Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
The office is aglow with new client energy, but I can’t properly enjoy it because I’m pacing in Belinda’s office, practicing my speech.
I was up all night hatching a plan to avoid losing Casey for the whole summer, and in the shower it finally came to me.
It’s the perfect solution, not relying on the hazy witchcraft of pheromones but the concrete spatial science of geography. But I’ll need Belinda’s help.
My smartwatch pings with a message.
Maya: Don’t do this, Lauren. Take a beat. Reassess.
I filled her in on my plan while driving to work. How it appeared before me just as obvious and sustaining as a hovering coin in a video game. She doesn’t approve, but when does she? I leave her text on read and focus my mind on the task at hand.
“Lauren,” Belinda says, walking purposefully into her office, a vision in a camel kaftan and chunky jewelry. She doesn’t seem pleased to have her quiet lemon-water time interrupted.
Before she has a chance to sit down, I launch into my argument.
“I know I took myself out of the running weeks ago, but I want to do it. I want to go to California for the summer and build out the new team for our Malibu branch.”
Belinda sits in her chair, removing her little red glasses to focus on me properly.
“Lauren, you were my first choice, but you explicitly told me you couldn’t travel due to your personal life. Helping your friend Casey and his girls.”
“Things have changed. They’ve changed so much. I need this, Belinda.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late. I have all but approved Jake.”
“So, you haven’t fully approved him yet?” I ask quickly. “Then there’s still a chance.”
“Lauren.”
“You always tell me that fixing client problems is one thing, but fixing our own is harder. I’m here now, finally ready to fix mine.”
It feels awful, misleading her like this.
She’s been far less vocal about her unease with my situation than Maya has, but still.
The vibe is there. I made the mistake of sharing the details of my crush during a martini-soaked holiday party years ago.
She urged me to do something about it—to be proactive and tell Casey how I feel!
—but it was too soon after Ally died. Now, when I bring Casey to work events, Belinda’s eyes glaze right over him, as if she’ll only pay attention when I finally get the courage to make him my real date.
“Please, give me this chance. It’s the fresh start I’ve needed all along.”
Belinda considers me from behind steepled fingers. “Lauren, you are one of the best life coaches I’ve got. You are assertive, empathetic, and, most of all, optimistic. Those are the traits I need most at Live by Design, and why you were my first choice for Malibu from the start.”
“Thank you.”
“But you are also rigid and judgmental while being overly timid in your personal life, and in my experience, rigid things break. The coach building out the new office needs to be flexible, able to step out of their comfort zone, and living a balanced life, in order to lead by example.”
“All Jake knows how to balance are his macronutrients,” I scoff.
Belinda looks at me dubiously. Finally, she replaces her glasses and grabs a manila envelope.
“Here’s the deal. A new client arrives today who needs our help. A celebrity, of sorts. Lord knows, whoever lands the Malibu job will be dealing with those types, so maybe this can be a trial by fire. If you land this client and achieve their goals, you’ll have my endorsement.”
I nod calmly, but a frisson of excitement jettisons through me. We’ve had famous clients before, but they’re always tech bros who choose Jake in the hopes he’ll supply them with black-market steroids. The rest of us never come close to coaching one.
“As always, the client will choose their coach,” Belinda says, “so your first challenge will be wooing them.”
“Thank you, Belinda,” I say, rushing around her desk to hug her. “I will woo them so hard, I promise.”
“Judging from this file, it’s all likely to go tits-up anyway,” she says, lightly hugging me back, “but I believe you deserve the chance, dear. You’ve been living your life for others long enough. I’m proud of you for wanting a fresh start.”
Crimson creeps up my neck. If Belinda knew I was only trying to land this job so I can chase Casey down the coast, she’d never give me this shot.
She stands and smooths her kaftan, signaling our private meeting is over.
I run back to my desk to grab my client files and make my way to the conference room for our weekly status meeting.
Each week, the life coaches of Live By Design update Belinda on the benchmarks of our clients’ progress toward their individual goals.
Career advancement, work–life balance, and addressing limiting beliefs are common aims, but sometimes we get a client who simply wants to be happy.
Those clients are my favorite because, barring any chemical issues needing to be solved medicinally, the answer is so deceptively simple.
According to The Blue Zones of Happiness by Dan Buettner, you only need to secure the “three Ps” to achieve it: Purpose, for long term fulfillment; Pride, for overall satisfaction; and Pleasure, for instant gratification.
The challenge is finding a balance between all three, because prioritizing one over the others is a recipe for disaster.
I grab a chair and sit up straight, renewed purpose enhancing my posture. I must land this client. I look around the room at my colleagues. It shouldn’t be too difficult.
I’m the only one of our motley crew who looks the part of “life coach.” My signature black turtleneck and low, tidy chignon scream business casual, unlike triathlon fanatic Erika, who barely removed her bike helmet; vegan earth mother Callista, who may be hiding a woodland creature in her frock; and Jake the jock, who literally has a gym teacher’s whistle around his thick neck.
They’re nice, I suppose. Except for Jake.
“Belinda, don’t leave us hanging,” Jake says.
“What’s the decision on Malibu?” His voice is deep and confident, as if he’s only asking her to confirm his knowledge that the job is his.
Callista titters next to him. They’ve been sleeping together for months and still think we don’t all know, but their secret was out once Jake started ordering hummus wraps for lunch.
“Patience is an oft overlooked virtue, Jake,” Belinda replies, checking her wristwatch. “Before our status meeting, we have a new client to welcome. I’ll just go meet them at the elevator.”
I press the Neiguan pressure point three fingers up my wrist to relieve my rising anxiety.
Public speaking has been an issue for me since college, but with the help of beta blockers and a few utilized pressure points, I manage our weekly status meetings without too much trouble.
But to land this client, I’ll need to do more than just manage. I’ll need to excel.
Jake leans in close. I can smell the acidic bulletproof coffee on his breath.
“Rough night?” he says, mistaking my nerves for a hangover.
“Pleasant evening,” I say, not turning around.
“Or maybe you’re just nervous to pitch yourself to this client.” He leans back in his chair. “I could help you with your little public speaking issue, you know. I do it for my corporate clients all the time.”
“Sure,” I say lightly. “Then I can help you with your masculine overcompensation. I do it with my microphallus clients all the time.”
Erika snorts and Callista covers her smile with her hand. Jake’s eyes flicker with delighted anger. “We had a pleasant evening, too, didn’t we guys.” He looks around the table. “Happy hour at Cactus, followed by Settlers of Catan at Erika’s.”
My throat tightens. I train my eyes on a half-moon of dry-erase marker on the white board, a letter that never got fully erased. I try to think of which letter it was to keep myself from tearing up like a child. It was a B, or maybe a D.
“We would have invited you,” Erika says, glaring at Jake, “but it was totally last minute.”
“Totally last minute,” Callista agrees.
An old feeling slips through me. The feeling of birthday invitations passed out in primary school, every cubby with a glittering envelope but mine.
Of being excluded from the best sleepover ever, where all the girls got semipermanent hot pink highlights that lasted most of the week, even Ally.
Of always feeling left out because of my …
situation … at home. The thing that made me different from everybody else.
The secret reason I had to hold everyone at arm’s length.
I roll my eyes, hoping to look more annoyed than hurt. “Jake, don’t you have anything better to do than to irritate me?”
“Hey, I’m just practicing for when I’m the big boss in Malibu,” he says, opening the little crystal dish of medjool dates Belinda keeps on the table.
He tosses one in the air and catches it in his mouth.
“You all can keep growing moss on your north side in this bullshit climate, but I’ll be at the beach. ”
I quell the urge to glance Callista’s way, to see her reaction to Jake’s plan of moving twelve hundred miles away from her. I don’t know why she carries on with him. Prolonging this empty shell of a relationship that doesn’t meet her emotional needs … It borders on pathetic.
Before I can dwell on it further, Belinda returns, trailed by a short man in a shiny suit, cowboy boots, and a bolero tie.
Our new client.
I don’t recognize him, which means he isn’t a celebrity in the traditional sense. Likely some crypto financier making a fortune hoarding NFTs. Seattle is a tech metropolis crawling with evil billionaires all looking to assuage their consciences with reiki and transcendental meditation.
“This is Bill Castillo,” Belinda says. “He’s the manager of our newest client, here to determine who will best serve his client’s needs. Bill, would you like to begin by asking our coaches about their different self-improvement philosophies?”