Chapter 7
Sunlight glints off my computer screen as I scroll La Vida Buena’s financial statements. My shoulders sag. Just when I think I’ve uncovered all of Haydée’s excessive spending, I find another credit card, another withdrawal, another way she funnels money from the hotel to pay for her lavish fashion needs.
You should work together.Twelve years ago, I’d thought I’d known why that was a huge mistake. Couldn’t have guessed how difficult that would be for both me and my prima.
Bing.A Google alert appears on my screen. Celebrity gossip. Easton Blake to Sponsor Reality Fitness Competition.
Ooh, do tell. I click on the alert.
My heart tickles my chest. It was one night. I shouldn’t be so thrilled for him, but despite how it ended, I am. I scroll through the article. Tryouts will be held all over the country for elite fitness professionals.
The competition will be a months-long intensive with filming scheduled to start late spring in—San Juan, Puerto Rico. Bueno, I’m so stalking this show.
I read on. Ay. That’s a big paycheck. Okay, so some of that comes in the form of a Fit for the World franchise. But a good chunk is cash, split between the individual competitor and their favorite charity.
I look at the picture of a smiling and beautiful Easton. He’s only gotten better looking. No lie. And he still has his generous heart. I smile back, a little sadly.
A crash of my office door has me jumping into another tab as if I’d been caught looking at porn. It’s my dirty little secret, my fascination with the man who took my virginity one hot night, then disappeared.
Haydée strides in on three-inch heels, wearing a red-leather pantsuit. She’s also wearing a red wig. I know it’s a wig because she would never dye her beautiful black hair that dramatic shade.
“Ay, Dios, Haydée. Are you headed to a Satanic dance club?” Though she has the type of long and lean body that carries off that outfit, when she goes out today, the San Juan heat will roast her like a lobster.
“Pendaja. This is my boss’s idea. I’m supposed to represent passion at her show today.” She holds up her red-cased cell phone like a stop sign. “You think I like being Maria’s toady after eight years as her assistant?”
Actually, I never really thought about it. Her eyes meet mine, and she bites her painted red lips. I have a bad feeling. I ask, “Qué pasa?”
“Don’t freak out.”
I freak out. After years of Haydée using her majority shares to decide everything, three years ago we found a compromise. I’d stop criticizing her spending if she let me take over. I took out a sizable loan, revamped the fitness center, and turned enough profit to finally pay off the loan. That was phase one. Phase two, which she’d just agreed to after months of me trying to prove it was worth it, is starting soon.
I know Haydée. It’s at the times when I have the most to lose or want something the most that she tries to get the most out of me. So, when she tells me not to panic, my heart pounds and my hands clench.
She says, “I’ve found an investor to buy my half of the resort.”
It takes me multiple moments to capture and process her words. A tightening starts along my forehead. “No. My plan is working. We’re about to sign for the new loan so we can move to phase two, updating the rooms.”
“That’s the thing,” she says, sitting in one of my two office chairs, and crossing her legs. She smells like leather and bubble gum. She blows a cherry bubble, pops it. “I can’t sign. I can’t commit to more of the same. I can’t throw my life and resources away for this place anymore.”
Throwing her life away? As if the hotel doesn’t provide her with the resources that help her pursue her dreams. The absolute selfishness… My right eye begins to twitch.
“I’ve done everything you wanted. Made every compromise to get you to agree to sign those loan papers. I created a slideshow, hired an architect, spent weeks crafting a detailed business plan.”
What is Tía Julia going to think of all of this? Ay. Díos. She has enough, taking care of my tío with his health issues, but to find half her business, her life’s work and her home, has been sold out from under her?
“Verdad. That’s what convinced my investor. Your plans. I shared them with her. You’re going to love her.”
My brow grows damp. Hindsight is 20/20 for the past. Wariness is 20/20 for the future. A slick dread crawls into my stomach. “Who?”
“This way, I can finally launch my fashion design store, get out from under Maria’s thumb, and you’ll have someone with cash to help you fix up the rooms.”
“Who?” The tightening in my forehead is now in my neck.
“She’s beautiful and stylish and rich.”
“Co?o. Tell me.”
Haydée grimaces so that all her bottom teeth show. “Kim Cole.”
I think I vomit a little in mouth. My stomach clenches. “You can’t mean the social media star who looks airbrushed?”
“She’s the perfect investor and super into healthy eating. Como tú.”
Like me, my culo. I’ve seen her videos. Haydée couldn’t have found someone who less represents my vision of body acceptance if she’d tried.
My legs grow unsteady. I sit down. This person I’ve never met will control fifty percent of the company? She’ll be able to implement her ideas and might not even care for mine.
Before I can form an adequate response, a series of computer bings has me looking at my screen. More news on Easton’s reality competition. The reality show where the prize is worth millions. Millions and a franchise.
Hope flutters like a dove in my chest.
I could use the money to buy controlling interest from Haydée, help a local charity, and, by placing the FTW franchise inside the resort, I could expand the gym. Take out that never-filled presidential suite. There’d be room to create the ícaro studio Mateo dreams about.
Sí, it’s a risk. It’s all so public. I’d be exposed. And there’s always a chance that Easton would remember me. Though, doubtful.
It’s worth it.
“What if I pay you for enough shares that you can start your business?”
Haydée blinks at me and smiles. She blinks again and her smile fades. “With what money?”
I spin my monitor toward her. “I’m going to enter and win Fit for the World’s reality show.”
She glances at the screen then rolls her beautiful, perfectly mascaraed eyes. “And my designs are going to debut in New York’s Fashion Week. Get real, prima. Sí. I get it. Look at him. El es muy guapo, but keep your fantasy life to yourself. I have a real investor who can solve our very real problemas. I can’t—no, I won’t—spend another ten years arguing with you over every dime I spend.”
I ignore that unfair dig. “What do you have to lose? One investor? If I get on the show, this will bring attention to the resort and your fashions and have investors lined up. Plus, if I win, the resort stays in the familia, in the hands of Puerto Ricans, and we’ll have made all sorts of new celebrity connections.”
Her eyes light up. She licks her lips. “What if you don’t get on the show or win?”
I will get on the show. I will win. “Then I’ll meet with your investor.”
“Meet with her? No. If I have to postpone a meeting with a super-wealthy, not to mention popular, investor for you to try this crazy plan, you’ll do more than meet with her. You’ll help me negotiate with her for my half of the resort.”
My throat goes dry.
This risk… It’s like crossing a highwire over a lava pit. If I fall, the flames will immolate me whole—skin and bones, hair and teeth, lost love and last chances.
I shudder. I won’t lose. I can’t. “Sí. Okay. Como quieras.”