Chapter 16
Pitching
Alan
Amy’s wedding reception takes place on a private, three-story luxury yacht gliding through Boston Harbor.
The city lights shimmer on the water like scattered gold in the distance.
We sail into the night with music pounding through every deck, two hundred and fifty guests swaying and laughing like they’ve forgotten how to breathe without champagne.
I’ve had my fill of the party. It’s overloaded with too much laughter and too many hips shaking. Who’s the genius who thought it was a good idea to invite all the perverted politicians—men and women—and mix them with all these pretty whores?
This party has only one rule: once you set foot on land tomorrow, whatever happens on this boat stays here. But fate eventually plants me right beside the groom at one of the white round tables in the dining area.
“How’s business, Alan?” Peter Morgan asks before taking a sip of his champagne.
“Pretty good. I just hope you’ll stay my loyal customer. That fiber drink’s perfect for your digestion after all this rich party food.” I chuckle, watching Amy’s husband over the rim of my glass.
“Of course. You know, I even talked to Amy about your business. I could help you take it to the next level. Interested?”
“Oh, really? I’m all ears.”
Peter crooks a finger at me. I slide my chair closer and lean in, trying to catch his words over the noise of the crowd.
“I’ve got some idle money,” he says. “Instead of letting it sit in the bank earning low interest, I’d rather invest it.”
“You’re thinking of investing in my company?” I blink, trying to hide the excitement in my voice.
“Yes. Just tell me how much you need.” Peter nods, calm and confident, like he’s offering a glass of water instead of a fortune.
“Actually, I’m short about two hundred grand to start production on my new product line. I was planning to wait until the first variant sold out.”
“That’s nothing,” Peter says, raising an eyebrow with a crooked smile. “What could you do if I gave you five hundred grand?”
“Oh, quite a lot,” I say, my grin widening. “I could open a new business line, still related to the same market.”
“Something in retail?”
“Membership gym. With personal trainers. It’ll be exclusive for VIPs. I can put all my fitness products there, from protein drinks to training outfits.” My hands circle an imaginary ball in the air, trying to sell my idea to him.
“Ah, interesting,” Peter says, nodding. “We could invest in the machines. Members use them, no production headaches, no stock issues.”
“Exactly. No more trial and error with raw materials. No workers whining for raises every month. I can just outsource everything to foreign factories.” I groan a little, remembering the mess in my small factory.
“Perfect. Come to my place next week, after I get back from the honeymoon. We’ll talk more then.”
“Sure thing.”
“Darling, don’t tell me you’re offering Alan your business.” Amy appears out of nowhere and slides onto Peter’s lap. Her arms loop around his neck.
“Just a bit,” Peter says, chuckling as his hand rests on her waist. “Besides, I’m just fulfilling your wish to help your brother.”
“Oh, darling, you’re so sweet.” Amy presses a kiss to his cheek, her voice syrupy and sharp at the same time. “Alan really needs that help from you. He needs a lot of money to chase his dreams.” She strokes his face like she’s softening him up.
Peter glances at me. “And what exactly is his dream?”
“True love,” Amy whispers, then bursts out laughing. Peter joins in, his deep laugh echoing across the table.
“Alright, you got me,” he says with a smirk. “That’s exactly what I’m striving for—to win you over.”
They make out right in front of me. I raise an eyebrow, then quickly force a smile, pretending I’m happy for them. After all, Amy’s right. I do need that money to buy the connections Fenella needs.
* * *
July, 2024
“Hey, milady. Everything good for you?”
“Everything was fine until you came over to greet me.” She huffs.
Mallory West, the pop diva herself, doesn’t even look at me when she says it. Her tone is sharp, dismissive. I can’t help but chuckle. She’s clearly not in the mood to talk. She keeps pressing her legs against the machine, earbuds still in.
“Is that so? I thought you might need some extra guidance, Miss West. I could show you a few tricks.” My smile stays fixed, light and teasing.
“Oh, yeah? I suppose I’ll need the branch manager to get you to leave.” Her lips press into a thin line.
“What if I offer the owner of the entire chain to hear all your complaints?” Her legs freeze mid-rep. Finally, she looks at me. I spread my arms slightly, still smiling. “Well, I’m here. I heard from the staff you were looking for me. May I help you?”
Mallory exhales hard and shakes her head. She gets off the machine, towel in hand, wiping sweat from her temple down to her collarbone. Her eyes stay on me for a long second before she grabs her water bottle.
“Damn it. Why didn’t you say that from the start?” she scoffs.
“Sorry. I like teasing people.” I shrug, half-apologetic.
“Why doesn’t the owner of a national gym chain dress like one?” she asks, taking a sip.
“Did you expect me to show up in a glittery tux and a bow tie?” I grin. “This is a gym. Comfort over couture. But I’m working on something new—a sportswear line that actually looks good on you. You’ll see soon enough.”
She smirks. “You’re actually funny. Mallory West. You can call me Mallory.” She raises her fist. I tap mine gently against hers.
“Alan,” I say. “So, what can I help you with, Mallory?”
“I just wanted to say, I’m impressed. You opened this exclusive branch right across from my neighborhood. Makes it easy for me to pop in. Honestly, no one else would be crazy enough to open a gym in such a quiet area.”
“I like finding markets people overlook.” My fingers comb through my hair, and I flash a grin.
“Well, thank you for the effort.”
“What about the staff? I heard you’re happy with the personal trainer I handpicked for you.” I arch a brow.
“It’s fine. But I know you can make it better.” She slips her tumbler back into the holder.
“I can serve you to your utmost satisfaction—if that’s what you’re asking.” I crouch beside the machine as she settles back in.
“Actually, I’m not in need of that kind of service,” she says with a wry smile. “I’ve had enough gossip lately.”
“I can keep secrets,” I say quietly. “And I don’t mind being your summer fling. We’ll have fun, I promise.” I guide her foot back onto the press.
“Please, be easy on me.” Her smile spreads, her eyes glinting with mischief.
“Of course.”
* * *
August, 2024
“Alan, meet Tiana.” Mallory introduces one of her friends.
“Hey, Tiana. Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand.
“Nice to meet you, too!” she says, all enthusiasm and bright energy.
“I see you’re ready to slide down this giant thing. Nice bikini, by the way.” My gaze flicks toward her hot pink two-piece.
“He knows his brands,” Mallory cuts in, catching the flicker of doubt in her friend’s eyes.
“Oh, yeah. This one’s my favorite brand.” Tiana giggles at the compliment. Of course she is—the brand ambassador for that swimwear.
“Uh-huh, someone’s playing favorites with the brand they represent,” I tease, making both of them laugh.
We start climbing the narrow stairs toward the top of the giant slide on the cruise ship.
The air is thick with salt and the sound of ukulele music drifting from a nearby speaker.
It doesn’t take long before Tiana starts talking about her modeling career, until she gets to the part where she left her old agency.
“Why’d you move out?” I ask.
“Hm, I don’t even know where to start. They said the agency’s owner wasn’t fit to lead anymore. Too controlling, too restrictive.”
We reach the top. Mallory goes first, her scream echoing across the deck and setting us off laughing.
“Oh, that’s a shame. She needs a new job if she can’t see your potential.” I shrug.
“Ms. Lola probably has dementia or something. I don’t get why she’s so stubborn and won’t just retire already.” Tiana sits at the edge, waiting to make sure Mallory’s cleared the bottom.
“Hm, maybe she just needs a little push.”
I give Tiana a playful shove, and she slides down with a long, delighted scream that melts into laughter halfway through.
* * *
June, 2025
“I’m sorry for troubling you, sir.”
“It’s no problem, ma’am. Think of me as someone who just likes seeing people get the help they need.” I walk Ms. Lola up to the front of her house.
“You’re an angel. I’m sorry for my negligence. If you hadn’t brought me home, I’d still be wandering the streets like a drunken beggar.” She waves her hands, grunting and muttering under her breath.
“That’s the least I could do. Besides, this summer’s brutal. Last year, I could still enjoy the giant slide on the ferry cruise with my friends. Now I can’t even step outside without five layers of sunscreen.” I shake my head.
“Yes, you’re right. It’s all because of the heatwave.”
“Oh, come on, Mom. You can’t keep blaming the weather.” A younger woman, probably her daughter, helps her mother inside.
“Thank you, sir,” the old lady says with a relieved sigh.
“Alan Schmidt. Just call me Alan.”
“Thank you, Alan. We’ve been panicking all day, searching for her. We were about to call the police.” The daughter frowns, biting her lower lip.
“You’re welcome. I saw your mom by the roadside three blocks from here, looking as lost as a stray cat. I couldn’t just walk past, so I hope it’s okay I used her phone.”
“We need more people like you in this world, Alan.” She gives me a quick hug.
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m just glad I could help her get back home.” I give her a quick hug. “By the way, is your mother still working? She kept mumbling about signing some ad contract.” I squint, watching her reaction.
“Yes, she insists on working. I swear she won’t let go of her modeling agency.” The woman shakes her head.
“She owns a modeling agency? No wonder she still looks gorgeous. Was she ever a model herself?”
“Oh, Alan, trust me, she’s not a former model or anything like that.” The woman laughs, covering her flushed face.
“I can tell you about it.” Ms. Lola peeks out from behind her daughter.
“Oh my God, Mom! You need to go inside and rest.” The woman looks shocked, but Ms. Lola just smiles wide.
“I’m fine! Come on, sir, come in and sit down with me.” She grabs my arm and tugs me toward the house.
“Oh, I don’t know, ma’am. I should probably go.” I laugh, trying to pull back, but her wrinkled grip is surprisingly firm.
“Yes, Mom, he must be busy. You’ve already taken up enough of his time.” The daughter holds her mother’s shoulders, trying to stop her.
“Ah, nonsense! Come in. We’re baking chocolate chip cookies, I’m sure you’ll love them.”
I can’t help but laugh at her persistence. “Alright, ma’am, but I gotta warn you, I’ve got a serious sweet tooth.”