by Meg Maguire
A guilty smile. “I can’t stand it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not what I envisioned. I worked for another wedding planner in Springfield for nearly five years, and they treated me great, let me oversee my own clients. But this job’s not what I’d hoped for. I’m really more of a gofer. And more than a bit of a scapegoat when things go wrong.”
“Ah, bummer.”
“But I promise I’m not here looking for any old job, just to get out of my current one. I’m genuinely interested in the position. Especially the matchmaking.”
“What makes me think you might be a good fit?” Jenna asked.
“Well, I know everyone thinks this about themselves, but I’m a really good judge of character. I can meet somebody and within twenty minutes of talking to them, I can get a handle on what they’re about.”
Jenna believed it. Lindsey had a certain aura about her, something that said, Your BS won’t work on me. Cold be quite an asset in dealing with pushy or wishy-washy clients.
“And how do you think your background as a wedding planner has prepared you?”
“I’ve certainly calmed down my fair share of hysterical brides and grooms. I’ve helped people through what’s basically the most important date of their lives, and stripped out all the craziness and the to-do lists, and uncovered what’s really at the core of their romance, you know?”
“Go on.”
“Well, you’ll start working with a bride, and she shows up with binders and folders and printouts, totally caught up in the tiniest little details—the shade of blue she wants for the addresses on the RSVP envelopes. Seating arrangements straight out of a UN meeting.”
Jenna laughed, liking Lindsey already.
“It’s so easy for women to lose focus in bride-mode. You have to take the time to ask about the relationship they’re actually celebrating. Get to the core of what it is that made them love their partner so much they said yes to spending their life with him. And suddenly this bridezilla with her dog-eared catalogs tells you...I don’t know. She’ll tell you that on her first date with her fiancé, she spilled soup on her dress, and he splashed himself with his wine so she wouldn’t feel like such a mess. Something that cuts through the detail-psychosis and reminds them what they’re celebrating. Suddenly the color of the seat cards doesn’t matter as much as it did before.”
“Sounds like you find it very rewarding, at the best of times.”
“It is, and I’m good at the planning aspect, but I don’t know if it’s what I want to be doing five years from now. It was always about the romance for me. And the challenge. I can’t tell you how fascinated I am by the idea of matchmaking.”
Jenna nodded, thinking she may have just found the perfect match herself.
“Could you tell me exactly what the job responsibilities would be?” Lindsey asked.
Jenna leaned back in her dad’s ancient chair, springs wailing. She really needed that office furniture to arrive. “Well, I’m looking for an assistant, like a right-hand woman or man, to help coordinate events and share the load, as the business is getting on its feet. Then once we’re officially established, that assistant would still be helping with special events, but also take on their own clients.”
“Very cool.”
Jenna nodded. “It’s appealing that you’ve already worked with, um, high-maintenance personalities.”
Lindsey laughed. “For some of them, that’s a kind way to put it. I also grew up as the dead-center of nine siblings, so I’m very well trained at peacekeeping and negotiation.”
“Gosh, you could put that on your résumé. Well, it’s my hope that my employees won’t get stuck working more than a forty-hour week, but in the first year, it’s a definite possibility. Do you have other responsibilities that need to be accommodated?”
“None whatsoever.”
Jenna saw Lindsey touch her ring finger—wrapping her other hand around it like a reflex. Was she worried her own single status might count against her with Jenna or prospective clients?
“Well,” Jenna said, “I worked as an events director on a cruise ship for ages, pretty much on-call around the clock, ten months a year. I’m a firm believer in a work-life balance. So once the craziness of establishing the branch has subsided, it’s a priority of mine to make sure my employees feel like their own personal lives are respected, too.”
“That’s good to know. Though I’m a bit of a workaholic, so I’m not concerned about a little overtime.”
Jenna nodded, matchmaker’s mind already churning with assessments. Workaholic women often used their careers to avoid romance for whatever reason. She was surely destined to count more than a few of those types among her clients, women who saw “boyfriend” or “husband” as yet another box to check, alongside titled position and stainless-steel kitchen makeover.
But Lindsey wasn’t her client, and therefore not her responsibility to analyze. She wasn’t even Jenna’s employee yet, though she was certainly the frontrunner.
They chatted about day-to-day stuff, and the upcoming mixer. Lindsey had quite a few fun ideas for the event, and tossed out the names of her go-to caterers and DJs. A wedding planner could prove very handy indeed.
When they shook hands—a good fifteen minutes after the time Jenna had scheduled for the appointment—she was smitten herself. Her fears flip-flopped. She no longer worried she might not find someone good enough for the job. She worried the one she wanted might not accept the position.
She had just enough time to run downstairs before her next appointment. Mercer was on his own break, chatting with Rich on a bench while Delante sparred with another young guy in one of the rings.
Mercer smiled as he spotted her and made room beside him. “Hey, good-looking. How’d it go? Any keepers?”
“Oh my God, the most perfect girl ever.”
“She cute?” Rich asked.
“Yes, she is, but don’t get any ideas. Plus you shouldn’t be thinking about women or sex with a big match coming up.”
“That’s Mercer’s sick rule, not mine.”
“Anyway, I just hope she’ll accept if I offer.” She sighed, high with relief, and looked around the gym. It had seemed so intimidating and alien before. Now all she saw was energy, dedication and a brutality she didn’t understand but had come to respect since falling so hard for Mercer. She couldn’t believe she’d ever been looking forward to the trial period being done, the gym gone. She liked it now as much as she’d resented it for the first twenty-odd years of her life, and it wasn’t going down without a fight—hers, Mercer’s, everyone’s. She wondered if that was why her father had put the stipulation in his will. Maybe he’d known that was all it would take for her to change her mind about the gym—four and a half months. Well, he’d been wrong—it had taken exactly two weeks.
“So,” she said. “Everyone on track for the tournament? How long now?”
“Four weeks. And yeah, I’d say so.”
She leaned over to address Rich. “What about you, Prince Richard? Feeling confident?”
“Always.”
“You could toss Rich in with a guy twenty pounds out of his weight class and he wouldn’t blink,” Mercer said.
“I love a challenge.”
“You love getting hit,” Mercer corrected.
“Damn right.”
Jenna slapped her thighs and stood. “Better get ready for the next candidate. Just wanted to share the good news. Now I just have to pray she’ll say yes when I pop the question.”
* * *
THE REMAINING CANDIDATES all failed to shine anywhere near as brightly as Lindsey, and two days later, once references had been called and come up sparkling clean, Jenna phoned the woman with her heart in her throat.
“Lindsey Tuttle.”
“Hi, Lindsey, this is Jenna Wilinski, from Spark: Boston.” She fidgeted with a notepad on her desk. “How are you?”
“Um...frightened,” she said with a laugh. “Could you hang on
one moment?”
“Sure.”
Jenna heard muffled conversation, then when Lindsey’s voice came back it was clear she’d relocated, probably out of earshot of her current boss or coworkers.
“Sorry. Thanks. What can I do for you, Jenna?”
“Well, I’m hoping you might come work for me.”
She held her breath, but it seemed Lindsey must be doing the same—she didn’t reply for several long seconds.
“Oh. Really? Seriously?”
“Very seriously. I was incredibly impressed with you.” It felt funny talking this way to a woman only a couple years younger than herself.
“And here I’d been praying for a second interview.”
“It doesn’t feel necessary to me. Though if you need to ask more questions about Spark before you decide, that’s fine. But your old boss from Springfield had very encouraging things to say about you. She’s not your mother, is she?” Jenna teased, then went over the salary and benefits briefly, promising to send official information once they hung up.
“All right, then. I accept.”
“That’s wonderful. Now I have sort of an awkward request. I know you need to give your current work two weeks’ notice, maybe longer, depending how your contracts with individual clients work...”
“I don’t have any specific obligations to any of the weddings I’ve been assigned to.”
“Two weeks, then?”
“I’m pretty tempted to quit right this minute, but yeah, probably two weeks.”
“Would you be interested in making your life a living hell and helping me with some party planning over the next two weekends? All the big stuff for the mixer is in place, but I’d love some help with the nitty-gritty details—email invitations to prospective clients, liaising with the caterer, decorations, security, that kind of stuff?”
“I can do that in my sleep. Just pay me a decent wage and I’ll happily run myself ragged for you.”
“Excellent. Well, let me get right on all the paperwork, and you email me when your first official day with Spark can be. We’ll have another talk about the mixer once all the official stuff is squared away.”
A breathy noise came through the receiver. “I’m so excited. Thank you.”
“Great. I’ll be in touch soon.”
“Thanks, Jenna.”
They said goodbye, and Jenna felt absurdly happy, as though she’d just had the best first date ever—a feeling she hoped to give her steadily growing list of clients in the not-so-distant future. A feeling she woke with nearly every morning, the second she registered the warm weight of Mercer’s arm slung over her waist.
She let loose a happy sigh, interrupted by the clicking of heels down the front hall. Through the office windows she saw it was Tina, the Spark company’s franchise standards overseer. Oh jeez, now? The place was a wreck.
Tina leaned around the threshold and grinned, lips as red as her scarlet suit. “Knock knock.”
“Wow, hello.” Jenna got up to shake her hand. “Excuse the mess. The gym’s manager is still working on getting all his stuff cleared out. You didn’t come all the way from Providence just to say hello, I hope?” Or check up on me, she thought, though that was the woman’s job, after all.
Tina rolled the guest chair over for herself. “No, no. Personal visit—my niece just started at Tufts.”
Jenna sat, relieved. “Oh, lovely.”
“But,” Tina said, expression turning stern. “While I was in town, I wanted to pop in. We’ve hit a small snag with your space.”
Jenna frowned. “Oh?”
“Don’t panic—nothing fatal. We’re just getting all the ts crossed for your branch, and everything’s on track, with one tiny niggle.”
“Okay.”
Tina nodded in the direction of the rear of the building. “That gym.”
Jenna’s heart thudded. “What about the gym?”
She patted her shiny black updo. “The last time I was here, I couldn’t help but notice how...in-your-face it is. Right there, at the end of the foyer. With that big sign over the stairs?”
“Okay.” Mercer would just love that—some order from on high that now the banner had to come down.
“And what that says about Spark. What impression that will give your clients.”
“You want the sign gone?”
Tina leaned forward, linking her hands atop Jenna’s desk and speaking more quietly. “I was doing some research about the gym and its, shall we say, colorful history.”
Jenna’s middle gurgled.
“I have to say, as the standards overseer, I’ve got some major concerns about you sharing a space with a business with such a sordid reputation. Now, I know that’s not your fault. And I know you said you have every intention of closing the business come, what? January first?”
“Yes, b—”
“Great.” Tina leaned back in her chair. “That is a big load off. We should be fine, as long as the place is closed by the time you’re really up and running.”
“I’m planning to close the gym if it’s unprofitable,” Jenna clarified. And over her dead body. “What would it mean for my franchise if it stayed open?”
“Well, I’ll be honest with you. It’s Spark’s profits you really ought to be worried about, Jenna. And having that around—” she poked a finger in the gym’s direction “—will not be doing you any favors. Our clients are sharp, discerning, educated people. You can bet they’ll be looking into the service they’re trusting with their love lives. I’m all for local color, but this is an upscale business. We’re already taking a chance on the neighborhood.”
Jenna had to bite back a retort. Tina had told her Chinatown was fine not even two weeks earlier.
“And you can bet unhappy clients will be quick to dock you a few stars in online reviews if they find the gym a turnoff. I know it’s your late father’s name on the place, but it’s your name as well. Your client base is going to spike once the mixer happens. Now’s the time to have a good long think about appearances.”
Jenna’s body had gone cold and numb, heated only by a wad of anger burning in her gut. “I’m sure we could come up with some creative ways to mitigate...”
Tina’s sad, patronizing smile killed the thought. “I’ll give it to you point-blank, Jenna. If the gym doesn’t close by the New Year, I can’t in good conscience sign off on this space.”
“But it was approved months ago.”
“And I’m not reneging. There’s a perfectly simple solution to this issue, and it’s one you seemed only eager to implement when we first spoke. The gym closes, and all our problems are solved.”
Jenna blinked at the papers on her desk, choked by the lump lodged in her throat. “Sorry, I just need a second....”
Tina frowned. “I take it your feelings about your father’s business have changed since we last spoke about this.”
My feelings about my father and, more to the point, the man I’m falling in love with. “They have. Quite a bit.”
“That must make this inevitability hard to swallow,” Tina said.
More anger flashed. Jenna felt sure the souring in her stomach was the same Mercer had felt when Jenna had shown up, hell-bent on this very same course of action.
“But you need to focus on your own investment,” Tina went on, “and I’m the first to tell you, I see big things for Spark: Boston. This space will be great, once the decoration’s done. And the rent situation’s ideal, obviously. But not with that gym down there. We both know that’s not going to fly, right?”
Jenna didn’t reply, too worried her anger would be obvious.
“I mean, you wouldn’t open a library next to a gun range. Our clients want reassurance, and to feel relaxed. It won’t be easy for them to feel at ease with those sorts of people wandering by.”
Those sorts of people? Jenna frowned, insulted. But hadn’t she thought the exact same thing when she arrived?
“The women will feel intimidated. The men, too. It’s just a
bad marriage, Jenna. And if there’s anything Spark doesn’t stand for, it’s a bad marriage, right?”
Jenna didn’t crack a smile, and Tina dropped the perky approach, speaking frankly.
“Like I said, I like the space. Not the gym. If the gym goes, Spark is still on board. Just a formality.”
A formality? Kicking a few dozen guys out of their second home, yanking the jobs from underneath Mercer and the other trainers? How was that a formality? How was that anything but a disaster?
“I’ll have to talk to the gym’s manager,” she said, before Tina could pin her down on agreeing that the gym was closing. But short of a miracle...
“Let me know on Monday,” Tina said, getting to her feet. “I know you’ll make the right choice.”
Jenna’s chest hurt as she escorted Tina to the exit. As she went back inside her office, she rubbed at her heart, willing it not to ache so much. She shut the door behind her, on the verge of tears.
There had to be a solution. Create a rear entrance for the gym to keep the businesses segregated. Something. Anything.
Anything except closing Wilinski’s Fight Academy. That just wasn’t an option. Not anymore.
10
MERCER PULLED UP to the curb at Delante’s house in Mattapan in the late afternoon. He’d talked a trainer acquaintance from a gym in Allston into letting Delante spar with his strongest heavyweight, and the kid had wiped the floor with the guy. Well, figuratively. Mercer wasn’t taking any chances with real injuries, not with the tournament so close.
“Good work, kid.”
“Thanks.”
“Go get some rest. Don’t eat any crap.”
Delante exited and grabbed his bag from the backseat. “Later, Merce.”
“My best to your mom.”
Making a U-turn back toward Boston, Mercer couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this excited.
Probably when he’d gotten his first paid fight, still a dumb twentysomething, convinced he had what it took to be the next big thing. But he knew better at thirty-four. He’d never been half the fighter Delante was. And he’d never felt this...this pride in somebody before. This must’ve been what Monty felt, driving back from a successful match with him or Rich or any of the other kids from Wilinski’s.
