“So!” Aversano said, taking a seat behind his desk. “I know you didn’t come here to chat about kiddie chefs. Let’s talk about this business you’d like to start. A ladies’ gym, is it?”
Thank God, Jo thought, as she pulled out a chair across from him. He had read something, after all. Jo relaxed a little, then opened the notebook she’d brought and twisted the silver Tiffany pen she’d been given in lieu of a bonus one year. There was a chance this could all work out. Her start-up costs would be high with all the equipment she’d need to purchase, but she had sized the market and lined up over two hundred prospective members. The gym’s projected revenues were high, even in the first year. Her business proposal was solid. Aversano was a moron, but that wouldn’t matter if she walked out with the money she needed. Stay cool, she pleaded with herself. Just this once, play along.
“A gym for women, yes,” she replied, sounding as sunny as she could. “I’ve been a regular gym-goer for years, and during that time, I’ve noticed a significant gap in the market. Most of the gyms here on the island cater to a certain clientele. I call them the vanity crowd. Those of us who are more interested in fitness than cute workout gear have been forced to travel twenty miles or more out of the way—and make do with facilities that are hardly state-of-the-art.”
Aversano’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at it. His eyes lingered for a few seconds too long before they returned to Jo. “If you ask my wife, those cute workout outfits are the only reason to go to the gym.”
“Did you really ask your wife about the idea?” Jo inquired, her curiosity piqued. She would have thought his wife would make a perfect recruit. A woman married to a condescending prick like Aversano had to have a decade or two of rage to burn off.
Aversano’s head reared back and his chin disappeared as he chuckled. “Tilly and I don’t talk shop.”
“Well, I don’t know Matilda well enough to say if she’d fit into Furious Fitness’s target audience, but according to my market research, there are enough women like me on the island to support a sizable chain of gyms. If you’ll turn to page eight—”
But he didn’t. He sat back instead, leaving his fingers laced together on the desk. “I’m not so sure about the name. Furious Fitness. It sounds angry.”
“Does it?” Her hands began to sweat. She could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. Say something! she ordered herself. And keep smiling. “Maybe that’s a good thing. There are a lot of angry ladies out there.”
He rejected the idea with a shake of his head. “No, people go to the gym to look more attractive. There’s nothing attractive about a bunch of angry women. What did your husband say when you told him what you were thinking of naming it?”
She felt the smile slip off her face. “My husband is not a female fitness lover. Nor is he an entrepreneur. We have discussed the name, because we’re life partners, but he would be the first to tell you his opinion is irrelevant from a business standpoint.”
“Irrelevant?” Aversano scoffed. “Seems like a lot of his money’s gonna go into this little venture you’re starting.”
The pilot light inside Jo burst into full flame. The heat built beneath her sternum and radiated from her chest all the way down to her toes. Her hands were engulfed in fiery spheres.
“I am my family’s primary breadwinner,” Jo said. “The money is half his, but I was the one who earned it. My husband knows I’m an excellent businessperson and trusts me to make good decisions. Now, please, Mr. Aversano, would you mind if I took you through my business plan for Furious Fitness?”
“No need. I took a peek while you were in the waiting area. Next time you might consider getting an MBA to look at your documents. There are a lot of young guys out there who could help you polish things up.”
The Tiffany pen clenched in her right hand seemed to go limp.
“I have an MBA,” Jo informed him. “From Stern. It’s on my CV.”
Aversano flipped to the page. “So you do,” he said, with one eyebrow raised. Then the eyebrow came down and all that was left on his face was the patronizing smile. “Very impressive.”
“I also have twenty years of hands-on business experience.”
“Running a hotel.” He clearly thought that didn’t count as business experience.
“It was the third-largest hotel in New York City. During my tenure, I brought down costs by twenty-five percent while increasing revenue by twenty. Employee turnover dropped by over sixty percent. And in case none of that sounds relevant, the hotel had a sizable gym and adjoining spa, which turned a healthy profit every year.”
“And then you were let go, am I right?”
He’d been saving that for just the right moment. Her termination had never been public, and the Times articles hadn’t used her real name. Aversano knew someone on the inside.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Levison?” he asked.
She knew the flush on her chest had climbed up her neck and perhaps even past her chin. A bead of sweat tickled as it rolled down her hairline.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “The hotel and I both chose to part ways.”
Aversano closed the folder and patted it with the palm of his hand. “Well, I think you’ve had a very interesting idea. Give us a few days to review and get back to you. Would you be able to find a cosigner for the loan?”
“Why would I need a cosigner?”
“We generally require cosigners in this sort of situation.”
“What sort of situation?” Jo demanded, her every cell boiling. “I have an MBA from one of the best business schools in the country. I have two decades of experience. My credit score is 806. And if you’d bothered to do more than skim my documents, you would see I have every i dotted and t crossed.”
“And I assure you, we’ll take all of that into consideration.”
They wouldn’t. The decision had been made before she even stepped into Aversano’s office. She wouldn’t be getting the money. Once, Jo would have played nice, hoping Aversano might have a change of heart. Don’t burn bridges, she’d always been told.
“The fuck you will. You can keep your goddamned loan.” Jo stood up. When she opened her right hand to snatch her business plan off the desk, molten metal streamed out of her palm, forming a silver pool that ate into the surface of his sleek black desk. Miraculously, the rest of her now felt totally cool. The energy had been transferred.
“What the hell is that?” Aversano yelped. He pulled out a Kleenex to wipe it up and immediately jerked his hand back in shock and pain. “It’s hot!”
Jo stared down at the silvery pool, which was already starting to harden. It was all that remained of her Tiffany pen. That’s when she started to laugh. It was all so ludicrous. If she could do shit like that, she didn’t need Jeremy Aversano. And yet she’d been sitting there doing her best to suck up to a hack who couldn’t melt a candy bar between his ass cheeks.