Chapter 10 Jade
“You could probably teach your own class,” my Pilates instructor, Poppy, says.
“I hope my equipment didn’t get in the way or bother any of the other students.” My breath comes out in short pants as sweat drips down every crevice of my body.
When Flex Appeal, a woman-owned Pilates studio a ten minute walk from my flat, reached out and asked if I wanted to partner with them on a video, it seemed like a no brainer.
Pilates is my favorite method of working out, and I’d been wanting to find a local studio to become my go-to spot for early morning classes.
Anything to help me shut off my racing brain for roughly forty minutes a few times a week.
“The opposite, actually! I think everyone was excited to have Jade McKallen in their class. We all grew up with you, you know? It’s almost a bit surreal that you’re here.
” Her face flushes the same shade of red as her hair.
“God, was that super fangirly of me? I’m so embarrassed.
” Poppy drags a hand down her freckled face, cringing.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m so happy you reached out.
This is exactly the type of studio I wanted to find after moving here, and you saved me the stress of finding a studio I love.
I hope you’ll let me continue coming, but I don’t want to cause any disruptions either.
” Today was pretty relaxed outside of a few girls asking me for pictures, but once people know I came here, it’s likely to sky rocket in popularity.
That’s the name of the game in the age of influence—one person ‘discovers’ a product or a place, and suddenly, it’s a feeding frenzy.
Sometimes I hated that I contributed so heavily to the regress in society saying we weren’t good enough if we didn’t do, or have, what everyone else did.
It’s all bullshit, and I built an empire off it.
I’m suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.
Maybe that’s why I was so hellbent on buying a fucking sports team against the advice of every one of my financial advisors.
Outside of loving rugby and reminders of early mornings with Dad, I craved something that felt more purposeful at this stage of my life, that challenged me in a way I hadn’t encountered.
And fuck, if I didn’t get my wish.
Poppy speaking breaks me out of my internal spiraling. “We’d love to have you. Hell, I’ll even comp your membership. It seems only fair, since the exposure you’ll provide the studio will be crackers.”
I smile, even as my stomach sinks a little at her words. “That’s so lovely of you, but I’d prefer to pay.”
Confusion clouds her face. “Are you sure? I’d feel like I’m getting more out of this partnership than you.”
“I’ll tell you what.” I towel off the last bit of sweat coating my face. “Why don’t you run a giveaway with it instead? Give it to someone who might be interested in joining but doesn’t have the space in their budget. I can sponsor it anonymously if it’s too much for you to eat financially.”
She looks at me contemplatively. “You know how sometimes you meet public figures in person, and they turn out to be total arseholes?” I hold my breath, hoping the next words out of her mouth are positive. “I’m chuffed that’s not the case here. You’re a class act, Jade McKallen.”
I let out a relieved chuckle. “Let’s get me signed up. I’ve got some work to get to soon.”
“Surely not. It’s Saturday!” She leads me toward the reception desk, handing me a tablet to fill out all my new member information while she goes over the terms and conditions.
Once I’m done, I stick my hand out in thanks, but Poppy swats it away, coming out from behind the counter to wrap me in a very sweaty hug. I don’t mind it, though; it’s actually kind of…nice.
I pull back, feeling a little awkward at the display of affection, adjust my matching active set, and set out in pursuit of coffee.
A few years ago, when I really started leaning into a proper fitness routine, I created a sector of Jaded dedicated to activewear.
The all black with white piping ensemble I have on today is one of my favorites.
As I step outside, I inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of the dampened pavement from a short summer rain, mixed with flowers from a shop next to the studio. It makes me feel calm, like the day is fresh and full of possibilities. I want to bottle it.
Maybe I could expand Jaded, add a fragrance sec—
No. I’ve got enough on my plate right now.
But the brief flutter of excitement that ignited in my stomach when fresh inspiration hit me is a stark reminder of the days I loved my job.
The thrill of a new idea, the planning and execution, seeing the final result—all of it invigorated me. When did I lose that feeling?
A cool breeze curls around my bare skin as I pass rows of colorful shops, charming Georgian buildings, and a local market hawking everything from jewelry to fresh produce.
I’m tempted to stop and meander, see what else could inspire me, but I don’t have a lot of time before the meet and greet my management arranged at a small boutique that carries Jaded in Central London.
I’d have to go on another day, when I had more free time—if I ever have more free time.
For now, I’ll settle for a coffee before running home to get ready.
Flick the Bean, a cafe that specializes in locally roasted coffee and fresh pastries, is another women-owned business in the area.
The bright teal shopfront boasts a large front window with their logo embossed in multi-colored lettering circled around a vertical coffee bean.
It definitely looks like—never mind. I just hope their espresso is as strong as their branding.
I step inside, get in the queue that’s already formed and pull out my phone, checking my emails to make sure I haven’t missed anything urgent in the last hour that needs my attention.
The display board above the counter illustrates drinks named after iconic women in history, and it solidifies my choice to come here.
‘The Dolly’ is described as a full-bodied roast paired with a made-in-house apple pie syrup and topped with whipped cream.
It’s a coma in a cup, and I can’t wait to indulge a little.
After ordering, I’m standing off to the side with everyone else waiting for their drinks when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, so I screen the call, opting to enjoy my solitude a little longer. It won’t hurt anyone if I steal another few moments to myself.
But my phone rings again. And again.
On the fourth ring, I step outside and answer.
“Hello?” I say into the mouthpiece.
“Is this Jade?” The voice on the other line sounds frantic, and it instantly sets me on edge, making my heart rate kick up like I was back in Pilates.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“Jade, this is Louis, your father’s neighbor. Myrah gave me your number just in case anything happened while she was gone. Uhhh…” His voice trails off, like he’s not sure what to say, and my panic is a full on stampede surging through my body.
“Is he okay, Louis? What happened?” I’m trying my best not to yell into the phone at this nice man, but he is not speaking quickly enough.
“I was doing yard work, and I heard a loud clatter coming from your pa’s. He wasn’t answering the door, so I let myself in and found him on the kitchen floor. He’s okay but seems to be in some discomfort and is refusing medical aid.”
“Fuck.” I grab my head and pace back and forth when I feel a presence walk up behind me.
I choose to ignore it. Dad could be painfully stubborn when he wants to be.
“Can you—I’m sorry, I know I don’t know you, and this is a lot to ask, but could you stay with him for a few hours until I can get there? ”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got my niece’s birthday party in an hour. I can stay till then, but I’ll have to leave after that.”
Shit. What am I going to do? I’m set to be on Oxford Street in just over an hour, meeting the very people who make my life possible.
I can’t cancel on them this last minute without pissing off my management.
And just thinking about all the effort everyone went through to even host this event, it doesn’t sit well with me.
But I also can’t leave my dad alone after an accident like that either.
Myrah has the weekend off, and Dad insisted he would be fine alone for the weekend.
Stupidly, I relented, figuring I would work from his home tomorrow, that surely, he’d be fine alone one day.
“Thank you, Louis. I’ll figure something out within the hour.”
I groan into my palm before I start smacking it against my head, hoping the jostling would shake loose a solution in my brain. Aanya is recording for her EP, so she’s a no go, and I don’t know anyone else. I have no one else.
A hand reaches out, grabbing my wrist and halting my assault. “Stop that. Your face is too lovely to bruise it.”
The gravelly timbre of that voice makes my back straighten. I know who it is without looking up.
Tieran Stone is standing in front of me, tanned hand lightly grasping my wrist. “I told you,” I say, slightly in a daze.
“Told me what?” His azure gaze is piercing—intense and intoxicating. How does he possibly have this effect on me? It’s annoying, inconvenient, and disturbing.
“You’re following me.”
He throws his head back on a laugh, and it stretches his neck, displaying the script tattoo he has starting under his ear and stretching down the side of his throat, too faint for me to make out this far away.
“I reckon it looks that way, doesn’t it? I live not far from here. I was coming back from physiotherapy.” His grip on my wrist tightens slightly, like his hand inadvertently twitched. but it makes me realize he’s still holding me. I pull out of his grasp.
“Everything alright?” he asks, nodding to my phone and the phone call he no doubt overheard.