7. Warren
7
WARREN
This morning did not go to plan. I have to admit, I didn’t exactly anticipate walking into Spin Sync to a ticker tape parade. The deal had been quick. There were rumors that Jonathan Graham was looking to sell for months, and it had always seemed like a no-brainer to me. An investor would have to be an idiot not to want their hands on a burgeoning tech company that was this close to being worth billions.
It wasn’t until after Jonathan accepted my too-generous offer and the papers had been signed that I realized what I’d done. It had all happened so fast, and now there was no way Kira would believe that I hadn’t known I was to become her boss when I’d been delivering her multiple orgasms with my tongue on her clit and my fingers in her cunt a few short months ago.
I’ve known for weeks that the news might sideswipe her. I should have reached out. I should have called her and told her everything the moment the deal was done and I realized that I’d now be working with her after a one-night stand. She was a damn pest, though, refusing to give me her number before sashaying away from me that night at Adler’s wedding. And I certainly couldn’t ask him for it. He’s my employee now, too. I couldn’t tell him how I’d defiled his wife’s bridal suite on their wedding day in the most deliciously dirty moment of my life.
Instead, I’ve endured a week of sleepless nights leading up to today. I had hoped for understanding from Kira at best, awkward tension at worst.
No such luck. Jonathan’s office turned to ice when I walked through the door. I’d watched as the gears in Kira’s head began to turn and cringed when she spat out of the same perfectly plump, peach lips she once let me come all over.
“You, you over-roided, over-moussed, pompous, self-centered, uncreative, stupid, butthole-shaped piece of walking dog shit. You can go fuck yourself,” she’d sneered at Jonathan, punctuating each creative insult with a knuckle to his chest.
“And you, you old British twat-waffle. You can fucking watch him.”
That one had been directed at me.
I rub a hand over my shoulder, massaging the spot where Kira had purposefully pushed past me as she stormed out of Jonathan’s office. I’m sure there’s already a lovely purple bruise blooming there to serve as a reminder of my morning. The thought of one of her marks on my body again sends a shiver running through me. I still have nights when I can’t fall asleep without thinking about the bite marks she left on my neck in that bridal suite.
Sitting here in one of the production rooms, watching through the multiple screens as Kira teaches some sort of treadmill class in Spanish on the other side of the two-way mirror, that same warmth in my chest has returned.
“Largá todas las cosas que no te sirven. Las dejás acá, no te las llevas con vos. Cambiamos la energía el día de hoy. Y cuando nos bajamos de la cinta vamos a romper todo y a pasarla bien. La vida es una y cada día es una oportunidad para disfrutarla.”
My crush on this woman developed just like this–watching her at parties, observing her movements, the swing of her hips and the curve of her mouth. I thought she was gorgeous when she was dressed to the nines, styled and made up and spinning in her high heels, and she was.
But this version of her is just as intoxicating. The fun, bubbly, energetic cardio bunny adorned in brightly colored nylon, cheering on a room full of people as sweat drips from pores and hearts beat out of chests. It’s all I can do to keep my tongue from lolling out of my mouth.
I wish Kira’s looks were enough to explain the enigmatic stranglehold that she has on me, but I’ve never been someone whose senses are warped by beauty. I can appreciate a lovely work of art, but I’d never stand in front of a portrait and find myself moved to tears. Besides, to say that the woman is simply luminous would do her a disservice. She’s charismatic. Funny, witty, quick with a joke or a biting comment. She exudes confidence and compassion and complexity.
The woman’s got chutzpah.
“And here is where we feed the scripts over to the instructors. They provide their talking points to us along with their playlists and class plans and we send it through to their screen. That way, they can hit any points or topics they want to bring up during class and remind themselves of the intervals and roadmap they’ve programmed. Some instructors write themselves full scripts to follow, while others will just give themselves a few bullets or motivational quotes to throw out from time to time. This all gets sent over in real time, but the class plan and playlist are pre-programmed. That way in-studio and at-home riders alike can see whatever the instructor wants them doing on their screens.”
The man I’ve been shadowing for the last few hours goes on about the different functionalities of the studio production. It’s a bit like being on a television set.
Actually, no, scratch that. It’s exactly like being on a television set, except here, the live audience is sweating and cursing the host instead of applauding.
My acquisition of a company like Spin Sync is something I’ve eagerly anticipated for years. The elation I’m feeling from standing in this room is intense, and despite what the organ beating in my chest–or the one hanging between my legs–would have a person think, it has very little to do with the woman pumping her arms and shaking her hips like Shakira as she power walks in the other room.
Spin Sync combines some of my greatest passions in life–health, wellness, technology, and pissing my dead father off.
Maybe that last point is a bit passive aggressive of me, but I don’t care. The man was a piece of garbage who fucked around on my mother and treated me like shit from the time I was old enough to understand the words he said to me. The only good thing he ever did for me besides providing half of my genetic material is leave me a fuck ton of money when he finally died while I was away at university.
He would have wanted me to go into the family business–finance of sorts, otherwise known as fucking over the working class to make ourselves even richer, but I would sooner die than follow in his footsteps.
After school, I moved from London to Los Angeles thinking I might give acting a go. I booked a few low budget, made for TV movies and given the size of my bank account, I could have made a career out of being a shit actor in shit films until Hollywood decided I was too old and ugly to put on screen any longer. But I had too much self-awareness to spend my life fucking around at something I wasn’t great at just because my dad would have hated it.
Instead, I made my way up the coast to Palo Alto, where I started putting my money into tech start-ups and businesses that were hoping to shape the kind of future I want to see for the world. Renewable energy, accessibility tools, health products and innovative medical supplies, and companies that create housing and job opportunities for low-income and unhoused communities are the kinds of things I’ve spent the last twenty-five years of my life investing in. Every so often, I came across a young buck with an idea that wouldn’t change the world but would change a market for the better, and they’d get my money as well.
That’s how I ended up investing in James Adler and Amir Salman’s idea for a customer relations management tool that would become a multi-billion-dollar company, Streamline.
I’ve wanted to be more hands on somewhere for a long time, and Spin Sync came with a CEO role to boot. The production aspect was one of my favorite parts of my acting days. I love the company’s mission of promoting health and wellness for every person and every body, making fitness accessible to anyone at any level. And the tech is unmatched. There is no one in the fitness or streaming markets that is doing what Spin Sync does.
“How come you’re not sending anything through to Kira right now?” I ask the man–Greg, I think. Usually, I’m much better than this, but I’ve met a lot of people today, and I’ve been a little preoccupied by being called a British twat-waffle.
I’ll make up for it, though. By the end of the week, I’ll know every employee's name and how most of them take their coffee.
“She and another instructor switched classes this morning. We don’t really love when they do that. It makes our jobs up here in the production room much harder. But Kira always bribes us with the best pastries in the city, and she never makes any changes to the class plan. If she is switching with another instructor, she teaches what they have programmed,” he says, tapping the top of the monitor that reads “JESS R–REGGAETON HIKE EN ESPA?OL”.
I nod in response. He moves on, pointing out some other equipment and going over the process of editing a class before it is available to stream on the Spin Sync app. I only hear about half of what he says, though. I’m too enamored by Kira as she struts and sings on her treadmill.
It’s impressive, the way she moves. She’s clearly working. That much is obvious from the sweat beading on her chest and her exposed torso, but she doesn’t sound the least bit out of breath as she continues to speak and encourage the students in the room with her. I’m amazed by her ability to teach an entire class off the cuff, but to do so in a whole other language is beyond amazing .
I have no idea what she’s saying–fuck me for studying French in school–but damn, does it sound good coming out of her pretty mouth.
“Cambia un par de cosas si sentis que no te funcionan, si no sientes esa frescura que quiero que sientas hoy en este momento. Organízate, para que puedas tener esa libertad y ligereza mental que te llevará tan lejos, ?OK? Mi nombre es Kira McKenna, nos vemos!”
The class comes to an end, and Kira makes a heart with her hands and holds it up to the camera. A production assistant counts down from five, and the red light turns off, signaling the end of the livestream. The sound is cut but the cameras aren’t, and I watch as Kira disembarks from her treadmill and laps around the room, offering high-fives and sweaty hugs to anyone who asks for it.
Something about the way I’ve been struck by Kira has me completely out of sorts. I don’t know her, not really. I know the persona she puts on. I know who she is when she’s on a bike or a treadmill with five cameras pointed in her face. I know what her laugh sounds like when she’s dressed in an evening gown, surrounded by her friends. I know she speaks Spanish beautifully, and that her chest flushes a deep pink color when she comes.
But I don’t know her , though I desperately want to.
Later on, after hours of meetings, run-throughs, and watching classes in production rooms, I’m sitting in the lobby of Spin Sync munching on a stale bagel that was left over from this morning at the lobby coffee bar. It’s the first chance I’ve had to eat all day, so even though the onion bagel is practically an onion crouton by now, it’s going in my mouth.
The lobby is a beautiful creamy-white color, outfitted with couches, chairs, and benches. There are lush, green plants all over the floor, the walls, and hanging from the ceiling. There is some sort of indoor pond in the corner, but I haven’t ventured over there yet. If there are fish living in that thing, I’m not ready to find out.
I fucking hate fish.
There are televisions mounted on the walls, spaced out every few feet. Right now, they’re all playing a James Adler spin class. It was recorded earlier today, with students in the studio. I would have liked to attend, and on any other day I might have found myself on a bike next to some of our colleagues, but duty called. I plan on taking at least one class with each instructor in the coming weeks, so I’ll get my chance to see the former CEO turned spin instructor in action.
I close my eyes for a moment, taking in the first time all day I’ve had a second to myself. I take a deep breath in through my nose, planning to follow it up with a meditative exhale, but I’m struck by the scent of lemon and sugar.
I know that scent. I remember that scent. It’s the same citrus scent I haven’t been able to get out of my mind for months. Sweet and sour, just like the woman it’s coming from. I don’t want to make any sudden movements, but I can’t help the small smile that creeps across my face in her presence.
Opening my eyes, I see Kira leaning against a chair a few feet to my left, her arms crossed on her chest. She’s back in the same purple sweatshirt and shorts she wore this morning in Jonathan’s office, but her hair is damp and pulled back in a clip. Her face looks fresh and dewy, her skin still pink from the shower. She’s staring at the TV, a contemplative look in her eyes. I can’t tell if she’s noticed me here, so I clear my throat.
Nothing. She doesn’t look my way, but she doesn’t leave either.
“You were there in the studio, weren’t you?” I ask, gesturing towards the row of televisions on the wall. It’s a stupid question, considering I can see her next to her girlfriends on the screen anytime the camera pans. Kira must agree that it’s a dumb thing to say, because she doesn’t answer.
“Well,” I continue, not ready to give up yet. “James Adler, huh? We’ve been friends for years, business partners for longer, and I never could have guessed that he’d make such a life change. But he looks good up there. Who knew he had it in him?”
Kira scoffs, and even though I don’t understand why, I’m glad to know that she can actually hear me. I look up at her and see that her face is twisted into a snarl.
“Kira, I understand that my presence here today has upset you, but–” I start, but I’m cut off by another, louder, scoff.
“I knew, Warren. I knew James would kill it at this job. I knew it the day I met him. He’s loud and bubbly, just like me. He’s got the body that makes straight men question their sexuality. He knows how to flirt with the camera, and he’s got impeccable taste in music. I’m the one who scouted him. I’m the one who planted the seeds when he was questioning his career. I’m the one who helped him pass his certifications and I’m the one who brought him on to the Spin Sync team. Me. That was all me. All of this–” she gestures around the lobby, arms flailing above her head. “All of this was me. The building, the talent, the community, all of it. I built this house, and if you think I’m going to sit back and watch while you fuck up what I built, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Kira turns on her heel and stomps out, the glass door of the lobby ricocheting in her wake as it slams shut behind her. I’m left sitting there, watching the door as if she’s going to come back and continue her verbal lashing at any moment.
That was a little bit frightening. And, if I’m being honest, a whole lot of sexy.
Tossing my head back, I wipe my hands over my face while staring up at the ceiling and counting to ten.
Then I push to my feet and run after her.