I thumbed through the meticulously organized research on new FitMi users. Our growth was unreal. We were having a hard time recruiting enough qualified coaches to keep up with demand. While I loved the success of our app, I’d never wanted a desk job. I missed working with clients in the park or teaching self-defense classes.
My roommate, my girlfriend, and I came up with the idea for the app in college. Back then, I was studying exercise science, Cord was earning a degree in computer programming, and Kelsey was in management. We’d spent months searching the crowded market to see where we could fit. Even finding a name not already in use was a challenge, and it took us years of hustling to make the company a reality. I’d taught exercise classes and worked as a personal trainer, Cord had made his way up the corporate food chain in IT departments, and Kelsey had powered through her MBA. Nights and weekends meant work sessions in our cramped apartment. Those days felt like a long time ago.
“Nothing else. Thanks,” I said to Pearl.
Mason kept on smiling. “I’m good, too.”
Pearl shot him a withering stare. She was taller than him and slender with dark, smooth skin and hair in box braids. I was certain she could knock him out if it came to it.
Mason’s voice grated on me from across the room. “You know, Pearl, I’m not a bad guy. You don’t always have to shoot imaginary daggers at me.”
“I’d use real ones, but your suit’s so pretty, I’d hate to get it bloody.” Pearl turned on her heel and called over her shoulder, “I’m not rescheduling that call again, Wes, so be on time.”
“I don’t think she realizes I’m a VP,” Mason muttered once Pearl was out of earshot.
“She realizes—she just doesn’t like you. Pearl is nice to everyone. What did you do?”
“Nothing. I’m being pleasant. It’s not my fault she doesn’t like me.”
“If a woman treats a man like she treats you, there’s a reason. Fix it. It’s not the kind of place we run.”
“I get it. We’re a girl-power, everyone-is-beautiful, fat-can-be-fun kind of place,” Mason said with a mocking edge to his voice. “I know. I engineered the brand, remember?”
The app had taken off overnight, and I never got the crash course in being an executive. For example, how was I supposed to deal with a vice president whose glib tone and habit of checking his phone mid-conversation set my teeth on edge?
Cord pushed through the door then, holding a Big Gulp, and tossed his wet umbrella into the corner. “What’d I miss?”
Mason set his device aside, finally. “Wes was just reminding me of the company’s mission.”
“I bet.” Cord shot me a WTF look across the table. “Sorry I’m late—issue with the servers. So, what’s—”
Mason’s phone vibrated across the table, and he scrambled to answer it. “Give me a minute.” He held up a dismissive finger and stepped out the door.
I cut my gaze to my friend. “What would it take to fire him?”
“Cause and probably a severance package the size of Wisconsin. What happened?” Cord leaned back in his chair in a way that made him look like a sitcom dad ready to solve problems and dispense wisdom.
“He isn’t on board with what we do.”
“Not sure that, alone, is a fireable offense. What did he say?” Cord sipped from the bucket of Mountain Dew. I had given up reminding him we ran a health and fitness company years ago.
I repeated Mason’s words back with air quotes. “Who says that shit? He doesn’t get us.”
“Sure, he does.” Cord shrugged. “He’s just a dick.” My buddy was the laid-back, agreeable person everyone should have as a best friend and business partner. The things that kept me riled up seemed to roll off him.
Mason made me twitchy. That, and I was drowning in all the work that used to be a welcome distraction. I glanced at my phone, where my text message remained unanswered. Plus, it’s February.
“Pearl doesn’t like him,” I added, noticing the way Cord’s expression sharpened at her name. To say Cord had a crush on Pearl was the understatement of the decade. When he talked about her, he’d get that look in his eye, like when he worked through a coding problem. I thought Mason’s bugging her would push his buttons, but he relaxed his shoulders. “He dated her sister, Shea, and it didn’t end well.”
“Do we need to kill him?”
Cord chuckled. “If Shea is anything like Pearl, I’m sure Mason did not walk away from that unscathed. Pearl is just protective of her sister.” Cord looked down at his phone, probably to avoid me asking him when the two of them had gotten so chummy.
“Sorry about that,” Mason announced as he reentered the room, clapping his hands together and taking his seat. “Good news. A friend over in marketing at Best Life gave me a heads-up they want to do a feature, following one of their staff through the FitMi program.”
Best Life was trendy, but I’d never seen them hawking unsafe diets or unhealthy messages—and while FitMi was doing well, that kind of exposure could launch us into the stratosphere.
“She said they’ll have someone sign up and try out a coach. I’m thinking we find out who it is and make sure they get the VIP treatment.”
“Back up. How do you know her?” Cord had pulled out his tablet and was, no doubt, searching for Best Life.
“Natalie and I . . . go way back.” Mason’s smirk made his meaning easy to decode, but he explained anyway because he was a douche. “We fooled around years ago, but she’s cool.”
“She’s the one who’ll be trying out the app?” The future of our company would teeter on some woman Mason screwed and likely screwed over.
“Nah, some big girl she works with. Natalie is already hot. This tight little body and the nicest—”
“We get it,” Cord said curtly. “And don’t talk about women like that here. When is she joining?”
Mason waved a hand dismissively. “Soon. Brock’s our highest-rated coach, right? We just did that social media campaign with him. Let’s pair them.” Mason glanced at his phone again.
His suggestion rubbed me the wrong way. “Let’s assign her using the matching algorithm, like everyone else.”
Mason tapped at something on his screen while he spoke, avoiding eye contact. “Why not give them our best?”
“I don’t want them promoting us if they don’t get a real experience.”
“Let me talk to Natalie and see what they want. I’ll email you.” Without another word to us, he was on his phone again. His voice filled the room as his call connected before the door closed. “Hey, Nat. Few questions for you . . .”
Cord took another drink. “Well. That could be good.”
I glanced out the window, but streaks of rain completely obscured the view. “Yeah. I guess.”
“What’s up with you? You’re way more out of sorts about him than normal.”
I shrugged. “Just lots going on. This management stuff was always supposed to be Kelsey’s role.”
“Well, she’s not here, and it’s on us, but you can still coach,” Cord replied in the why-didn’t-you-already-figure-this-out tone he often adopted with me. “Take on a client or two. It’s the part you enjoy, anyway. Then you’ll stop whining.” He smirked, and I flipped him off.
Kelsey was the only one of us with knowledge on how to actually run the business. It had been a complete surprise when she abandoned us and ended her six-year relationship with me at the same time.
“Kels isn’t coming back, man. She’s beyond moved on.” He rapped his knuckles on the conference table. “Might as well accept it.”
“I’m not waiting for Kelsey to come back,” I protested, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m just . . .” Frustrated. Bored. Angry. The unanswered text mocked me. “Tired.”
“Do what you want, man.” He pointed to the manila folder in front of me. “Did Pearl remind you about the résumés?”
“Of course I did.” Pearl stood in the doorway.
Cord whipped around, straightened out of his slouch, and gave an awkward smile.
“Hi, Cord. Glad you made it.” She shifted her gaze to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cord’s dopey grin unchanged as he listened to her. “Wes, one of the coaching supervisors is on the phone; she says it’s urgent.”