Chapter 24
KAEDE
The morning sun is cooler than it’s been for the past few weeks, which is probably a good thing.
It’ll help the runners, for sure, but it’s not so cold the other participants will be too tight to work safely.
I shake a bit myself, trying to get loose.
Because cool weather or not, I’m already sweating lightly.
Today’s going to be one of the biggest tests of my life, and I haven’t been this nervous since my first televised college game. Then, I puked in the bathroom before the coach’s pep talk even started.
I can’t do that today. No puking, McWarren. Fight through.
I’ve been working myself to the bone for the last two weeks, doing my share of the event arrangements and double-checking along behind Missy. I didn’t trust her to start with, but after her surprise visit to Morgan Andrews, I wanted to make sure she wasn’t slipping a poisoned pill into the prep.
Surprisingly, she’s done everything on her list under budget and early.
It’s actually professionally admirable. Maybe I didn’t give her enough credit.
But it was a reasonable worry, considering the amount of time she’s been putting in with AJ on the floor, working out while giving me come-hither looks.
Kayla’s about ready to kill her. I’m about ready to let her. Hell, I might encourage her and provide an alibi.
And okay, maybe I’ve been hiding out from Courtney and Ross a bit too. I’ve used the event prep as an excuse, but that’s all it’s been, an excuse.
At the anniversary party, when I saw Ross looking at me speculatively and Morgan eyeballing me for daring to dance with his daughter, I knew I was in too deep. I forgot my place at the table. I’m thankful to have one, but I don’t belong with those people. Not really.
And Courtney hadn’t been exaggerating. I’d met Blaine Cleveland the Second, who was quite proud of his surgeon son, Blaine Cleveland the Third.
In fact, between the Clevelands and the Hollingsworths, I was sort of surprised.
It’s the first time I’ve been in a crowd and my playing college football and having a bowl game ring was just ho-hummed.
And when we talked work, they made One Life seem like a home gym.
I guess compared to places like Andrews Consolidated, it kinda is. But I’m damn proud of it.
And that bowl game ring.
So take that, Cleveland the Second.
My phone dings, and I check it. I’ve set up alarms all day to make sure we stay on schedule because I'm expecting something to go awry. That’s always the best way to prepare—plan for the worst and have alternative plans ready to go into action in a moment’s notice, all the while hoping everything goes off without a hitch.
It’s a methodology that’s served me well.
I hope things run smoothly because after my conversation with Ross, we feel certain that Jeffrey is up to something.
He and I met for hours after hearing about Missy’s little visit to Morgan, talking through the information Courtney got from her assistant.
Problem was, it wasn’t much more than Missy’s appearance and meeting with Morgan.
We still don’t know what the meeting was about, and when I suggested that Ross just ask Morgan, he’d shut me down quickly, saying that he wasn’t ‘running to Daddy’ like he’s scared, and even if he did, that would put Courtney in an awkward position too.
Telling company business, even to family, isn’t exactly welcomed with smiles and head pats in the corporate world.
Ross seemed to believe that I didn’t answer my phone when she called because I was with a member, but I felt like shit for lying to him.
Even more so for lying to her. I wasn’t consulting with anyone.
I was talking with AJ and just shooting the shit.
I chose not to answer because I thought her ‘emergency’ was about us.
It’s all that had been on my mind and I assumed, incorrectly, that she was as hyper focused on it as I was.
As I am.
I just don’t know how to explain to Courtney that as much as I want her, as much as I’ve fallen for her . . . Missy was right. I’m Cinderfella, and she’s a princess. And despite Disney, cartoons, and even Harry and Meghan, guys like me don’t end up with princesses.
Or if we do, we end up pulling them from their ivory towers and getting them kicked out of the royal family. I won’t do that to Courtney. I won’t ever hurt her that way, even if it tears my guts out to be without her.
Stop thinking about her, loverboy. Not now. Prioritize.
I have to focus on today and pray for the best. It irritates the hell out of me.
I want to confront Jeffrey and ask what the fuck is going on, but Ross assured me that coming at him directly would be a mistake.
I’d conceded that point, even if I hadn’t wanted to.
So we’re playing it close to the vest, careful and watchful today.
Shit . . . lost in my thoughts again. Focus, Kaede. Don’t drop the ball at the ten-yard line.
I take a quick look around, looking for any fires to put out. It doesn’t take me long to find one.
Missy is talking to her press buddy. He’s ready for the camera in a polo and khakis, and while Missy is dressed somewhat decently for a change in a One Life T-shirt and yoga pants, the shirt is knotted tightly at her back and the pants are second-skin tight.
Though it leaves nothing to the imagination, her wardrobe isn’t the bad part. Nor is the concerning bit that she’s clearly giving Sanders credit for everything and trying to ‘explain’ things to the reporter.
No, the bad part is that she is in a One Life shirt, representing us while demonstrating a variety of moves . . . incorrectly. That has bad press written all over it and is not what we need.
“Yo, Ross!” I call, jogging over lightly to him. “Check Missy? I need to finish rounds and warm up.” And I’m staying far, far away from her and her octopus arms.
Ross looks over and growls. He’s doing his usual face-of-the-company gig and co-emceeing today, sharing the duties with the sportscaster from our local news, which means Missy is definitely stepping on Ross’s toes.
Plus, Ross doesn’t look happy at Missy’s hamming it up.
“What the fuck is she doing? She doesn’t know a deadlift from a deadpan. ”
That’s not quite true, but whatever it is Missy is selling that move as, it’s definitely designed to highlight her ass, not actually work it in any effective manner.
“Why I said something,” I comment. “Can you handle that? And jump in with the reporter so she doesn’t make us look like fools?”
Ross nods, smoothing his own One Life shirt to be ready for the camera.
I glance down to my tablet. What’s next? Kayla.
I look over to the area we marked off for the axe throwing and see her already chatting up a small crowd, showing off her favorite piece.
I go over and listen for a second, making sure she’s not going too crazy and scaring the masses.
At a break in her chatter, I give her a lift of my brows. “You good?”
Without missing a bit, she gives me a thumbs-up.
“Yeah, targets are looking good, lanes are set, and I’ve got my axes ready,” Kayla assures me.
“Even gonna do a few trick shots.” She says that part with an eyebrow wag to the designer-lumberjack guy standing next to her, and he smiles, completely charmed by those damn dimples.
I blink, unaffected. “Why do I not like the sound of that?”
“Don’t sweat it, Boss Man. I’ve been practicing a few new moves for weeks now.
I can do ’em in my sleep.” She tosses the axe blade over handle a few times, entertaining the crowd.
“Ooh, maybe that can be my next trick? Blindfolded, so I can’t see the target.
You’d hold the apple for me, wouldn’t you? ”
The not-a-lumberjack looks nervous but reaches down and finds some semblance of balls and nods. I have no doubt if push came to shove, he’d bail on that, though. I certainly would. No way would I let Kayla throw an axe at me . . . or anyone else. Not because I don’t trust her aim but because I do.
I point at my eyes with V’d fingers and then move them to her. “Careful, Kayla.” She purses her lips, giving me a kissy face and a wink, and I choose to take that as her agreement.
Okay, list check. Next? AJ and Stacylynne, who are both chatting with the DJ. Perfect. I can check three items off my list at once.
“How’s it looking?”
“All set up, Boss,” AJ assures me, lifting his chin toward the strongman area.
“I gave the truck harness a check for the pull, the pressing medley is ready, and the cars are the last thing to get dialed in. We’ll be able to run two competitors at a time for the car lifts, head to head on it.
More exciting that way, so it’ll be better for the fans. ”
“Good. Stacylynne?”
“The DJ said my part is the easiest. I gave him my playlist, told him no wikki-wikki-ing with it.” She holds one hand to her ear and record scratches at the air with the other like a DJ.
“My peeps know the choreo, know the songs, and if he throws them off by messing with their flow, they’ll eat him alive.
” Fear of a mass of Zumba participants booing the DJ takes root in my gut.
That was one scenario that hadn’t even occurred to me, but she’s right.
Stacylynne’s people are . . . vehemently and violently passionate about their dancing.
“Great,” I tell her, turning to the DJ, who is eyeing Stacylynne with open fear, which is kinda funny considering she looks like the hippie child of a Flashdance lover in her tie-dye legwarmers, neon tights, and slashed One Life top.
All of which are accented by twin buns on either side of her head, a bellydance scarf, and wrists full of jingle-bell-covered rubber bracelets.
The DJ nods. “We’re good, boss. Music, don’t mess with the Zumba one, announcements. I’ve got everything.”
I nod, checking my list again. It’s all done.