“Is the firm still trying to drag you back?” Josh asks, and there’s just enough worry in his voice to knot my stomach.
Zach’s lip curls. “Yeah, they keep trying to sweeten the pot, but fuck ‘em.” He shakes his head. “I’m one of the lucky ones. Getting out before they suck every drop of blood from my veins. Thanks to you, J.”
The couch cushions shift beneath me. I glance at Josh. He’s smiling, but his eyes are tight. Is Zach embarrassing him?
“I told you, it’s Greta you need to thank. This whole concept is her baby.”
Holy shit. Did Zach just wrinkle his nose?
I blink and adjust my glasses. When I refocus, he’s grinning. Was I just seeing things? Did I imagine it? Maybe I’m just nervous. We have everything riding on this.
“Well, I hope you guys are open to some creative input. I have ideas I’d like to share,” Zach is still smiling, but there’s an arrogance to it I’m not crazy about.
I swallow and try to stay present. Everything is fine. We are a team. Of course, he can share his ideas. He’s putting up a third of the capital, after all. I go for a pleasant, patient smile.
“Like what?”
Now, he definitely does wrinkle his nose. “Well, first, the name. It’s…”
Gritting my teeth now would not be a good thing,I tell myself.Uttering a growl at this juncture would not be a good thing. Telling my new business partner to go fuck himself would not be a good thing.
Instead of doing all of the above, I squeeze Josh’s thigh. Hard.
“Uhhh, Zach—” Josh grips my hand and pries it loose.“Camp Blissis really more than just a name. It’s also—you know—sort of the mission.”
Sort of? Sort of the mission?
If I were a cat, my claws would be showing.
On screen, Zach nods like he's considering, but the set of his mouth says this is only for appearances. “Right, right. It just strikes me as, well… kind of…woo-woo.”
My spine stiffens.
“You know, we’ve tested the name with focus groups.” I mean to sound breezy but knowledgeable. Still, it comes out defensive. “It was the clear favorite.”
Zach’s auburn brows crimp together. “Focus groups? I don’t remember Josh saying anything about that.”
A quick glance at my boyfriend’s wooden smile confirms he has no clue what I’m talking about.
“Yes, focus groups,” I insist.
Okay, so maybe they weren’t focus groups in the truest sense of the term. A straw poll on the coffee counter in the teachers’ lounge and a Wine Down Wednesday roundtable with my work besties Deandra, Courtney, and Virginia—plus a couple of pitchers of mango margaritas—reinforced for me that the nameCamp Blisswas the way to go.
The name of the retreat and recreation center has to be Camp Bliss. I refuse to budge on this.
“It works for all of our services. Kids day camp, after school care, corporate retreats, family reunions, couples workshops, yoga retreats—”
“Greta—” Zach is holding up his hand. This asshole is actually holding up his hand to shut me up instead of hearing me out. “I’m familiar with the services. My concern is that the name won’t resonate with two of our most important client groups: parents and business executives.”
I scoff. “But you know that today’s parents are more concerned about their children’s mental health than ever b—”
“Camp Blissevokes images of patchouli and pot. Parents aren’t going to—”
“Childhood anxiety in this country is equivalent to that of schizophrenic patients of the 1950s, and—”
“And CFO’s aren’t going to greenlight expenses for a hippy-dippy office retrea—”
“HR directors are looking for damn near anything to reduce work stress and retain employees.” The little picture on the screen shows that I’ve leaned in closer to the camera. “I mean, just look at the three of us?”
