One night stand with my daddy's best friend

Then I thought of the board he spoke of. The faceless suits that made all the decisions for him.

Assholes, I thought. What the fuck do they know?

Then it dawned on me.

They may not know shit about running gyms, but they knew the language of money.

"It's the shares, isn't it?" I wondered aloud, still looking out the window. "They're still shareholders, so if I buy you out, they won't be able to cash in on the price hike after the acquisition."

Behind me, Eddie spun around in his seat, still sipping on his tea. "You're too smart for your own good," he said, setting the dainty cup down on the saucer with a clink. "I'm sorry things couldn't have worked out between us." "I'm sorry, too, for wasting my time on you."

He set the cup and saucer on the table, unfazed by my insult, and said, "Have a good day, Mr. Banks. I trust I'll be seeing more of your commercials on the television."

And just like that, he walked away, closing the door with a click as he departed.

"Bastard!" I raged now that I was alone. The buyout should have gone smoothly. His gyms would be mine and Banks Fitness would be double the size it was now. But how could my dream turn to shit so quickly?

I wanted to punch a wall, but instead, I smoothed my suit, took a deep breath, and pressed the button for Sandra's desk. "The meeting with Eddie is over," I said. "Bring a scotch

on ice over to my o ce, will you?" "Certainly."

As I walked to my o ce, she was already setting it down on my desk. When she saw my face, her eyes crinkled with concern.

"Not good news, I take it."

"No," I said, taking a sip of scotch and grimacing at its strength. "But fuck it. There'll be more opportunities to grow. This is nothing but a blip on the horizon. Won't be long until Eddie realizes what a mistake he made. "

Lunchtime came and went, and I was still reeling from the bombshell Eddie had dropped. I didn't want to be angry, but I couldn't help it. I'd been eyeing his gyms for months now, and never for a second did I think I wouldn't get them. But bureaucracy, as usual, got in the way?

I sat at my desk, sipping an espresso, trying to calm my anger.

I'd worked so fucking hard to get to where I was, and I was so close to getting to where I needed to be. But then Eddie had to throw a wrench in the works and hold me back. I shouldn't have taken it so badly. Business was a fickle mistress and temperamental at the best of times. I had to admit that I couldn't always get everything to go my way, but I couldn't help but feel a swell of rage. I may have been a hard worker, but since the divorce, I'd thrown myself into overdrive trying to make the company grow to newer heights. Yet it wasn't growing at all. If anything, things were moving backward.

I didn't get it. I'd built this place from the ground up

using nothing but tried and tested traditional business strategies that always worked. So why weren't they working now? Why was our latest advertising campaign failing? Why couldn't we take over Goldwyn's, for Christ's sake! It should have been a done and dusted deal!

My head was spinning when I heard a knock on the door. "Yes?"

"It's your interview candidate," Sandra's voice announced as she opened the door. "Becca Canmore."

Conducting an interview was the last thing I wanted to do, and if it was anyone but Becca, I might have considered canceling. But now that she was there, there was no harm in seeing her. "Sure, let her in," I said, sighing.

From the foyer, I heard the click of heels on the marble floor, and a second later a figure appeared in the doorway. At first, I wondered who the hell the model was who had stumbled into my o ce. Then I realized she was no model. "Becca! Wow, I almost didn't recognize you."

The last time I'd seen her she was in jeans and a hoodie, carrying boxes to her car. But here she was in a tight pencil skirt that hugged her curvy hips, a tight-fitting blouse that accentuated her large, round breasts, and black stilettos. Her face, though free from makeup, was glowing and her skin was radiant. And her previously short hair was now long and flowing down her back.

"You look great!" I blurted out before I could stop myself. "I mean, you look so grown up now. Please, take a seat."

Fuck, she's gorgeous, I thought. This is not what I expected.

Appearing confident, she sat down elegantly in front of my desk and crossed her legs. "Thank you for seeing me," she said, her voice no longer babyish but mature, almost husky. "You're very welcome."

Sitting back down at my desk, I noticed her legs were pointing in my direction, her skirt riding up her thigh to reveal the shapely form of her muscles.

Take your eyes ofl her! She's your best friend's daughter!

But I couldn't stop myself. It was like I was being faced with a stranger, As though the Becca I used to know was long gone and replaced with this absolute goddess.

"Okay, so your dad told me you have some ideas," I began. "He said you don't want to waste your time in the gym with all the other trainers. That you want to make it up to corporate."

"That makes me sound like an arrogant brat," she laughed, her voice filling the room. "What I actually meant was that I'd eventually like to progress up through the

company, not just spend every day sweating it out with the clients."

"So you'd like to be here for the long haul?"

"Absolutely," she replied positively with a nod of her head. "I don't flake out."

I could see that. She may have been dressed femininely, but there was no denying the strength of her body, a body that had been crafted through hours in the gym and sheer sweat and determination. She could be the face of the company, I thought to myself.

She'd sell a million more memberships than that nightmare Gigi.

"So tell me some of your ideas," I encouraged. "Your dad told me you've got plenty."

A slight look of nervousness flashed across her face, then it vanished as she began to talk. "Okay, so I've been studying your company for a while now."

"You have?"

"Yes. At college we had to do a module on sports business management, and I chose Banks Fitness as my case study for my assignment."

"Wow. Impressive."

"Your company really stands out because you focus on a high-class clientele from a celebrity background. You're luxury all the way. Your prices are high, your clients are the biggest and baddest, and your gyms are synonymous with the celebrity lifestyle that everyone craves. But I think you're missing something."

"What's that?" I asked, leaning forward eagerly.

She was on the ball, the words tumbling out her mouth as though she'd rehearsed them a thousand times. She looked as though she gave pitches like this every day of her life.

"You're missing out on folk like me, on the wannabees, the students, the millennials who want a million-dollar body on a Dollar Tree budget."

I sat back in my seat and let her words sink in.

"I know what you're thinking," she said. "That I'm nuts. That the whole point of your business is that it's high end and luxurious. That you don't want to stoop to a lower demographic. But tell me this, how many celebrities are there?" I shrugged.

"Thousands, right?" she said. "But do you know who there are more of? People who want to be celebrities. For every Gigi, there's a thousand girls on Instagram wanting to be just like her. And that means getting access to all the things she has. The clothes, the makeup, the body..."

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"The gym membership..."

Shit. She's really onto something.

"I mean, think about it. Remember when Maseratis were only for millionaires, but now you can lease them monthly. Every damned neighborhood has some guy whizzing about the streets in one of those things. It didn't hurt them to target the little man, did it?"

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke.

"I know you're thinking I'm just some jumped up college kid with her head in the clouds. And you'd have every right. But I really think I can show you an angle your missing. A way to reach a new demographic that's uncharted territory for you."

For a second I was stunned. In all my years in the industry, I'd never interviewed someone with so much confidence and belief in themselves. I was impressed by her, that was for sure. And not just with the way she spoke but in the way she carried herself and the effortless grace and glamour that oozed out of her.

What struck me the most was that she probably didn't even care that she wasn't wearing makeup or that her hair

wasn't styled in the latest fashion. It was as though she didn't even know how good she looked. All she wanted was to talk business, and, my God, there was nothing sexier than a woman with her business hat on.

But at the same time, I had to think rationally. I couldn't just give her a job because she had the gift of gab, and I definitely couldn't give her a job because she was hot as hell. Then there was the matter of her being Bob's little girl. I never was one to indulge in nepotism and had always believed people had to earn their place in a company. So did Becca deserve a place at Banks Fitness? I was in two minds.

"I appreciate you coming in today," I told her. "You definitely have a lot of strong ideas. I'll be in touch as soon as I make a decision."

Looking disappointed, she narrowed her eyes and said, "Oh."

The slump of her shoulders as she stood showed she felt rejected. She knew what I'll be in touch meant. But the look in her eyes said fuck you. I don't need your job anyway. And I didn't doubt that if I didn't give her a position, someone else would in a heartbeat.

"Well, thank you for your time," she said, shaking my hand.

I couldn't help but notice she wasn't wearing the long, acrylic talons so many women like Olivia and Gigi wore, but had opted for clipped, unpolished nails. They were no-nonsense hands. Hands that lifted weights and worked hard. But despite the lack of girly finishings, her skin was silky soft and warm to the touch. And I found myself holding onto her hand for a moment longer than necessary.

"Goodbye, Matthew," she said. She held my gaze for a second, smiled, then left. I watched her walk away with her head held high, her shoulders back, and her gait smooth and balanced.

"Wow," Sandra said as she watched Becca disappear into the elevator. "That girl makes Gigi look like an old fishwife." "Doesn't she just?" I said, still feeling her the silken touch of her hand in mine. "She'd make a Victoria's Secret model look average."