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It's why I never got the chance to tell him…
“Is everything alright?” Kace asks me.
I’ve been staring at him for a while without even realizing it, lost in thought. “Yes. Sorry. It’s just unexpected. Of all places.”
“Let’s go into the executive lounge,” Elias says. “We’ll conduct the interview there.”
“Don’t be nervous,” Finn chuckles softly. “You’ve already got a glowing recommendation from Mira.”
“Thank you,” I mumble.
Kace leads us out of his office and into the executive lounge, constantly stealing curious glances at me. I can’t read his mind, but I’m terrified that he can read mine.
How do I play this? Do I tell him that our one-night stand resulted in the sweet five-year-old currently playing down the hall?
“Oh, wow,” I hear myself gasp upon entering the executive lounge.
It’s a huge room lined with authentic reclaimed wood planks from top to bottom, an abundance of natural sunlight coming through a dozen narrow windows. A large granite conference table sits in the middle, framed by leatherback swivel chairs. There’s coffee and sparkling water waiting for each of us. Upon noticing the beverages, my mouth suddenly feels dry, and I realize how thirsty I am.
“Have a seat, make yourself comfortable,” Kace says, pulling out one of the chairs for me.
“Thank you.”
“I assume Mira has already told you that we’re not advertising the position just yet,” Kace states, and I nod once. “We’re hoping that if you fit the bill, we won’t have to.”
“Let’s hope I can save you some advertising pennies, then,” I respond, remembering Mira’s words.
Let’s also hope I’m able to keep my cool and professional demeanor, I think to myself. I’m interviewing for a job I desperately need with the father of my son who has no idea he has a kid, along with his business partners, for heaven’s sake. It was supposed to be a simple Monday, an exciting job interview. Not this hot mess.
But I can’t walk away from it, I need the money. Worst of all, the chemistry that Kace and I shared all those years ago is still there, every fiber in my body confirming that it burns brightly as ever.
Over the span of an hour, I manage to answer their questions as best I can, given the awkward circumstances.
These men are CEOs of three of the biggest fintech companies in the country, global competitors against major Chinese and European conglomerates. They’re huge players in the stock market, and they spin billions of dollars on a daily basis. They have thousands of employees and I imagine titanic bank accounts, sumptuous properties all over the world, and at least one private jet per capita. Yet they strike me as kind, warm, and easygoing men.
They seem comfortable around one another. Mira told me they’ve known each other for years, and they served together as Navy SEALs. They were in the trenches before they retired from the service and built their companies in Silicon Valley. The Golden Sequoia Estate is their crowning achievement; their peace of mind. The fruit of years’ worth of labor and love.
“The people who come here are all middle to top-level management executive types,” Kace tells me. “More and more of our upper echelon clients are bringing their executives over for team-building experiences at least once a week. They have everything they need here to do their jobs and to relax in an environment that is completely different from their offices.”
“Our fitness and recreation center is the jewel of the estate,” Finn adds. “Top of the line equipment and some of the best trainers in the country. We’ve got celeb trainers coming in every other weekend for special training events. But our yoga section is in dire need of an instructor who understands the GS brand and knows how to apply it.”
I nod once. “You need a yoga instructor who actually knows yoga and won’t waste your clients’ time with exaggerated amounts of namaste-type mindfulness,” I say. “A yoga instructor who focuses on the physical aspects of the practice and the fitness benefits without ignoring the value of meditation. It’s a fine line that most yogis don’t fully get.”
“Exactly,” Kace laughs. “We’ve had a couple of instructors over the past year, but it just didn’t work out. One had a habit of burning sage and setting off the fire alarms. The other talked too much. A lot of people claim to be instructors and they’ve got the yoga pants to prove it, but when it comes to the actual practice, they fall short.”
Elias leans forward, his dark gaze pinning me in my chair. My fingertips itch as I wonder what it would be like to touch that black, short stubble covering his chiseled jaw. “Our clients are tightly wound by the nature of their jobs. You’re not going to get them to sit in the downward dog position for too long, you’ll need a different approach.”
“A proper program, yeah, that makes sense,” I say. “Well, first of all, I’d keep each session at a max of one hour, dividing that hour into thirty-five minutes of moderate intensity cardio-type poses, and fifteen minutes of mindful breathing and meditation. The first ten minutes of class will be for warmup and stretching. They will get all the benefits within a sixty-minute session without feeling like they wasted their time.”
The more we talk about the yoga classes and what they hope to further achieve with this place, I realize how passionate these men are about making the retreat a true success, a place where people can feel at home away from home. It’s a fascinating thing to observe; rarely have I met people so devoted to every aspect of their lives as well as to one another. They seem to be perfectly in sync—not just in the fundamental views of life and business, but also in the way they speak to me, each of them making up one-third of a whole.
As we talk, the more interested I become.
I want this job.
It started out as a chance to make things right for myself and Mikey after a disastrous relationship and a handful of wasted years. It is quickly becoming an opportunity to grow in my field, to develop a career I put on hold for the wrong reasons, and to evolve as a woman, as a mother, as a human being.
“I think it’s fair to say you were right,” Kace says once the interview is concluded. “We don’t need to post a job advertisement.”
