something less sexy—”
“I like sexy events,” Missy purrs. “You should do the strongman stuff. Big men showing off their muscles . . . mmm, so sexy. Like you, Kaede.”
“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of muscles,” I comment.
And we’re back to Airhead Missy. Damn, for a second, I thought we might be getting somewhere on this event.
"Flash me those biceps, Kaede!” She laughs as she says it, even flexing her own long arm in encouragement.
When she makes a move to get up, like she might actually touch my arm .
. . again, I sigh impatiently and bend my elbow to thwart her.
It’s not even a flex, and I quickly get back to the agenda, talking over her when she says, “So big!”
“Anyway, while the rest of the 5K runners come in—we can cap that at ninety minutes, maybe—there’ll be the axe throwing, and we finish it off with a big strongman finale .
. . gotta talk with AJ about what he thinks will get the biggest crowd reaction.
Awards, speech by Ross, and that’ll be the day. ”
This actually feels natural. I’ve been doing this sort of stuff for years and it plays into all my strengths—organization, planning, foreseeing issues, and handling them before they become a problem. I move on to the next section of whiteboard.
“Supply-wise, even if it’s around the parking lot, we’ll need to have the course marked in a fun way, like balloons or flags, at least two drink stations for safety, and snacks and food for the competitors and the crowd.
Pamphlets and PR, a truck wrap company that can work a quick turnaround, a sound system and DJ .
. . need someone who knows their shit on the mic so they don’t sound like an idiot. It’s a lot to do.”
Missy gets up and comes over to the whiteboard. She picks up a marker of her own. It’s a different color, which irks the shit out of me.
But she places a checkmark, looking confident. “I know a DJ, so I can handle that. He’s got his own equipment, but we’ll need to run the power cords. And I can get the sportscaster from the local NBC station to come down for coverage. If he comes in, can you smarten him up to the events?”
“Yeah.” I take her green marker, erase the checkmark, and place an M beside DJ. Placing a K beside other items, I say, “I’ll take care of buying supplies—cups, balloons, food, and stuff.”
“Hey, could Courtney help us get some of the AgroStar stuff since she’s got an in with them?”
What the fuck? How does Missy even know that? Mentally, I slap my forehead. She’s researching Courtney, of course. I’m not surprised, but it still feels remarkably skeevy and intrusive.
“Don’t think so. Can you handle the print and the media beyond the sportscaster?” Apparently, some of my control freak tendencies are showing, or maybe it’s my disdain.
“You underestimate me.” Missy pouts, facing me fully with her arms crossed under her tits.
If I had to bet, I’d say this exact look has gotten her way more times than not.
Too bad. Today’s one of the ‘not’ times.
“I have my job with Dad’s company for more than my name.
I’m sure your fiancée understands that. I’m quite capable of this and so . . . much . . . more.”
Shoot me now.
I actually don’t know her or if she got her job for more than her last name because despite extensive digging, there’s just no information to be had on any of the Sanders daughters. But I have to trust Missy with something.
Still, I make a mental note to follow up because I can’t let an unknown factor be in control of so much of the visible side of the event. It goes against my nature. Especially when it’s Missy and she obviously has an ulterior motive and a not-so-secret agenda.
“Fine. Just email me the contact info on all the people you’re using, and CC me on any communications with them,” I say, moving on. “I’ll handle the actual events themselves, coordinate with Stacylynne, Kayla, and AJ on their parts. Ross can be the emcee and get his face on the news some.”
“It should be yours,” Missy says, her voice soft as she gently cups my cheek. I flinch away quickly, and she smiles as though any reaction is a good one. “Hotter, sexier . . . you get out there and the women will be lining up around the block to join.”
“I prefer not to be.”
Missy’s eyes go sharp, her tongue even sharper. “So, just gonna hitch your wagon to the Andrews name and then what, be the good little boy?”
I glare at her, shocked and pissed. “Excuse me?”
Missy gives me a sweet shrug of understanding.
“Well, you’ve worked with Ross for years, followed him into this.
” She looks around the room, her pointed finger encompassing all of One Life.
“All the while, dating and marrying his sister. It’s quite a niche you’ve worked out for yourself here.
I’m not degrading it or you in any way. Rather clever, if I say so myself. ”
“That’s not what I’m doing, and you know it,” I growl, keeping my tone as civil as possible. “Ross and I have worked together since we were teenagers, and Courtney and I fell in love by spending time together. All very organic and not sly or a scheme in any way.”
I tell myself to shut up, not to give her any ammunition, but Missy’s worked her way in now.
“Don’t be the lady who doth protesteth too mucheth,” Missy misquotes, her smirk turning acid.
“Besides, I meant it as a compliment, that you’re smart and strategic.
I see that in you, that you know where to move on this chessboard of life to insure you’re the last man standing.
Not everyone does, but I appreciate that. ”
The acid’s still there, but she’s also let some of the flirtiness back into her voice. It’s a rough, dangerous lesson that maybe there are more brains behind her vacant eyes than I’ve been giving her credit for. My mistake, and one I won’t make again.
“With the right guidance, you’d be a business superstar.
Movie star good looks to go along with brains.
Momoa meets Buffett.” It’s clear she thinks her father is that guidance and that she’s my way in.
She thinks she’s offering me the Holy Grail, but she’s a red Solo cup with a Sharpie name that’s been marked out and written over dozens of times.