Page 59 of Own the Eights
“God forbid that a child eat a doughnut,” Georgie said, taking one off a platter and smashing it into her mouth.
Lorraine shook her head. “You should be like Jordan and those Dannies that you’re up against, pumpkin. They strive to be the best. Isn’t that right?” Mrs. Vanderdinkle asked as she squeezed his forearm.
He shared a look with Georgie, who had powdered sugar all over her lips.
“Well…” he began, not sure where the hell to start with this lady.
The Marks Perfect Ten Mindset was never about putting people down. His goal was to empower them. But before he could get that out, Lorraine pressed on.
“My dear friend Deidre Lockwood, from my Pilates class, has a connection to this blog battle. You must know the Lockwoods, right, Jordan?”
Nope, he had no idea. But again, he nodded politely.
“Well, she started taking those supplements the Dannies are promoting. What are they called? Oh yes, I remember. It’s DannyLyfe Plus vitamins. Well, she got quite ill. But then again, she’d just been in St. Croix, and she could have picked up a stomach illness from bad shellfish. You know how it goes in the Caribbean.”
He didn’t.
Lorraine glanced around. “I do wish you’d let us at least buy you a less depressing bookstore. Then again, why run a business. How tedious! I keep telling you to come around when we’re in Aspen. A few tech moguls might not mind…” Lorraine gestured to Georgie like she was a science experiment gone wrong.
Georgie’s serial killer smile was back, and her mother looked away.
“Well, if I’m not going to be an internet star, I might as well meet the girls at the Ritz for drinks. Kiss, kiss, pumpkin,” she said, then fluttered out of the shop, leaving a trail of Chanel in her wake.
Neither he nor Georgie said a word, but after what seemed like forever, or maybe forty-six seconds, he couldn’t hold back.
“Holy fucking hell, Georgie!” he let loose.
She put up her hand. “Do not say one more word, Jordan.”
“But that—”
She gave him a look that could stop traffic, and he mimicked zipping his lips when their phones pinged.
A challenge. But what kind of headspace was Georgie in?
She glanced at her phone and confirmed what he already knew. “It’s CityBeat. They sent an address.”
He nodded. “I can drive. I’m parked around the block.”
She ran her hands down her face. “Okay, but we’re not going to talk about what you just learned.”
That you used to moonlight as a beauty queen?
He was still trying to wrap his mind around this book nerd, dropping the Moses sandals and strutting down a runway in five-inch heels. But…she did have a killer body, and she was pretty in thatI just rolled out of bedsort of way. And then those eyes. Still, he couldn’t picture her all primped and polished.
She locked up the shop, and they headed to the location, which happened to be downtown in a hip, young area sprinkled with bars, bistros, and microbreweries. It was Saturday night, and the place was already hopping.
“What do you think the challenge is?” he asked as they stared at a green awning with McGuire’s Pub and Tavern written in bold letters. It was one of the largest bars downtown and had earned a rowdy reputation. Not his scene, but when he’d overheard a few clients recounting crazy nights on the town to their trainers, they always seemed to include this place.
“It’s probably not goat yoga. Do you have a beer phobia you need to tell me about?” she deadpanned.
This woman!
“I do not have a beer phobia…that I know of,” he replied matter-of-factly, hoping to make her smile.
It didn’t. She gave him a distracted nod, barely even acknowledging his answer. This was not a good sign. That brief encounter with her mother had really done a number on her.
They sat quietly and watched as a stream of raucous men and giggling women, sporting tiny jean-shorts, entered the sprawling pub.
