“Kels, you’re our biggest competitor. Are you actually asking me for advice?” It had come out harsher than I’d meant it to. “Anyway, you know I’m shit with the business side of things.”
“I know.” She abruptly stepped back from the window and leaned against the edge of my desk again, this time closer to me, one leg crossed over the other inches from my knee. “I have a proposition.”
“Okay . . .” This meeting had spun out of my control. “Do you want to sit?”
“I’m fine.” She gripped the edge of the desk with both palms. “I think you should merge with HottrYou and bring me on as your head of operations. You never hired a COO, right?”
I pushed back in my chair, creating more distance between us.
“Hear me out.” She touched the toe of her black shoe to my foot. “FitMi is the stronger platform, but we still have a large client base looking for what we deliver—the promise of being hot, attractive . . .” She tapped her toe against my calf and slid it for just an inch or two. “Wanted.”
“Kels . . .”
“You, me, and Cord. We were a good team, and I would bring the strong parts of HottrYou with me. We consistently outpace you with younger consumers, and our social media game is far superior. This could be mutually beneficial.” She looked down, eyes searching mine. “And you and me, we were good together, too. I’d forgotten that.”
She settled her hands on either side of my chair and hovered over me, her open shirt at my eyeline and her scent surrounding me. “I messed up,” she said, her voice soft, eyes inches from mine. “But I think we could be good again, in business and . . .” She trailed a finger up my forearm, tracing the tattoo. “Elsewhere.”
Those soft, teasing touches used to turn me on, and she knew it.
I gently pulled her hands from the chair and stood, our chests brushing for a moment. I walked to the window, and Kelsey huffed, falling into my chair.
“This is a lot to consider, Kels.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Of course,” she said, composed. “I don’t expect a decision now.”
“Let me talk to Cord about it, okay?”
“Sure,” she said, rising to her feet and looking at the watch on her thin wrist. “I should go.” She smoothed down her skirt, then held out a palm. She gripped my hand after the shake, though, and pulled in closer. “It could work, Wes.”
I nodded and she kissed my cheek. I expected the same rush from all those years before, but I felt nothing except the dry brush of her lips, and without thinking, I glanced at my phone, hoping to see a message from B.
21
LIKED BY BRIGUYATABOOKSTORE AND 882 OTHERS
I’m a little under the weather today and not my usual witty self, #TeamBritta. Back soon!
* * *
CLAIRE’S VOICE CUT through my thoughts. “Are you listening to me?” She cast a dismissive look across the table at me, and heat rose on my cheeks. It had been a week since my night with Ben. The night when I’d gotten what I wanted without getting anything I wanted. I couldn’t shake the nagging thoughts. I don’t measure up.
“Sorry. What were you saying?” We were meeting about Body FTW, but my head wasn’t in the game. Claire’s work was still outperforming mine. I rarely let that get to me, but I was having trouble fighting the feeling that I didn’t measure up anywhere.
The progress I’d been so proud of in the previous days and weeks seemed pathetic. I’d doubled up on my workouts, and having something to push through felt like a good distraction. I’d gone for longer and longer walks and skipped the dance class in favor of a spin class that kicked my butt, but it didn’t exactly help me forget. When Ben made it clear I could be dismissed so easily, the rejection had washed over me like a wave, and I never wanted someone to have the ammunition to make me feel like that again. RJ would tell me that was ridiculous, and Del would lecture me on having agency, so I’d ignored their texts. Wes had asked about the changes but returned my message earlier in the week saying he was busy with some personal issues and would be slow to respond for a few days. I’d been equal parts disappointed at not getting to talk to him and relieved I didn’t have to explain myself.
Claire rolled her eyes. “I said that we need to mix things up—we could do a week where we’re more intentionally critical of the platforms. Point out shortcomings. What do you think?”
“Sure,” I said, jotting down critical in the notebook in front of me.
“No input?”
“It sounds fine, Claire.”
Claire looked me up and down, eyes narrowing. “You never just agree with me. Are you sick?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well. Maricela has me working on arranging that photo shoot, and it’s been a nightmare. The idea is fine.” My head pounded and my stomach felt cavernous, leaving me a little dizzy, but I attempted a smile.
I assumed my body would adjust and could handle the headaches and dizziness temporarily. My hands shook with all the caffeine I’d consumed to make up for the early-morning trip to the gym.
Claire’s cold expression thawed. “Are you sure you’re okay, Britta? I know we’re competing or whatever, but you don’t look good.”
I didn’t have the energy to scan her words for sarcasm. “Maybe I’m coming down with something, too.”
“Get out of here. You know Maricela’s policy on bringing germs to work.”
“Maybe,” I mumbled. I felt awful, but I’d lost a few pounds in the last four days. No matter what Wes said, those numbers had to matter and were proof it was working. It wasn’t healthy, but I wouldn’t do it forever, just enough to get a boost, just until I felt stronger and could push Ben’s words out of my head. My cheeks heated as I thought back to my promise to the audience to tell them the truth about this journey and my intentions to love my body. Do I love it today? The path I’d jumped onto felt shameful but also seemed like the best option. That said, all I’d heard from anyone else was how I looked tired and sick.
I couldn’t bring that into Body FTW, so I kept writing the same way, putting on a smile and only beating myself up in private.
I glanced at my phone, where a message from Wes was waiting.
Wes: Sorry I’ve been MIA. Family stuff. How’s it going?
B: Hanging in there.
Wes: You’ve been working out like a machine. Anything going on?
B: Just pushing myself.
Wes: Taking care of yourself, too?
B: Been busy. I gotta go. Not feeling well.
I set my phone down and stood, the room swirling around me as my mouth went dry. When did I last drink water? I’d had three cups of black coffee that morning. The bitter taste lingered in my mouth. I checked in with Maricela’s secretary and let her know I was going home. The energy it took to pack up my things seemed Herculean, and I slumped against the wall as I took the elevator down to the street level. I felt guilty being so clipped with Wes. He was just doing his job.
I ordered a ride, cursing myself for losing the opportunity to get in more steps by walking home. After I climbed into the back seat, I tapped out another message.
B: Sorry. I’ll talk to you later. Just getting home.
The car pulled up outside my building, and I trudged inside, determined to still get some kind of exercise, since I couldn’t imagine hitting the gym feeling like this. I circled around the elevator and stepped into the stairwell, the concrete circling above me in a dizzying tessellation. I started up the stairs to my apartment. My footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell as I made my way higher. My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced down.
Wes: I’m not trying to nag you. Just concerned. Take it easy and get some rest, ok?