Chapter TwoMicahOctober 7 #3
That makes me pause. Maybe Fischer was trying to prevent his boss from drinking caffeine?
It’s the kind of thing I do with Lila all the time, like when I “accidentally” get her a veggie burger and salad instead of a cheeseburger and fries because she “forgets” she had her gallbladder removed last year.
I quickly brew some decaf and tell myself that Mr. Bradley never specified so it shouldn’t matter, and then I rush back to the conference room just as Lila starts up her presentation. Slipping into the seat next to Fischer, I slide one mug towards Mr. Bradley and then hand the other one to Fischer.
His eyebrows dip low. “You didn’t have to do that,” he mutters. “I don’t really care for caffeine anyway.”
“It’s decaf,” I whisper back.
For some reason, that pulls his brow even lower. “Oh.” Then he takes a sip before turning his attention back to Lila.
I love these initial brainstorming meetings.
Though I am generally expected to stay quiet, there’s always an energy in this room whenever Lila runs through my PowerPoints and gives the team the scope and goal of the project.
She reads through all the facts I gathered about the lodge, though she glosses over most of the history, and the planning team starts scribbling things down, hopefully full of good ideas.
If not, I’ve got about a million of them for this place, and the planners will start coming to me if they get stuck.
I know at some point today I need to ask Lila if I can help with the planning on this one—Kinley will kill me if I don’t—but this meeting is not the time to shove a stick through Lila’s spokes.
I’ll just sit back and be patient because with the plans I’ve already drawn up, there’s no way Lila can say no to me this time.
“How about you tell us about what you’re hoping to accomplish with this lodge,” Lila tells Mr. Bradley once she’s gone through my setup.
Mr. Bradley, who was in the middle of drinking his coffee, chokes and spits back into his cup. “Oh, yes, of course. Greenwood Lodge. It’s, uh, it’s been around for a long time, so there’s some nostalgia with it. And, uh, we are remodeling.”
We all wait for him to say more, but he goes back to drinking his coffee.
I can almost hear the crickets.
“The lodge is about an hour away from any towns,” Fischer says suddenly, sitting up straighter.
Not that he was really slouching before.
He’s stiff as a board. “That has made it start to fall off the map and lose profitability. While that made the purchase price less, it also means we have a lot of work to do if we want to get any attention on the lodge as a worthwhile destination spot.”
“Yes,” Mr. Bradley says, a little too loudly. “We need to make sure people know it exists.”
Fischer glances at me—I’m probably staring—before clearing his throat and continuing.
“We’ve added a pool and spa, as well as a fully equipped gym with a personal trainer on staff.
We hope the lodge becomes a location not only for family vacations and ceremonies but also corporate retreats and celebrity getaways. ”
“I could get Houston Briggs to endorse it,” I blurt out. Then I wince when Lila shoots me a glare. I’m usually good at keeping my thoughts to myself—she made sure of that back when I started—but I’m too excited about this one to hold it all in.
Mr. Bradley leans toward me. “Houston Briggs? The Red-tails pitcher?”
I nod. “It might take some convincing, but I think he would do it.” Besides, I never ask my half-brother for anything, and I’m sure he’d love to use his fame for something good.
My dad might not be his dad, but he was at our mom’s wedding at Greenwood.
He was only a few years old, but that nostalgia is probably still there.
“Will he be available so soon after the World Series?” Fischer asks. “The event is in a couple of weeks.”
I don’t actually know when the Series is supposed to end, but it sounds like Houston will be done playing in time. Lila looks ready to murder me right now, but since I’m the only one who can answer this question, she has to stand there in frustration.
I put on a smile and hope for the best. “I’ll talk to him today, but I think it’s likely he’ll be able and willing.”
“How can you be sure?” Lila asks sharply.
I haven’t told anyone here about my siblings.
Partially because I don’t think anyone would believe I’m related to Houston because our last names are different but mostly because I want to make it through life on my own.
It’s hard enough to convince my dad that I’m an adult and can take care of myself; I don’t need my famous brother giving me a leg up by association.
Except for now, of course.
“I’ve known him for years,” I say casually. “I’ll text him right now.”
Pulling out my phone and sending a quick text to Houston, I try to keep listening as Lila jumps into her plans for the lodge.
Me: How much do you love me?
“I think a modern approach will convince people that the lodge is timeless,” Lila says and then pulls up several photos of gaudy galas full of weird decorations and way too much chrome.
I resist a shudder as my phone buzzes. That sounds awful, and hopefully Grant doesn’t go for it. I wish she had let me put this presentation together, but she insisted on doing this one herself.
I look down at my phone.
Texas: Enough to know you want something from me.
Me: Maybe I’m just feeling insecure.
Texas: *gif of Michael Scott laughing*
Texas: Good one. What do you want, Mic?
Lila clicks to a slide that’s full of the lamest looking appetizers I’ve ever seen. Apparently they’re all the rage right now even though the portion sizes are barely big enough to feed a toddler. Half of them don’t even look like real food.
Me: How would you feel about making a celebrity appearance at the grand reopening of the Greenwood Lodge?
Texas: Isn’t that where Mom married your dad?
“Houston Briggs is your brother?”
I gasp, pulling everyone’s attention my way even though Fischer spoke quietly. “That looks amazing, Lila,” I say, feeling my face heat.
As Lila sends me a warning glare, Fischer almost smiles beside me. “Sorry,” he says softly. “Didn’t realize you scared so easily.”
“I didn’t realize someone was reading my texts,” I reply as Houston texts again.
Texas: When is the event?
Me: It’s on the 26th.
Texas: What time? I have a thing in the afternoon.
I can’t actually answer this one, so I lean my phone closer to Fischer so he can see it better. Instead of telling me, he takes my phone out of my hand and types out a response without sending it.
Me: Event starts at 6:00pm. You only need to make an appearance sometime between 8:00pm and 10:00pm.
I snicker. He sounds so formal. Switching the end of the text so it says, ‘between 8-10,’ I hit send and hope Houston agrees.
“Why didn’t you lead with Houston being your brother?” Fischer has leaned closer, talking even more quietly than before so I also have to lean in to hear him.
At this point, I’m definitely not paying attention to Lila anymore, which is fine. I’m going to be trying to persuade her to change all her ideas anyway. “Because I don’t want people to only see my brother when they see me. I’m good enough on my own.”
My phone buzzes, and we both look down.
Texas: I should be able to show up, but I’ll need to check with my agent first. I’ll let you know tomorrow.
That’s about as good as we ever get from Houston, who is usually so busy that he rarely knows his own schedule. But if the Series is ending, that means he should be a lot more flexible for the next couple of months. When is it over, anyway?
I’m halfway through Googling that question when Fischer says, “Last game would be the sixteenth if they play all seven games.”
I glance at him. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a baseball fan.”
“I’m not.” That’s all he says, like that would explain how he knows the exact date of a baseball game that I don’t know even though it’s my own brother’s team.
“Miss Taylor?” Lila pulls my attention back to her. “Any updates?”
“I should hear back from his agent tomorrow,” I say, even though I probably won’t actually talk to his agent. It just sounds more impressive. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”
“See that you do. Now, what do you think, Mr. Bradley?”
He’s going to think it all sounds gimmicky and gaudy because that’s Lila’s general style.
For how much success her company has had over the years, she’s really not great at creating events that really resonate with people.
They get the job done and make the client look fancy.
The Greenwood Lodge needs warmth and connection.
Something to give people a reason to see it as a home away from home.
If Mr. Bradley has any sense at all, he’ll tell Lila that she needs to go back to the drawing board, and that will give me the chance to step in and save—
“I think it all looks marvelous!” Mr. Bradley says with more than a little enthusiasm.
I wince, and unless I’m mistaken, so does Fischer.
“Wonderful!” Lila claps her hands together, looking like she was just told she’s getting a brand new car for free.
This might be the first time her ideas have been accepted without hesitation, and though she sees that as a good sign, it only means this event is going to flop if I don’t find a way to change everything.
Something tells me Lila isn’t going to be all that open to me taking over this one.
So much for today being my day.
Not with that attitude , a voice says in the back of my mind. I don’t remember what my mother sounds like, but I like to think this voice of positivity sounds like her. It makes her so much harder to argue with.
Fischer has gone tense beside me, and he seems to be trying to have a silent conversation with his boss across the table. I can’t read minds, but if I could, I would imagine their conversation is going something like this: