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Marissa takes a bite of pizza and explains between chews. “The thing you told me about men not wanting to date single moms.”
“How did motherhood even come up?”
“I casually worked my IVF plans into the conversation and the moment the word ‘baby’ came out of my mouth, he pretended to get an urgent call and left.” She licks tomato sauce off her fingers. “I mean, the phone was right there on the table, dark screen and all. I could see it wasn’t ringing.”
I pass a hand over my face, probably adding more flour to my non-existent makeup. “And he did a whole pretend call?”
“Yep, took his time, too; must’ve been a minute of him nodding seriously and uh-hmming before he fake-hung up.”
“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry.”
Marissa takes a sip of Coke. “Don’t be, your proposed screening method works really well. You should patent it. So that was my day, how was yours?”
I point down at my dirty apron. “This pretty much covers it. Oh, and I became a meme.”
I quickly give her my phone, which is showing a GIF of me grabbing and biting air, before going to serve table three their pizzas. Marissa is still laughing when I come back.
“Were you really in the mood for a burger?”
“Worse.” I tell her about Gabriel and the ballet class and the live stream blunder.
She chuckles and then gives me a more serious stare. “So you’re really into his rear end, but you still won’t date him?”
“I can’t, Mari. Not with everything else that’s going on in my life. I don’t have the time or the strength to allow someone new in. Someone I can’t trust completely. And after Justin, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to rely upon a man 100 per cent again.”
She pulls me into a side hug. “I wish I could say you’re wrong. But tonight, I’m with you on this. Men suck.”
18
BLAKE
Evan walks into my office the next morning wearing a dark expression.
“What is it?” I ask.
He lifts the phone in his right hand. “Apex just called; we lost the bid.”
“Oh, okay.” The news stings, I’m not going to pretend otherwise. “Do we know who won?”
A short pause and then… “Power Training.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Please don’t pour salt in the wound,” I say. Evan warned me Gabriel is our competitor, that even if he makes most of his revenue from his real-estate deals, he’s still a behemoth in the fitness industry. I didn’t listen; I let my guard down. And now reality has come to bite me in the ass—quite literally. I think of yesterday’s meme and start laughing hysterically.
“Are you okay?” Evan asks, looking at me with a perplexed expression.
“Super-duper,” I say. “Apex doesn’t want our platform? We’ll start our own line of fit watches. Get the product team on it asap; we’ll call it the Bloombeat, make a whole accessory line out of it. Screw Apex and their old trinkets.”
“I don’t think starting a new product line ahead of the IPO is the best idea.”
He’s right.
“Sorry, Evan.” I lean on my elbows and massage my temples. “I just really wanted to get the deal.”
“I get it. And the Bloombeat is actually a great idea, but perhaps next year?”
I nod. “Next year.”
When Evan leaves my office, I allow myself a short moment of self-commiseration. Then, pity party over, I should go back to looking at potential names for board members; so far, I only have secured the chairman, Tom Cheney, my first and biggest investor to date. And I will need at least five or six more competent, trustworthy professionals to appoint who also have the time—why I can’t pick Marissa. A challenge. I should really get started on this. Instead, I pick up my landline and call my assistant.
