Page 83 of Own the Eights
“Mrs. Vanderdinkle.”
Georgie startled, then glanced over her shoulder to see a man in a black suit.
“Yes, John. Oh, Georgie, this is John, our new driver.”
The man nodded politely. “Mr. Vanderdinkle called to remind you of your doubles tennis match with the Lockwoods this afternoon.”
“Thank you, John. I’ll just be a moment,” her mother answered, then turned to her. “I know you’ll do what’s right for you, pumpkin.”
Georgie rubbed her fingertips to her temples. “I wish I knew what that was.”
Lorraine Vanderdinkle stood and gathered her designer scarf from the bench. “You could start by getting back to your blog and possibly allowing Howard and I to buy you a Barnes and Noble. Those are bookstores, right?”
Her well-meaning socialite mother could really lighten a situation.
Georgie sighed. “I don’t think you can buy just one.”
“Would you like all of them?” her mother countered with a sly smirk.
Georgie chuckled, now understanding the kindness in her mother’s insane proposal. “No, but it’s really nice of you to offer.”
Her mother folded the scarf into a tiny square. “The CityBeat site says that they’ll be live-streaming the Denver Trot 10K tomorrow afternoon and that all the Battle of the Blog competitors will be there. Are you planning on power walking in it?”
“Yes, I’ll be therepower walking,” she acquiesced as she normal-walked her mother over to the town car.
“So, you’ll see him there.”
Georgie shook her head. “Probably not. He’s Mr. In-It-To-Win-It. I’m sure he’ll fly by me and not even notice.”
Her mother took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You never know, pumpkin. It’s going to be live on the internet. Anything can happen.”
13
Jordan
Jordan entered Deacon CrossFit and stared at the empty receptionist’s desk. The desk where Shelly’s ass should be planted.
“Hey, Jordan! I didn’t expect to see you today. Don’t you have the Denver Trot 10K later on?”
He nodded to Sara, one of their best trainers, then glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a little over an hour until it starts, but I wanted to check on a few things. Why are you here?”
The gym was only open half-day on Saturdays for clients to make up missed sessions during the week and Sara hadn’t missed any of hers.
The trainer looked away. “Deac asked if I could close today.”
What the hell?
“Why can’t Shelly close? I made the damn schedule and gave you the day off because I know your kids have soccer on Saturdays.”
The woman shrugged. “I think Deacon has anotherassignmentfor Shelly.”
He nodded as a muscle ticked in his jaw. He was in no mood for this bullshit. Shelly was the damn reason he had to come in, and she was the last person he wanted to see.
The past eight days had been pure hell. He’d tried to apologize, but Georgie had cut him off, and he couldn’t blame her. So, he’d thrown himself into training and took on new clients by the dozen. And he’d stayed the hell away from the internet and the CityBeat site. Thank Christ, he hadn’t gotten any challenge texts, but he had to show up for the race.
A central principle of the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset, always finish what you start—and crush it.
Still, he did owe Georgie an apology. He wasn’t that big of a douchebag not to know that he’d hurt her. But even though Deacon’s words at the gala were harsh, the man was right. He’d gotten off track. He’d lost focus. And there was no way he was going back to a life of failure. The life of Jordy “Straws” Marks.
