Page 4 of Catching Sparks

“I don’t need to recoup. This isn’t about me. It’s about the company. About Jocelyn and the other artists,” I ramble, growing too hot, my tie too tight.

“It was her request. The only alternative to leaving. In exchange, they’ll keep quiet and get back to work. I’ve already agreed. You’re not to reach out to her about this either, Garrison. I mean it. She and her team blame you for this, and they have a right to.”

“This is ridiculous.” My laugh is cruel, ruthless. “I’m only half-responsible for what happened to her.”

“It was your call. Your call on behalf of Swift Edge. I don’t know why you made it, but this is how we’ll fix it,” my father says, attempting to placate me.

“I don’t agree.”

“You don’t have to. It’s already done. You’re officially on leave as of this moment. You leave tomorrow.”

My tone dips in temperature, sharp as ice. “Leave where?”

“Cherry Peak. Your flight leaves in two days.”

2

POPPY

My muscles strain and scream as I drop to my toes, finishing my carousel spin. The silver pole is warm in my hands, and I grin, tightening my grip before stepping back.

There’s no pole class today, leaving my studio empty, silent besides the throaty R&B coming from the speakers spread throughout the pink-tinted space. It’s late, probably too late to still be here straining myself, but I needed it today.

Beautifully Bold, my pole studio in the heart of downtown Cherry Peak, has gone a full week with no hot water. For a business I take pride in knowing makes every person who steps in the doors sweat buckets, this has become quite a nuisance. What’s the point in having two shower stalls in the bathroom if there’s no hot water?

The answer is that there isn’t one. My landlord doesn’t seem to care much, though. Stubborn as a mule, the old man won’t budge on getting a plumber out, claiming we can make do with the cold.

“You do get warm when you . . . exercise, right? Wouldn’t cold be better?” he asked over the phone this morning.

Shit, the judgment in the way he said exercise nearly sent me into a rage, let alone his blatant ignorance to the rights I have as a renter. For the millionth time since I grew old enough to recognize just how small Cherry Peak is, with its population so small they don’t bother putting it on the wooden town sign, I curse both the lack of open-mindedness and opportunities here.

Brushing stray strands of hair from my forehead, I cringe at the moisture on my skin. My throat burns as I gulp breaths, dropping my hands to my waist. The thin material of my spandex shorts clings to my round hips and rubs between my thighs with each step I take to the bathroom, hot water be damned. Cold will have to do.

My older brother isn’t exactly all that handy when it comes to home repairs, but surely, he’ll be able to take a look at the pipes and attempt to fix my hot water problem. If not, I doubt another phone call to my grumpy landlord, begging him to help again, will do much.

It takes me less than five minutes to shower before I hurry into my change of clothes, hoping my tits don’t turn purple and fall off from the chill rippling through me. My hair is still dripping wet over my shoulders when I rush out of the studio and into my car, driving down Main Street toward Peakside, the one and only pub in town.

The scent of beer and frying oil and the low-pitched notes of a country ballad greet me as I step inside and head right for our usual table. Happy chatter flows, alleviating some of my stress. A shot of tequila will do the rest.

Sitting in the usual booth tucked away in the corner of the pub, my friends are grinning, talking amongst themselves with an overflowing plate of loaded nachos on the table.

“There she is!” Anna cheers from beneath the arm of her boyfriend. Brody Steele, the owner of said arm, gives me a two-finger wave and a soft smile from over her shoulder.

The couple is famous in this town, which isn’t much of a surprise. Not when Brody is an award-winning country singer, and Anna is not only my beautiful best friend but a fellow business owner. The hair salon named Thistle and Thorn next door to Beautifully Bold is all hers, and damn, she’s done well with it over the past year.

“Hello, you wonderfully gorgeous woman.” I beam at her as the two people opposite the couple scootch down to make room for me on their bench seat.

Bryce, my best friend since childhood, flashes me a grin from the inside seat and yanks my brother further down the bench. Darren pushes a dewy glass of water toward me as I take the open spot and focus on him and Bryce.

“And hello to you two. I’m surprised Anna and Brody didn’t separate you two tonight. Feeling brave, D?” I ask with a sly grin.

“I’m capable of acting like an adult in public,” my brother mutters. “As long as she does.”

Bryce rolls her sharp blue eyes. Her midnight-black hair is still up in the bun she wears to work, leaving her expression open and all too blunt. “Don’t even. How old are you again?”

“And they were doing so good,” Anna sighs.

I wrap a hand around my glass of water and swallow a moan at the relief it gives my calloused palm. “Were they? Oops.”

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