Chapter 2
she's got the next move
Morgan
The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds of my tiny office, casting jagged shadows across my desk like a cascade of chaos.
I lean back in my chair, which creaks as if it’s ancient, and surveyed my domain.
It’s wasn’t much, just a corner of a co-working space that I snagged for cheap —but it was mine.
The walls were a gallery of my ambitions: inspirational quotes pinned with precision, a vision board bursting with magazine clippings and neon Post-its, and a whiteboard scrawled with campaign ideas that looked like a mad scientists blueprint.
My desk was a battlefield of coffee mugs, highlighters, and a half-dead succulent I keep forgetting to water.
This is the headquarters of Morgan Steves Marketing, and today, it felt like the launchpad for something big.
My laptop screen glowed with the presentation that I have been obsessing over for weeks: “Elevate your Brand: A Marketing Strategy for Peak Performance Gyms.” This wasn’t just any pitch — it was the pitch.
Peak Performance had five locations, a loyal clientele, and enough revenue potential to lift my little agency out of the red and into the black.
Maybe even into an office with actual walls instead of a this glorified double cubicle with a window, where I could hear every hiss of the espresso machine downstairs.
My stomach did a nervous flip, but I squashed it.
You’ve got this, Morgan. You’ve bled for this. No room for panic now.
I check the clock —3:48 p.m. Less than an hour until my Zoom meeting with the gyms’ regional manager.
I stand, smoothing my blazer, one that says “I mean business,” and pace tp the chipped mirror by the door.
My reflection looks the part. My hair is in a sleek bun, I’ve got enough mascara on to hide the sleep deprivation, and a smile that I’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror until it looked natural.
“Peak Performance Gym isn’t just a place to sweat,” I rehearse, gesturing like I was already on the call, like I’ve done a dozen times.
“It’s a community where lives change. Where people meet with with the same goals, to better themselves.
Our strategy will boost memberships retention by 25% with personalized campaigns that—.
” My phone buzzes on the desk, shattering my flow.
I sigh, glancing at the screen. Emily. My little sister has a sixth sense for calling at the worst possible moments. I sink back into my chair, answering with a mix of affection and exasperation. “Hey Em. You okay?”
Her voice was small, tinged with guilt. “Morgan, I hate asking this again, but… I just bought all my textbooks, and I’m broke. I forgot to budget for food for this week. You know that I hate asking for money, but—.”
“Say no more. It’s not asking for money, it’s making sure that you can eat.
” I rub my temple, picturing her in her dorm room, probably knee-deep in crumpled notes and empty iced coffee cups.
Emily was nineteen, a sophmore with big dreams and a bank account that couldn’t keep up.
I’ve been her sole caretaker for the last six years, since our parents passed away.
This isn’t the first time she’s hit me up for money since starting college, and it won’t be the last.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Don’t sweat it,” I say, “I’ll send it now. Just promise me you’ll set aside some cash on your next paycheck for emergency funds.”
“You’re the absolute best. I swear, I’ll pay you back when I get my next check.”
“No, just put money in your emergency fund.” I say, tapping send. “How’s everything else going? Classes good? That one professor still a pain in the ass?”
She groans, the sound muffled like she’d flopped onto her pillow. “He’s the worst. Ten-page paper due next week, and I’m already drowning. But I will survive. Thank you, Morgan. Seriously.”
We talked a little longer, then hung up.
My attention snapping back to the pitch.
I reopened my laptop, scrolling through slides I’d polished to perfection.
This pitch was my baby, the result of late nights full of pizza, wine, and endless Google searches about fitness, statistics, and trends.
If I land this, it’d mean stability - hiring an assistant, maybe paying myself on time for once.
But, doubt creaks in, sneaky and persistent.
What if they think I’m too small-time? What if they laugh at my onewoman show?
I shake my head, banishing the thoughts.
No. I’ve got the goods. I’ve landed clients before and I just need to remember to not say ‘life-changing’ five times.
I snort at the memory, those croissants had been divine, but I had overdone it.
Time to practice again. I stand, pace the span of my space, my voice steadying with each step.
“Peak Performance Gym is a lifestyle, not just a brand. Our campaigns will tap into that, connecting with members through real stories — like our ‘Transformation Tuesday’ series, which will boost engagement by—.” My phone buzzes again, this time a call.
I glance at the screen: Jax Carr. My oldest friend, now a GWL tight end for the San Francisco Wolves.
He has a knack for trouble. I smirk, putting him on speaker so I can continue to tweak my slides for the umteenth time.
“Jax Carr, to what do I owe the honor?” I answer, my tone light and full of curiousity for the middle of the day call.
“Hey there, Sunshine,” he says, the pauses as if he’s nervous. “How do you feel about being my fake girlfriend?”
I laugh. Loud and even more curious. “Oh, this I’ve gotta hear. I’m slammed though, so make this quick.”
“Okay,” he starts, his voice dripping with that cocky charm I’ve known him to have since we were ten. “I need a favor, Morgs. I need a fake girlfriend.”
“Come again?”
“The short version? I’m in deep with the team.
Bad press—some tabloid nonsense about a fight I didn’t even start, and some more shit.
Management’s on my case, saying I need to become ‘stable,’ and you’re the most together person I know, and it’d help with your business in some way, maybe with sports sponsorships, exposure, the works. ”
I freeze, my cursor hovering over a bullet point about social media analytics.
He isn’t wrong. A tie to the Wolves could crack open doors that I’ve been pounding on for years — team owners, endorsement deals, a shot at the big leagues.
But Jax? Fake dating? It’s a sitcom plot that is juts waiting to implode.
“You’re totally unhinged,” I said, though a laugh slips out. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. You play along, smile for the paps, and maybe it’ll line up some new clients for you as well. I’ll set it up so you get paid. Win-win.”
I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling.
My brain kicks into overdrive, weighing the pros and cons.
Pro: business growth, credibility, maybe a paycheck that didn’t make me wince.Con: Jax is chaos, the inevitable headlines, and the risk of tanking my reputation if — no, when he goes off the deep end.
“I’ll think about it, I say, glancing at the clock.
“Give me until tomorrow. I’ve got a huge meeting in thirty minutes that I need to concentrate on. And this… this is a big decision.
“Deal. Just don’t overthink it that you talk yourself out of it. You’re the best at what you do.”
“Flattery won’t help,” I mutter, hanging up.
I turn back to my slides, but my focus is fractured, half on the pitch, and the other half on Jax’s absurd proposal.
Before I can refocus, my laptop pinged. An email from a client.
I click on the banner and my stomach sinks.
It’s from Sweet Rose Bakery, a client I’ve been working with for months.
“Morgan, our social media is down 15% this week! Is the algorithm mad at us? More sourdough pics?” I groan, punch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath.
These emails are becoming an ritual — every dip in engagement is a five-alarm fire to them.
I type back: “It’s just a blip. The algorithm changes up repeatedly.
I’ll make sure that I check into everything, tweak some hashtags and schedule a giveaway.
Let’s plan to do a sixer of croissants for the giveaway and I’ll get something together.
” I hit send, praying that message will hold them off for now.
I resisted the urge to check my social media feeds to look for the latest in whatever Jax has dne that has forced him to put a call into me. And continued to practice my presentation until my screen lights up with reminder of the Zoom call from Peak Performance Gym.
Here goes nothing. My pulse spikes. I smooth my blazer, click on the link.
You’ve got this Morgan Stevens. You built this business from nothing. I watch the screen light up with Mr. Leary, a guy dressed in a polo too tight for him and short cropped hair.
“Hi Morgan! Great to meet you,” he says, reaching forward and rearranging his screen.
“Hi there, Mr. Leary. Thank you for having me,” I reply, flashing him the smile, that I hope looked effortless and not practiced. “I’m pumped to show you how we can level up your brand.”
I launched into the pitch, adrenaline surging. Every slide a story, every stat a punchline. I hit my stride every step of the way, watching his eyes light up. By the end, he was nodding, impressed — or at least I hope he was.
“That was killer, Morgan. I love the member story idea. We’ve been wanting that.”
Reflief flooded over me. “Thanks! It’ll connect with your audience and drive engagement.”
We wrapped up with a trial campaign agreement which was a foot in the door. I close my laptop, stand, and push back the chair in excitement.
“Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.” I whisper to myself, grinning. “I did it.” This was a win that I needed.
However, Jax’s proposal lingers. I told him I would get back to him tomorrow.
It’s not something that one should take lightly.
But he’s right in the aspect that doing him this favor could potentially open new doors for me.
I could branch out and work with sports clients and maybe even expand my agency from a one-woman show, to having co-workers.
I grab my phone and pull up my texts with him.
Scrollin through old texts full of jabs, memes, talk about his games, heartfelt mini conversations — our usual dance.
Fake dating someone was insane. That would mean that neither of us could date anyone else — although, my dance card has been pretty empty over the past few months, it’s not like it would interfere much.
But I know of him to have his hook-ups. He has a few women that he regularly visits, that would pose as a potential problem.
I do owe him a huge favor for getting me out of plenty of dates in the past.
I send Jax a message that I am still thinking about his proposal. Then I shoot Emily a message.
Pitch nailed! Pizza tonight? My treat.
Best sister ever! Congrats! And pepperoni please!
I smile.
One win at a time. Jax’s chaos can come tomorrow.