While I spoke, Sean stared at the paper in front of him. His eyes didn’t leave it for a single second. The more I talked, the more impatient I became. He clearly wasn’t interested in anything I was saying. I didn’t know if he was even listening.
“What I want you to remember,” I said firmly. “Is that sarcasm does not translate on screen. People don’t want to listen to someone who’s condescending. Frankly, your attitude can be a real turn off to people, so you’ll need to work on that. At least, while you’re speaking for the company. We can’t risk all our work being undone by your attitude. So, when you’re speaking, I need you to tone down the anger. Try to be yourself, but relax a little. Not everyone is your enemy.”
Still, Sean didn’t respond. He was slumped in his chair with his eyes cast downward. I wanted to reach across the table and yank his chin upward, but I forced myself to relax. I remembered my promise to Ray and took a deep breath. I powered on, going through my list of talking points one by one.
“Your apparel is fine,” I said. “Luckily, we won’t need to adjust your wardrobe for these events. We want you to appear trustworthy. If we cover you head to toe in Yates’ apparel, no one will believe you’re real. Everyone will dismiss whatever you say, because they’ll all just assume we paid you off. The photoshoots are one thing. Those are supposed to be advertisements, but public speaking isn’t. Or, at least, it shouldn’t appear to be.”
I took a breath and waited to see if he would respond. He didn’t.
“Also,” I continued. “Since you’re related to Ray, your credibility is already in question. We’re going to have to be careful about how we introduce you. We’ll probably go with the happy family explanation, but that may not sell. That’s something we can discuss later, though.”
After thirty minutes of me speaking and Sean staring at the table, my patience was hanging on by a thread. I was almost to the end of my list and I wanted some indication that he was listening. A small nod would have been enough.
“Remember to sound natural,” I said. “We’ll rehearse the talking points, but it’s important that you don’t sound rehearsed. We want it to seem like you just thought up these things on your own, like these are your actual opinions. If it sounds like corporate is feeding you your lines, everything will fall apart. Does that make sense?”
Sean moved his head a fraction of an inch. It wasn’t a nod, but it was something. I thought it would make me feel better, but it only pissed me off even more. How could he sit there and just ignore me? Didn’t he realize that I was his boss?
“Are you even listening?” I snapped. “This is important stuff. It will help you. I need to know you were paying attention.”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” he recited, popping his head up to meet my glare with one of his own. “Keep my attitude in check. Wear my usual clothes, but make sure I’m clean and I look nice. Don’t deviate from the company’s line. Stay on script, but sound natural. Rehearse everything, but act natural while I’m speaking. Basically, hide the truth.”
Sean’s words left me speechless. Not only had he successfully summarized my entire speech, but he’d made it sound juvenile and beneath him. I was both impressed and angry.
“I know this all seems ridiculous to you,” I said. “But it matters to some of us. So, whether you like it or not, it’s your job. You might as well get used to it.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Sean asked.
“Barely,” I mumbled. Sean opened his mouth to argue, but a sharp ringing interrupted his argument. He fumbled in his pocket for his cellphone.
When he pulled it out and glanced at the screen, something new flashed across his face. His glib, uninterested expression was gone. He looked worried.
“Hello?” Sean said, answering the phone. “Wait, what? When did this happen? Okay. Yes. Okay. Yeah. Uh huh. Alright, I’m on my way. Be there soon.”
Sean jumped up from his chair and walked halfway across the room.
“Where are you going?” I demanded. “Who was that?”
“My ‘other life’,” he said. His tone was angry, but I didn’t acknowledge it.
“Will you be back today?” I asked.
“No,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll call you and let you know when I come in next.”
“Tomorrow,” I called as he left the room. “Be here tomorrow!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sean
When I pulled up to the school, I instantly wished I had taken my car to work that day. I bought my used car so I would never have to risk Paisley’s safety, but now, I didn’t have a choice. Every day before, I went home to get the car before picking Paisley up from camp. The phone call from Paisley’s coach told me there wasn’t time for that today. I parked my bike quickly and jumped off, already hurrying toward the front doors.
Paisley’s swim camp was at a high school about five miles from my house. They used the indoor swimming pool at the far end of the main hallway. I ran down the hallway until I reached the double doors leading to the gym area. Pushing them open, I glanced around, not sure where to go. I felt panicked. I’d never been in this situation before and I had no idea how to handle it. Finally, I heard splashing to my left.
When I found the pool, I immediately scanned the area for a sign of Paisley. I saw her on the other side of the pool, lying on a bench with a towel wrapped tightly around her small body. Even from far away, I could see that she was shivering. I ran over to her, almost colliding with two children on my way.
“Paisley,” I said, squatting down beside her. Her eyes were closed, but they fluttered open at the sound of my voice. They were bloodshot and her lips were pale. I gulped and put my hand on her forehead. She was burning up.
“Mr. Yates?” a voice said from behind me. I whirled around quickly. A woman in a one piece stood above me. She wore a whistle around her neck and her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail.
“Yes,” I said. “Hi. I’m Sean. Paisley’s father.”
“I’m Coach Johnson,” the woman said. “I’m glad you’re here. Paisley came down with a pretty bad stomach bug. You should take her home.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “Did she throw up?”
“Yes,” Paisley muttered from behind me. I glanced back at her and my heart ached. She was clutching her stomach in a vicelike grip.
“Do you think she needs to go to the hospital?” I asked the coach. I tried to keep the panic out of my voice, but Coach Johnson’s knowing smile told me I wasn’t successful.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. It just looks like an ordinary stomach bug, but if she gets any worse she’ll need to see a doctor.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Coach Johnson said. “I hope you feel better, Paisley.”
“Thanks,” Paisley whispered.
Coach Johnson turned her back to us and made her way over to the pool. She jumped in, blowing her whistle as she went. The rest of the kids swarmed around her, awaiting her directions. I watched them for a fraction of a second before I turned my attention back to Paisley.