Chapter Eleven
ELEVEN
HAILEY’S DAILY RULE FOR SUCCESS:
When nothing goes right, redefine your definition of right.
The next day, a crew sets up a temporary stage in my backyard as we decorate for the party. Across the yard, Warren stands on a ladder, hanging a string of white lights. He glances toward me and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear there was attraction in his gaze. Things seem to have shifted over the last week working to pull this off.
I head his way and pause next to the ladder. He’s of course ignored my instructions to let the lights drape several inches, but they look better his way. “Looking good.”
“Why, thank you,” he says with a wink that sets my heart racing.
Eyes on the prize, Hailey.
“I meant the lights,” I say awkwardly.
“I know,” he says with a grin.
How did the grin that used to grate on my last nerve suddenly become a highlight of my day?
My cell phone rings and I reach into my shorts pocket. A glance at the caller ID reveals “Coach Baxter.”
That was quick. Good sign or bad sign to have a decision this early?
“I have to get this,” I say distractedly, my gaze still on the ringing phone.
“Take your time. It’s not like you’re helping anyway,” Warren jokes, and I have no time to focus on whether or not we are flirting.
Nervously, I move away and answer the call with enthusiasm in my voice. “Hey, Coach Baxter. Wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.” Immediately assume the upper hand by letting the opposite party know they’ve shown their cards.
“Didn’t want to leave you waiting after the impressive pitch we received last night,” he says and it’s impossible to tell from the tone if they’re in or out...but he did say impressive so my hopes rise.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” If only all coaches were as responsive as Coach Baxter.
“So, I reviewed it, and Kylie and I discussed it this morning. We thought you had some great ideas, and your viewpoints on her career trajectory were really outside the box. Playing up her weaknesses and moving her into positions the opposition won’t expect was quite ingenious.”
My confidence grows. “I do think that strategy is a good one for her.” After watching countless hours of footage, I noticed Kylie wasn’t being utilized to her full potential in the second baseman position. “Sure, it’s a little unorthodox, but we can’t always do what the competition is doing if we want to get ahead.”
A long pause on the other end, then, “Yeah, well, Spencer Stanley feels differently. He feels playing to her strengths is the better approach,” Coach Baxter says, and my spirits take a nosedive.
They’ve been chatting with Spencer too. That shouldn’t surprise me, but I thought maybe I’d hit on a team he hadn’t. I was hoping Spencer wasn’t targeting female athletes...
I swallow hard and take a slow breath before answering. “Spencer Stanley, right. He’s really great. I’m sure he has a lot to offer Kylie, as well.” The fastest way to discredit yourself is by discrediting someone else. “But I think his approach is a little more old-school.”
“It’s tried and true.”
Shit.
I wait.
“We’ve decided to go with him.”
I force a breath. “Of course. Whatever you feel is best.”
“I did enjoy your pitch, Hailey, and appreciate you taking the time.”
“Absolutely. Take care and good luck to Kylie.” I disconnect the call. “Fuck,” I mutter. How is Spencer doing it? He’s not thinking outside the box or offering anything new to his potential clients.
People like safe. They like to hear advice that’s in-line with their own thinking. Maybe I need to switch my approach... But the idea of compromising my own creativity to gain clients doesn’t appeal to me. If I’m trying to rely on my strengths—other than my gift—then I need to be true to who I am, what makes me different.
Unfortunately, the imposter syndrome resurfaces—could I actually pull this off without using my glimpses?
Warren descends the ladder and approaches. “Everything okay?”
“Just lost another potential athlete client to Spencer Stanley.”
Warren nods sympathetically.
“What? No snide comment?”
Warren hesitates, looking severely conflicted as he struggles with something for a beat. “Hey, why don’t you come to poker night at my place next week,” he says.
“Are you trying to make me feel better? Because stealing my money in a poker game when I just said my expansion plans aren’t going so shit hot is a weird way of doing it.”
He shakes his head. “I’m inviting you because there will be six professional football players held captive, with money on the line, forced to listen to what you have to say.”
My mouth gapes. Okay, that does make me feel a little better. Who the hell knew Warren Mitchell was capable of lifting my mood? I mean, physically, I’m sure he’s capable of all kinds of therapy... Focus, Hailey. “Seriously?”
“Can you play?”
“Not really.”
“Even better. Sunday night at eight or seven fifty if you’d rather,” he says with a wink.
I’m still in shock and slightly suspicious of the offer, but I nod. “Yeah, okay. I’m in.”
“Great.”
Not only is it a nice gesture, but it’s a future opportunity to hang out together.
The gate buzzer sounds from inside the house, interrupting the energy vibrating between us. “Must be the desserts,” I say. I head toward the gate, then cast a glance at Warren over my shoulder. He’s still staring at me, and where his expression used to radiate attraction now there’s a different look—a softer look—affection?
Yep. The earth definitely shifted with that tremor.
Hailey looks mortified as she stares into dessert boxes with the Frost God logo sitting on her kitchen counter. “What the hell are those?”
I fail to hide a grin as I peer over her shoulder. “In my expert opinion, Kama Sutra poses.” And very well done by the looks of them. Yates is truly an artist.
Hailey shoots me a look, then grabs her cell phone and dials Yates. She puts the call on speaker as the pastry chef answers on half a ring. “I know! I messed up!” he says.
Hailey’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thank the Frost God, you realize there was a mix-up. When can we expect the driver back with our order?”
“No, like I really messed up. Your order was delivered this morning to some sex toy sales party,” Yates says. “They ate them but left me a three star review because the designs weren’t risqué enough—which made me realize the mix-up.”
“They’re gone?” Hailey asks, panicked again.
“You can keep the Kama Sutra designs. Free of charge,” Yates says graciously.
Hailey’s white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter says she’s fighting for patience. “I’m not sure those will work for our guests. Do you have anything in the display case that we can get in a hurry?”
“Not enough to accommodate your numbers. There was a rave last night at the club down the street...late-night munchies are good for business. I’m so sorry, Hailey.” Yates’s voice is truly remorseful.
Hailey takes a calming breath. “Okay. It’s okay. We will figure it out.” She disconnects the call and I’m impressed by her composure.
“We’re stuck with these?”
“Yep.” She bites her bottom lip as she stares at the erotic desserts, molded in various shapes.
The old me would gloat about the fact that she had to have decadent, expensive desserts and the whole thing backfired. I would remind her that my suggestion of hot dogs and burgers on the grill would have been problem-free. But instead, I just want to help her solve this mess.
I open several drawers until I find what I’m looking for, then take out some baking utensils. I roll up my sleeves and get to work.
“What are you doing?” Hailey asks, moving closer.
“Making them look less X-rated,” I say, cutting off edges and smoothing out the frosting to blur the images. Sorry, Yates!
Hailey moves even closer and admires my handiwork. She tilts her head from side to side. “Holy shit, that might actually work.” She picks up a cut-off piece and pops it into her mouth.
I reach for one and do the same. “Still tastes fantastic.”
“So good,” she says, reaching for another piece.
We continue to eat the discards as I work and then the next thing I know...
In a psychedelic haze, dressed only in our underwear, Hailey and I lie on floaties in her pool and stare up at the clouds. I’m wearing Hailey’s oversized, diamond-encrusted sunglasses. I point to the sky as various shapes emerge in a brightly colored effervescence. I’m completely oblivious to how I even got here and somewhere deep in my subconscious I’m freaked out, but too high to care.
“That cloud looks like a unicorn,” I say.
“Do you hear the palm trees singing?” Hailey says. “It’s magical.”
“What if we’re all just in a mason jar?”
“And the stars are the airholes.”
Wow. Mind blown.
I fight through the mild confusion as I watch her listen to the melody of the palm trees. I blink several times and shake my head to clear the fog. “We can’t serve those desserts.”
Hailey still looks slightly dazed, but she too seems to be coming around. “Hot dogs on the grill, it is,” she says as she paddles her way to the edge of the pool.
She climbs out and the sight of her in her pale pink underwear and matching bra has my mouth watering. I’m completely lucid now.
She checks the time on her cell phone and gasps. “How is it after noon already? How long were we floating in there?” She scrambles to put her shorts and tank top back on over the damp underwear. Wetness seeps through the shirt and her nipples press against the fabric.
Lingering effects of the hallucinogen kick in and the nipples start glowing and rotating like a spiral. I blink it off and try to focus on her voice. She’s panicking about something...
“The...tables...should...have...arrived...by...nowww.” Her voice sounds like it’s been filtered through a slow-motion special effect.
Tables. Right.
She calls the rental company and I watch her expression change as she listens, then disconnects. “Is no one in this city competent?”
“No tables?” I’m still too high to be fazed by it.
“They double-booked.” Hailey paces, rubs her temples, tries to sober up to deal with the latest crisis. But then she pauses, lured into a deep conversation about aliens with a potted cactus.
I have to pull it together.
I climb out of the pool and bend at the knees to look into her face. “Don’t sweat it. I have a few at my place.”
Hailey looks at me like I’ve just discovered a way to maintain world peace. “When did you become Mr. Save the Day?”
I’ll admit coming to the rescue— her rescue—has an odd effect on me. Probably because she’s so self-sufficient and composed all the time. Watching her stressed and unraveling and knowing I can help is empowering.
“What can I say—America’s Hero,” I say with a wink.
“Okay, hotshot, let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, Warren pulls his Jeep in front of a modest two-story house in a nice neighborhood. He drove, as apparently having only one percent body fat helped him metabolize the cannabis quicker, and I’m still sporadically hearing inanimate objects. What the hell was in those desserts?
I frown and say, “I thought you lived in that bungalow on 8th Street?”
Warren laughs. “You thought I still lived in the house near campus I shared with six other dudes?”
“Um, yeah.”
He shakes his head as we open the doors and climb out.
Inside, the house is even more of a shocker. It’s a neat, nicely decorated home. Football-themed items throughout but not tacky. I’m impressed by the matching decor and modern color scheme, sleek appliances, and even a few house plants that look to be thriving. “This place is really not bad.”
Warren’s earlier easygoing demeanor has changed. He’s back to slightly tense and broody, as though having me in his personal space puts him on edge. “Glad it meets your approval,” he says. “Don’t touch anything.”
I send him a look. So much for my knight in shining armor. Or rather, diamond-encrusted sunglasses. Looking at him now, I can’t even recognize him as the guy who was envisioning unicorn-shaped clouds and taking about existential crises.
“Tables are downstairs,” he says.
I nod but then notice a certificate from California State University on a table near the door, next to a frame that he’s yet to put it in. I pick it up and read the fancy script that says... “You have a diploma in sports psychology?” Shocked would be an understatement.
Annoyed, Warren takes it from me. “I told you not to touch anything,” he grumbles.
“When did you get time to do this?”
He shrugs. “Maybe some days I get up before noon.”
Okay, so maybe I’ve misjudged him.
“Come on,” he says leading the way down the hall to a flight of stairs.
I follow close behind, still trying to process the idea of him studying to become a sports therapist. Not that I doubt he’s capable of that, but because it’s impressive in ways I wasn’t expecting and now I’m questioning everything I know about him and wanting to learn more.
I’ve known him most of my life, but the relationship has always been superficial. We’ve never really had deep, meaningful conversations. He was Liam’s best friend—a fun, easygoing third wheel with a solitary focus on football. We lost touch after the breakup, until that day at the airport. Working together to plan this party has been a mix of tearing one another’s throats out and flirting until it’s not safe, then reining it in.
But now I find myself wanting to actually know him. Know why he chose online studies, why he coaches on a local level instead of accepting offers from big colleges he must be receiving... Why he’s still single.
But getting to know him would be dangerous and being completely vulnerable with him is impossible, hence the standstill that is the story of my life.
I follow him down a flight of stairs into...
Ah, the man cave.
Downstairs is more of what I was expecting. Large, comfy-looking sofas and chairs. A flat-screen TV the size of a small movie theatre screen. A poker table in the corner near a bar with a stocked liquor shelf and beer fridge.
I pause, seeing his sports accomplishments on display along one wall. Football championship trophies and medals from junior high to his professional days. Top athlete awards and VIP trophies. He was an all-state champ and held the top stats for three years as a quarterback. Photos show him in uniform with various teams, from the ones with Liam in high school to professional teams. I peruse them all in real amazement. He has had one hell of an impressive career.
A wave of guilt washes over me that I had a hand in putting an end to it...but it was going to end either way, even if I’d let him board the plane that day. I refuse to regret my actions.
Warren looks uncomfortable as he grips one of the tables stacked against a wall.
I continue looking at the items. His championship rings sparkle behind the glass. “Great career,” I say.
“Yeah. Wanna help?”
I pull my gaze away and join him. I take a deep breath and clear my throat. “I am really sorry about what happened that day in the airport.” I’m not sure I’ve ever truly apologized and he looks surprised to hear it now.
He sighs, looks like he wants to move on, but says, “You never did explain what that prank was about.”
How do I explain any better than I tried to that day? “I was afraid you were going to get hurt,” I say slowly. “I have a gut instinct about these things. It was probably the wrong way to go about it and I didn’t mean to ruin your career.”
Warren places his hands on his hips, his gaze drifting to the display case of accomplishments. “I could have tried again. It’s not all on you,” he says after a long pause.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask gently. I’m desperate to know, but afraid to spook him back into silent withdrawal with too many questions.
“I don’t know. I’d reached a level of success and got complacent.” He shrugs. “I thought I could take some time off and they’d welcome me back when I was ready.” He pauses and runs a hand through his hair. “You were right—there’s nothing worse than taking your foot off the gas and then watching others achieve your dream.”
Hearing the words you were right coming out of Warren Mitchell’s mouth should have me bragging to high heavens. But I feel for him. A rare beat of connection passes between us at his vulnerability. I’m surprised and kinda touched that he shared something personal.
But I sense this is all I’m going to get for now. So, I grab the other end of the table and we lift. “Full disclosure—I don’t get up at four forty-five a.m. I mean, I do, to post the live motivational video, but then I go back to bed.”
Warren grins and there he is, the casual, fun-loving guy from my backyard. The one I’m getting to know better. The one who—dare I say it, against all common sense and better judgment—I’m starting to...like.
“Can’t believe you’re trusting me with such a deep, dark secret,” he says with a wink.
Correction: starting to like...a lot.
Hours later, the engagement party is in full swing. Guests arrive, mingle, drink champagne. At the grill, dressed in jeans, collared shirt, and an apron that reads What’s Up Dog?, Warren serves hot dogs and hamburgers. Surprisingly, the guests aren’t complaining. They seem to be enjoying the “laid-back, casual with classy accents” vibe we’ve been forced to go with.
Across the yard, Sonia and Liam look happy, in love, having a great time, surrounded by Sonia’s family and friends. I can’t help but wonder how Liam feels about his family not being here. Not supporting this. I’d been hoping that his parents would pull through in the final seconds, even though I know ultimately this is for the best. I’d like to talk to him about it, but Sonia’s been glued to his hip since they arrived.
Champagne glass in hand, I watch them from across the yard and a feeling of conflict washes over me. I can feel my resolve weakening.
They look so happy...
“Beautiful party, dear.”
I jump, spilling my champagne at the sound of Amelia’s voice next to me. “Amelia! Hi! What...um...are you doing here?” She dressed for the occasion in a beautiful pale blue sundress, her hair coifed in a bun and a glamourous amount of makeup.
“Heard the party and thought it was one of your events.”
“Oh, right.” She has an open invitation to those. “Actually, it’s an engagement party for a...friend.”
She looks disappointed. “Oh, sorry to intrude...”
“No intrusion at all!” Sonia’s voice is full of excitement as she and Liam approach us. “You’re Amelia Cranshaw! I’ve watched all your movies.”
Amelia turns to her with a beaming smile. “Thank you, dear.”
Sonia continues to gush and Amelia continues to eat up the attention and praise and this shouldn’t bother me, but an odd sensation washes over me—something like protective jealousy.
Amelia’s my friend—back off, Sonia!
“Are you an actress as well?” Amelia asks Sonia.
My heart stops and it feels as though the yard around us has gone completely silent as the question lingers in the air.
I glance back and forth between Sonia and Liam, holding my breath. Will Sonia be honest? Is this how her secret will come out?
“Sonia? An actress?” Liam scoffs like the suggestion is absurd before she can answer.
Sonia’s expression changes to one of annoyance as she turns toward Liam. “Why is that so far-fetched?”
Liam looks slightly taken aback. “’Cause acting was just a phase for you...it’s not actually your thing—thank God.” He turns quickly to Amelia. “No offense to your profession.”
“None taken, dear. You’re not exactly my audience,” she says, putting Liam firmly in his place. Then to Sonia, “You could be one if it was actually your thing.”
Sonia smiles at her gratefully and Amelia shoots me a look that suggests this couple is doomed before she walks away...
...giving me the confidence to proceed with my plan.
I motion for DJ Scale to cut the remix of an upbeat Whitney Houston song, then clink my glass for everyone’s attention.
Sonia’s family and friends turn their attention toward me and I smile brightly. “I hope everyone is having a good time. I want to take a moment to personally offer my congrats to the beautiful couple.” I raise my glass and smile at Liam and Sonia. It feels deceitful and I can acknowledge that I’m not a very nice person right now, but I’m doing this for their own good. Especially if that tense interlude a moment ago is any indication. “And... I have a fun surprise planned. If I could get you two to sit right up here.” I’ve already positioned two lawn chairs back-to-back in preparation.
Sonia and Liam look slightly nervous as they approach and sit.
I turn toward the BBQ and motion Warren to come closer.
He shakes his head. Doesn’t want the spotlight, but I cross the yard toward him and drag him forward. He removes the apron and gives a shy wave to the guests.
“The best man, everyone!” I announce to the crowd. A good man who’s being dragged into my scheme. I push guilt aside—he insisted on being a part of all of this.
The guests cheer for him and I hand him a piece of paper.
He glances at it. “What’s this?”
“Your game questions,” I say casually, as though I mentioned this plan of mine to him before. I pick up writing pads and markers hidden under the dessert table (dessert turning out to be fresh-cut fruit we picked up on the way back from Warren’s, the erotic baked goods safely disposed of in the dumpster at the end of the block) and turn to the guests. “We are going to play Couple Compatibility!”
The crowd gathers closer as I hand Sonia and Liam the writing pads and markers. “Rules are simple. Warren and I will ask a series of questions and Sonia and Liam will answer, without looking at the other’s answer. Points for matching answers.”
Warren looks slightly uneasy and the couple don’t seem overly confident either. If they are truly compatible, they have nothing to worry about. Part of me hopes they can prove me wrong.
“Ready?” I ask.
Nods in response.
“First question—Where is the perfect place to spend Christmas?” I ask.
The two write, then hold up their answers. Sonia has written “Banks Resort in the Alps.” Liam has written “Family cottage on the coast of Florida.” They compare answers and Sonia laughs, but it’s definitely not a happy sound.
“It’s tradition to go skiing for Christmas. I told you about it,” she says to Liam, a forced-looking smile on her face as she eyes the crowd.
Liam smiles at her. “Yeah, no the Alps it is. Totally forgot. It’s tradition,” he says.
A tradition he’s going to hate. Liam doesn’t enjoy winter sports or being cold for that matter. His move to New York was solely for career advancement. Besides, his own family tradition of Christmas on the beach means a lot to him. Even after the divorce, his parents would get together at the cottage in Florida and put aside their differences long enough to enjoy the holidays as a family for Liam’s sake. They always put him first.
Which only solidifies how much they must be against this marriage if they’re standing in solidarity on its boycott.
I gesture for Warren to ask the next question and he reluctantly does. “Where will you be headed for a honeymoon?”
They write and reveal. Sonia wrote “Italy.” Liam wrote “No time for a honeymoon.” Sonia frowns when she twists in her chair to read his response. “No time?”
“We’re breaking ground on the resort right after the wedding,” he says and I notice his gaze meets Mr. Banks’s across the yard. The older man nods his approval, but Sonia doesn’t look happy.
“Maybe you can take a honeymoon once all the resorts are built,” I interject and both Sonia and Mr. Banks flinch at the plurality I used. Fantastic, so Liam still doesn’t know.
It fuels my commitment to the cause. Better to keep the momentum moving. “Next question—How many kids do you want?”
They write and reveal. Liam—“4.” Sonia—“1 (maybe).”
Liam frowns. “I thought we both liked the idea of a big family?”
“We do, but liking the idea is one thing. Four kids is a lot of work,” she says.
“I was an only child. I don’t want that for my kid,” Liam says.
Sonia forces an awkward, embarrassed-looking smile as she glances around the yard. “Can we talk about this later?” she mutters to Liam.
He shrugs but doesn’t look pleased.
Warren’s up with his next question, but he shakes his head and tucks the paper away instead. “I think it’s time for more dancing. DJ Scale, play ‘Warren’s Playlist,’” he calls across the yard.
From the stage, DJ Scale gives Warren a thumbs-up.
I shoot Warren an annoyed look as the music resumes—now nineties rock—and Sonia and Liam head to a quiet corner of the yard to chat...or argue by the looks of the expressions and hand gestures. I watch from a distance, until I feel Warren’s hand on my arm, gruffly pulling me aside.
“What was that?” he asks.
I wave a dismissive hand. “It’s a popular wedding game. It was just for fun.”
Warren eyes me with a look of disappointment. “Fun for who?” He shakes his head and walks away.
I sigh, not thrilled with myself, but certain I’m doing the right thing...for Liam. It was just a few simple questions about important life choices and they disagreed about each one. Best to learn that now, rather than later, right?
The party continues, but the overall mood has shifted. I try to catch Warren’s gaze as he resumes his post at the grill, but he avoids me for the rest of the evening.
With Operation Breakup moving a step in the right direction, Warren’s attitude should be the least of my worries, but unfortunately, his opinion of me suddenly matters. A lot.
Hours later, the backyard is empty. I stand on a ladder, taking down the lights, while Hailey steadies it for me. I descend and tuck them into a box as she looks at me hesitantly. In a rare occurrence, she’s been quiet since the event ended.
“About the game...” she starts.
“I was thinking about it and while it may not have been the most appropriate way to bring it to light, you do have a point. Liam and Sonia haven’t been together long and maybe they are rushing things a little.” I’ll give her that much at least.
Hailey releases a stressed-sounding but appreciative thank-you.
At first, I thought Hailey was just being Hailey, but the more I think about it, the union does feel a little rushed and I know that Liam is making a lot of sacrifices. Some are expected in a relationship. Compromise, and all that, but I can recognize Hailey’s point that they feel heavily one-sided—in Sonia’s favor. Maybe the game was the only way to get Liam to open his eyes or truly hear the concerns of the people who care about him.
I’ve been in full support up until now, and my support of whatever he ultimately decides will be unequivocal, but maybe I too need to admit that I’m worried about him and these decisions.
I shove my hands into my pockets and rock back and forth on my heels. “Are you still coming to poker night on Sunday?”
“Am I still invited?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes.”
My gaze meets Hailey’s and not for the first time today a beat of unexpected connection and attraction passes between us—chemistry sizzling below the surface.
And as long as it stays there, we don’t have a problem.