Shopping for a CEO's Baby (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 16), стр. 6
“Gentrification?”
Vince gestures towards the door. “This neighborhood was a steaming pile of dog crap when I was a kid. No one wanted to live here. Jorg had this place long before he took me in. And now you're razing it and turning it into some co-working place for doggie daycare, or whatever you real estate developers do.”
A thousand defensive responses go through my head before I shut the hell up and just cross my arms over my chest, breathing carefully, letting the silence hang between us. Vince is furious. So angry, he won't make eye contact.
“That's why you think I bought the gyms from Jorg?”
“Why else would you?”
“Maybe I like the place.”
He snorts, using the towel in his hand to wipe imaginary sweat off his shoulder. “You only come here because of Gerald and me.”
“No. I came here the first time because of that. I kept coming back because I like how I feel when I'm here.”
“No successful CEO of a Fortune 500 company does business based on how he feels.”
“Wrong, Vince. So wrong. That's how you get to be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. How something feels is one of the best predictors of success. Plus, this place fills a hole in the market. The combination captures my attention.”
Now he meets my eyes.
“And I don't want to change anything. Not even the stench of your wrongness.”
Vince puffs up. “You seem awfully cocky.”
“And you seem pretty negative, for a guy I was about to offer a director-level job to.”
“A what?”
“I need someone to run the fitness side of the gyms. Stay true to the concept. I want a chain where people can go and just sweat. Do the hard work. Gritty and authentic, without all the fancy frills. No upselling. No pressure. Just a gym home where you feel like you're part of the community at the same time you're left alone to do your lifting, sweat it out, and head home.”
“You're offering me a job?”
“I am. Gina has all the details ready to mail you when I give her the okay.”
At the mention of my executive assistant, Vince's eyes widen a little, then settle down. “Why would I want to become a corporate drone? Last thing in the world I want is to sit behind a desk.”
“Then we won't put one in your office.”
“You're serious.”
“I am. At first, we'll stick to the existing sixteen locations. Create procedures, audit staff, make sure we understand what we're marketing and to whom and how best to expand the clientele. And then–”
His hand goes to my forearm. I shut up.
“You want me to direct a chain of gyms? To make sure they stay like old Jorg's created them?”
“Yes.”
“This is either crazy or genius.”
“Let's go with genius.”
“I don't know, man. I have a lot of clients right now. They'll be pissed if I leave them.”
“Your call. No rush on a decision. Take a week or two. But I do need to know.”
“What about salary? Benefits?”
“Gina has the proposal. You want me to have her send it?”
Over Vince's shoulder, I see Jorg watching us, one eye narrower than the other. A protective, fatherly quality radiates from his look. Whatever happened when Vince was fifteen and the old man let him live in the office here at the gym persists to this day.
“I will never become your bitch, Andrew.”
“I'll take that as a yes, Vince.” I grab my phone and text Gina, who instantly replies with Confirmed.
“I didn't accept the job. Just looking over the proposal.”
I grin at him. “I know.”
“Don't give me that smug look.”
“I'm not!”
“It's embedded in your face. You can't help yourself, can you? Go sweat it out. Hundred burpees.”
“What?” My grin falters, sliding off my face like a mountain goat losing his footing.
His glare is tinged with amusement. “You want authentic? We'll start right here, right now. With you.”
4
Amanda
“Mom?” After all these years of my mother being sick with fibromyalgia, I've reached a point where I know the second I open the front door, even an inch, what kind of condition she's in. The tells are simple: which lights are on or off. Whether I smell home-cooked food or something more industrial from a frozen dinner. The trash can still out by the curb, two days after pickup.
Her teacup Chihuahua, Spritzy, eagerly wagging his tail, and the overly enthusiastic ankle-licking invasion.
“Amanda?” she calls out weakly from the other room. “I'm in here.”
In here means she's stationed in her recliner chair, laptop desk in place, a thick rice pad on her kidneys, long cold after being microwaved an hour ago to ease her pain. Her eyelids droop slightly, not from sleepiness, but from the effort it takes for her body to manage so much pain.
There is no extra bandwidth to lift her eyelids more than necessary to see.
“Mom,” I say, reaching for her hand, lightly holding the back of it. A hug would hurt her too much. Touching gives her some small comfort, so over the years, we've worked out this gesture.
Her skin is warm. Dry. Her clasp is weak.
“Could you?” Bending forward just an inch or two, she signals for me to take the rice pad from behind her. Instinct tells my hands what to do, my motions suddenly automatic. Two minutes and twenty-nine seconds have passed by the time I realize I'm standing in front of the microwave, the buttons pushed and time just something to get through before bringing Mom some relief.
I look down. Her dog is panting at me.
“Have you walked Spritzy?” I ask, knowing the answer is no, but Mom needs the dignity of being asked.
“Not yet. Could you?”
“Of course!” I find the can of treats to snap one in half, making Spritzy sit for it. The way he chows it down reminds me.
Yup. The dog food dish is empty. Water's full, thankfully, because of a self-watering system that Mom can fill every couple days.
“Don't try to feed him!” Mom says. “You'll make sick all