Chapter 3
JUNO
The spreadsheet on my monitor was a thing of beauty. Green numbers. Lots and lots of green.
I took another sip of my protein smoothie and felt the sweet rush of accomplishment. The trail mix acquisition had been my baby from start to finish. I’d spotted them at a smaller wellness event six months ago, tried their granola clusters, and known immediately they had something special.
The product was phenomenal. Crunchy without being tooth-breaking, sweet without being candy, and they used quality ingredients. Real maple syrup. Actual nuts instead of peanut-flavored cardboard. Their chocolate chunks didn’t taste like wax.
But their marketing? Tragic.
They’d been selling at farmers’ markets and a handful of local co-ops, barely breaking even.
The owners were a married couple in their fifties who knew how to make incredible food but had no idea how to scale a business.
Their packaging looked like it had been designed with a sharpie.
No website. And their pricing strategy suggested they liked giving away their product.
I brought them in to Young at Heart, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work.
New packaging. Professional photography. A website. Strategic placement in our existing retail partnerships. And a pricing structure that actually reflected the value of what they were selling.
The results had been immediate. I’d proven myself. Again.
I pulled up the detailed analytics, scanning through the numbers with satisfaction. Yes, it stroked my ego to see all those beautiful numbers.
Kari, my assistant, popped in. “Gonna have lunch in the office?”
I held up my smoothie. “Yep.”
“I brought an extra sandwich. Want to split it with me?”
“You don’t have to stay in the office because I am.”
She shrugged. “I’ve got work to do, too.” She walked in and sat down. “You know, you can take thirty minutes to eat.”
“I’m on a cleanse. This smoothie promises I’ll be ten pounds lighter and a hundred times smarter.”
She laughed. “You would never put anything that promised that in your body.”
“Good point. But this smoothie is really good. Thank you. You got it from the place on the corner?”
“Yep.”
“Maybe I should talk to them and see if they want to expand.”
Kari got to her feet. “Stop thinking business. Enjoy the smoothie. Let all the little antioxidants do their thing. I’m going to eat my sandwich. I went to the farmers’ market and got some of the most amazing tomatoes.”
“Enjoy,” I said.
She left me alone to drink my smoothie.
A burst of laughter echoed from the hallway.
I glanced up as Mara from marketing, Braden from operations, and two other staffers headed toward the elevators in a loose cluster.
One of them spotted me through the open door and gave a small nod, but no one paused or called out.
They didn’t stop by my open door to invite me to lunch with them. They knew better.
They were probably going to that Italian place down the street. The one with the good Caesar salads and the bread that came out warm with olive oil for dipping.
Totally unhealthy but so good. It almost had me getting out of my chair and rushing after them.
I watched them file into the elevator, their voices carrying even though I couldn’t make out the words. Someone said something that made the whole group burst out laughing. The elevator doors closed. The floor went quiet.
And I was still in my chair. In my office. Alone.
I turned back to my computer screen and pulled up the next report I needed to review. A potential partnership with a kombucha company out of Portland. My stomach growled.
I ignored it and took another sip of my smoothie. It wasn’t the same as actual food, but it would hold me over.
Food could wait until I was alone in my apartment. As usual.
They used to invite me, I thought, watching the empty desks through my office window. For the first few months after I’d started at Young at Heart, someone would stop by my office around noon and ask if I wanted to join them for lunch.
And I’d always said no.
Not because I didn’t like them. They were fine. But I had work to do. Deals to close. Partnerships to build. I couldn’t afford to take an hour in the middle of the day to sit around making small talk over pasta. So I’d declined. Again and again.
Eventually, they’d stopped asking.
I understood. It wasn’t personal. Why keep inviting someone who always says no? They probably figured I preferred to work through lunch. Which I did. So really, this arrangement worked out better for everyone.
I pushed back from my desk, grabbing the printed report. My father would want to see this in person. I wanted to see his face when he reviewed those numbers. Maybe even hear him say “good work” or “I’m proud of you.”
I was halfway to the door when Kari appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide.
“Juno, have you seen this?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just rushed over with her phone already pulled up.
“Seen what?” I set the report down on my desk.
She tapped the screen and turned it toward me. “This.”
The video started playing, and my stomach dropped. It was me. At the expo. And someone had been filming.
I watched myself arguing with the hot guy, Hollis Blackwell.
In my defense, I didn’t know who he was at the time.
The angle made me look aggressive, like I was attacking some poor small business owner just trying to make a living.
My voice was sharp, cutting. My gestures were dramatic.
Eyes wild. I was surprised my nostrils hadn’t blown smoke.
I looked like a crazy person.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
“That tastes like rat piss,” my recorded voice said clearly.
I cringed. Had I really said that? Out loud? In front of all those people?
Then the video did something that made my blood run cold. It transitioned to a polished shot of Hollis Blackwell. One of his green shakes in hand with an amused grin on his stupidly handsome face.
“Some lady says this tastes like rat piss,” he said to the camera, his eyes sparkling with humor. “Taste it yourself and see. Link in bio.”
And then he took a drink. I watched his throat work. Then he licked his lips. That was the money shot. And he fucking knew it.
He’d turned my outburst into a commercial.
“That smug son of a bitch.”
“There’s more,” Kari said quietly. She swiped up, showing me the view count. Three hundred thousand. In less than three hours.
“Three hundred thousand people have watched this?” My voice came out strangled.
“It’s going viral. Like really viral.”
I grabbed the phone from her hands.
“Juno, don’t,” Kari said. “Whatever you do, don’t look at the comments.”
But it was too late. I was already reading them.
Who is this angry lady lmao
Imagine being this neurotic about someone’s smoothie
She’s just mad because he wouldn’t give her his number
How does she know what rat piss tastes like tho???
That one had twelve thousand likes.
I kept scrolling, unable to stop myself even though each comment felt like a punch to the gut.
Damn she’s got more than a handful
I’d let her yell at me any day
Imagine all the fire in bed
Someone get this woman a green smoothie and a sense of humor
My face burned. My hands clenched around Kari’s phone.
But then I saw the ones that made my blood turn to ice. The comments that were a million times worse than the personal attacks about my body.
Young at Heart is trash anyway, all their products are overpriced
Imagine working for a company that sends people out to sabotage competitors
This is why I don’t trust any of these wellness companies, they’re all the same
They were trashing my father’s company. The company I’d spent years trying to prove myself worthy of.
“No, no, no,” I muttered, scrolling faster. More comments appeared, each one worse than the last.
I could handle people making fun of me. I could handle the inappropriate comments about my body, the jokes about my weight, the speculation about my personal life. I’d dealt with worse.
But they were going after the company. My father’s legacy.
“Juno, breathe.” Kari put her hand on my arm. “You need to calm down before you rupture something important.”
I realized I was breathing too fast, my chest tight. I forced myself to take a slower breath, then another.
“This is bad,” I said. “This is so bad.”
“It’s not that bad,” she said. “They’re trolls. I told you not to read the comments.”
“Not reading the comments doesn’t make them go away. It’s not whether I read them. It’s about everyone else reading them!”
“Viral moments fade fast,” she said. “I heard one of the yoga influencers got busted walking out of a plastic surgeon’s office. It’s about to blow up. This will disappear by tomorrow.”
“Kari, three hundred thousand people have watched me have a public meltdown. They think I’m some corporate Karen who goes around attacking small businesses. And they’re taking it out on Young at Heart.”
“Okay, yes, it’s not great,” Kari admitted. “But people have short attention spans. This will blow over in a few days. Something else will go viral and everyone will forget about this.”
I wanted to believe her.
“Why don’t I make a call?” she said. Her voice was low and her eyes darted around the room like she was looking for a spy.
“A call?”
“To one of our influencer friends,” she said. “She owes me a favor.”
I sighed. “You’re suggesting we throw someone else under the bus to get the attention off of us.”
“Yes.”
“That feels slimy.”
“It’s the business,” she said. “And seriously, aren’t you the dragon slayer? You love shedding light on the grifters.”
“You think I’m a dragon slayer?”
I wanted to be a dragon slayer, right? I liked saving people from charlatans. Usually. But I wasn’t sure I loved the way it came across on camera. I looked like the dragon rather than the slayer.
“You’re my hero.” She smiled.
“Liar.”
“Don’t freak out. You called him out. That’s what you do. Someone just had the bright idea to twist it and use it for their promotion. He’s riding your coattails.”
My mind spun. I could see the fallout from that stupid video like I was gazing into a crystal ball. Once again, I couldn’t breathe. Kari took the phone and looked at me with genuine concern.
“Just breathe. Remember that one yogi? Her breathing techniques were amazing. Touch your thumb to your finger.”
I wanted to tell her to fuck off and let me have my freakout. But I did it anyway because a panic attack was absolutely a possibility.
The breathing exercises were almost working. My heart rate was starting to slow. The panic was beginning to recede. Then my office door swung open.
My father stood in the doorway, his usually warm expression replaced with something harder. His jaw was set and his eyes flashed with anger. No. Disappointment. Anger would have been fine. Anger I could manage.
Disappointment was unbearable.
“What the hell happened at that expo?”