Page 8 of The Confidentiality Clause
“Do you need to be at your desk to do that work?”
My brows scrunch together. “Why?”
“Because your task for today is to go sit outside in the sun. It’s beautiful weather, and I know there’s an adorable little courtyard beside your building. Go sit on one of the benches for at least ten minutes.”
“That’s…” Not so bad. “I guess I can do that.”
“And I want you to take off your shoes.”
I raise a brow. “My shoes?”
“Yes. I read that putting your feet in the grass is good for stress. Outside. No shoes. Ten minutes.”
I glance out my windows. It is a beautiful day. Wouldn’t hurt to take some calls from outside.
“Okay, fine, I’ll go outside without shoes.” My phone starts buzzing. “I’m getting another call. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wa–”
I hang up. She’s going to be furious with me for that, but oh well. I’ll do her silly little task while I talk to people who need me.
“You’ve got Jones,” I say as I message my assistant, Marie, asking her to forward all calls to my cell.
“Hey, Brock, it’s Kylie from Pilates for Penguins. You gave me your card at the Galapagos Gala last month. I’m reaching out to see if any of your athletes would be interested in participating and promoting our next Pilates event in Los Angeles?”
I leave my office, nodding to Marie on my way out. She nods back, her focus on her computer, where she’s likely fielding more calls than me.
“Hey, Kylie, I think I remember our conversation. Your organization donates to Galapagos penguin conservation efforts?”
“Yes! We put on large-scale Pilates events with celebrity guests. All of the proceeds go to the conservation and protection of penguins.”
I’m sure there are better ways to spend the millions my athletes make, but I know a few are big on animals, so they’ll be excited–and it will make for good press too.
“Okay, I’ve got a few clients in mind. Do you have a preference of male or female? Any particular sport?”
“We’ve found that the male athletes garner a lot of attention on social media when they try out our exercises, but we’d be open to whoever seems passionate about the project.”
I nod as I step onto the elevator. “Got it. I’ll talk to a few of my clients and get back to you with their information. What date is the event?”
“Next month on the fifteenth. Thank you so much! We–and the penguins–appreciate you.”
Never been told that apenguinappreciates me, but there’s a first time for everything.
“You’re welcome. Talk soon.”
I hang up as I walk out of the elevator. Another call comes in as I step outside. This time, it’s one of my clients asking for advice on an interview they have next week. I coach them through it as I walk to the courtyard.
The late August sun warms my back through my suit coat. I shed the jacket and drape it over a stone bench. The call finishes up with the client feeling more ready for the interview, and I have a second to breathe before another call comes in. Or I should, if it weren’t for Ariel’s name on my screen. This time, it’s a text.
Ariel: Are you outside?
Brock: Yes.
Ariel: Bare feet in the grass?
I huff and slide off my leather dress shoes, then my socks. If anyone sees me, they’re going to think I’ve lost it. Maybe I have.
Brock: Yes.
