Page 30 of Concerted Chaos

eight

“DidIseeyou dancing to old pop songs?” Whitney asks. She’s the new assistant manager at my gym. She’s worked for me for a couple of months now. I like her—she’s calm, efficient, and determined. And not usually nosy.

“Hmmm?” I half-answer. I’m at the front desk with her, trying to get in touch with my IT guy. We’ve been having issues with our computer system lately and he is not responding to my increasingly annoyed emails. I’m typing up a particularly angry one reminding him about contractual obligations and the need for having functional security cameras.

“In the class studio? I walked past and I heard the music.”

Alright, I’ll deal with IT support later. I should probably take some time before I send anything I regret. I don’t want to burn bridges with someone who has access to my system.

“Yes. I was,” I admit. “But not by choice.” Powell is back, and he’s entering full-on prep mode for the upcoming reunion concert. And, despite my numerous protests, I have to help. He has a dance coach who works with him, but Powell’s Last Baron’s stage positioning was always second from left, so he likes to rehearse in between two others. As someone who knows the dances and is in good enough shape to keep up with him, I’ve been conscripted as one of his brackets, filling in for Mason. His coach takes the position Jace used to occupy. Jace was the centerpiece of the group; I don’t know how any of them are going to manage the tribute concert without being able to follow his lead.

I’ll never admit this to Powell, but I don’t mind rehearsing with him. The workout is fun, intense, and heavy on the cardio. I’m even considering offering an exclusiveclass to my members. It might be popular: Burn calories by dancing to hits from the Last Barons! Special appearance by Powell Corbitt! Of course, I’d have to get him to agree to that. But he probably would; my brother always did like showing off.

Whitney opens her mouth like she wants to ask more questions, but she thinks the better of it. And that’s when my nemesis appears, walking past the desk post-workout and heading straight for the doors without looking at me.

Okay, fine, Tanner isn’t my nemesis. But he sure is acting like it with this avoidant behavior.

“Thank you for coming to Star Fitness, sir!” I call out as loudly and cheerfully as I can. “Have a wonderful afternoon!”

He pauses mid-step before turning to look at me. “I thought we weren’t on speaking terms.”

Wait, he’s blaming his sullen attitude on me? Excuse me?

“The last thing you said to me was that I didn’t have any friends and I lead a ... how did you put it? A sad and lonely life? Was I supposed to reach out to you for some reason?”

“I ...” Tanner flushes. His cheeks darken into a purply shade of red. “Well, that’s not what...”

I like seeing him all flustered. I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to come up with an apology, which is what he owes me. But he suddenly recovers and doubles down.

“Fine, you’re right. You don’t have to have any friends at all to live a full and rewarding life. You’re doing just fine.”

Then Whitney, my newly discovered defender, pipes up behind me. “Why would you say that? Everybody loves Cassidy and she has tons of friends. Heck, she and I are friends. We’re going out for drinks tonight. We’d invite you along, but it’s ladies only.”

Tanner glances from her to me. I feel like I’m back in middle school, but this time I have someone to stand up for me against my bullies. Thanks, Whitney.

“Have fun I guess,” Tanner mutters, and heads out the door, still without expressing any remorse for his conniving ways and unnecessary insults.

“Sorry about jumping in there. We don’t actually have to go out for drinks,” Whitney apologizes when I turn back to work. She busies herself with rearranging some fliers. I think she worries she may have overstepped, since I am her boss and we’ve never spent time together outside of work before. But hitting up a happy hour sounds nice, and not just to rub it in Tanner’s smug face. Though that is an added benefit.

“It’ll be fun,” I assure her. “I’d love to grab a drink.”

And that’s when the door opens, revealing Tanner’s return. What is with that guy? Except he’s not coming over to the desk, and he’s not doing another workout. He’s carrying his laptop bag over to a table in the lobby and settling in like he’s in his own personal office space. Does he think this is a coffee shop? The tables and chairs are set up so members can enjoy a post-workout snack or meal, not so they can hang out and annoy my employees and take advantage of the free wi-fi.

“He always comes back in here to work,” Whitney informs me.

I try to tamp down my irritation. Would I be mad if someone else did it? No? So why worry about Tanner, even if it seems like he’s spitefully working here to distract me? I’ll be the better person; I won’t complain at all. Just like I haven’t told him that I know he parks his van in my back parking lot some nights. I’m considering his presence a security advantage since the cameras keep malfunctioning.

I’m not watching him, but I am glaring at him, so that’s why I notice when Tanner begins frowning at his screen, drumming his fingers on the table, and blinking rapidly. He keeps darting glances at me, which I pretend to ignore. The drumming becomes more and more agitated, and he starts and stops typing multiple times. Finally he gets up and approaches me.

“Did you do this?” He is strangely antsy. “Did you give my name to Matters Magazine?”

“Why would I do that?” I’m not denying it though. And I’m a little amused by his reaction.

“Why else would they contact me out of the blue to shoot a feature? I’ve never worked with them before.”

I shrug. “You’re pretty talented. Maybe they saw your picture of Powell. What’s the story they offered?”

His mouth twitches and that damned dimple makes its appearance. “You know. You gave them my name.”

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