Summer Kisses (282 page)

I tried to figure out what she was talking about. Raspberry dressing, chicken, cheese, and a bunch of extra veggies and crunchy things. Come to think of it, she did get the better salad.

I looked at my own chicken caesar and decided next time I’d get the raspberry.

“I’ll admit the deli does a great job with the salads, but I still don’t get what you mean.” I tried not to look at her like she’d lost her mind.

She glanced at the nutritional label on the lid then stopped to scrutinize it. “Is this right?” she offered me a view of the label.

“Seems about right.”

She shrugged, scooping up a large forkful with newfound enthusiasm. “I didn’t think it was possible for all this other stuff to be in a salad that was still so... good for you.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Visions of actually sticking to your diet are dancing through your brain now, aren’t they?”

“Scary, isn’t it?”

Before I could comment, John stuck his head into the office.

“I wondered where you got to. Have you seen today’s news?” He tossed a copy of the paper on the table.

“No. Why?” My stomach fell to somewhere near my knees. John’s tone didn’t bode well.

“Where?” I reached for the paper.

“Page A5.”

I flipped through the first few pages then opened the paper wide.

Holy God.

My anger heated up as I scanned further down the page. “This can’t be possible.”

“You sure know how to piss off the wrong people,” John commented.

“What’s the article say?” Katherine asked.

“Amanda’s published a list of…” I counted quickly. “…
fifteen
members with supposed nicknames and which gyms they use. There’s at least one member at each location. Can these members be real?” I sent the paper down. “Can I borrow your computer?”

Katherine disconnected the power cord and flipped the laptop around to me. I pulled up a browser window and keyed in my login. As the member database came on screen, the lead ball in the pit of my stomach got heavier and heavier as I confirmed each member was real. And given the photos and the weight information attached to each of their profiles, the nicknames were possible. Each of the members in question was overweight.

“Amanda made it abundantly clear that this is all Quinn’s doing. Top-down leadership,” John said.

“Why would she say it’s your fault?” Katherine asked.

“History.” John bit off the word succinctly.

I clenched my fists. “
Ancient
. We dated very briefly, and it didn’t work out. Amanda got accusatory, said I called it off because she was fat—which I didn’t and she isn’t—and then she badmouthed the gym in the paper.”

“So why did you break up?” Katherine shook her head. “Sorry. That’s totally none of my business.”

“Because she’s a heinous bitch?” John offered.

I shrugged. “I never said that.” But I’d thought it numerous times.

“You didn’t exactly deny it, either,” John said.

I grinned but didn’t say anything.

John continued. “That’s why I keep telling you that you can’t put all your eggs in one basket. You realize that if the expansion plan falls through, you may lose the whole company?”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” My voice was dismissive, but acid had begun to roll through my stomach.

“Amy’s on the lookout and keeping track of members who are willing to talk on the record about their positive experiences,” Katherine offered. “Especially ones who don’t have ideal BMIs.”

I looked up at her in surprise. “You work quickly.”

“That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks.” Her smile faded quickly. “Here’s what I recommend you do. Call each of these members yourself. It has to be
you.
Personally apologize. Let them know you’re looking for the leak and then offer to comp their membership for the next year.”

I nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“Do you mind giving me access to your member database? I’ll try to look for commonalities among the members to see if we can find where the leak came from. You don’t need an employee who would do this to you.”

I wrote down my login information on a sticky note so she could pull it up on her computer. “The corporate office has access to all of the records, but employees only have access to the members in their own locations.”

“Who has access to the whole database?” She took the paper I handed her.

“Me, Paige, the director of sales, the director of training, the person who handles our billing—but I think she only has access to billing information. The web guy did, but he quit a couple of months ago—on good terms. And his access was terminated.”

“That should narrow it down, then.”

John took the newspaper out to Paige to copy. Once he returned, Katherine and I got to work. I was leaving a message for the last person on my list when she came back into my office.

I felt like I’d personally traumatized these members. And while a number of them had been as understanding as they could be and appreciative of the call—Katherine had been right about that—even more felt completely betrayed and let me know it in no uncertain terms.

“There’s been an interesting development,” she said. I couldn’t interpret the look on her face. It seemed almost positive, which I couldn’t understand given the circumstances.

“I’m not sure I can handle any more developments.” It would take about one more punch to the head before I was lying prone.

“One of your fifteen members has passed away.” She mentioned the name.

“That would explain why the phone number was out of service. But how is that a development?”

“He’s been gone for eight months. Who’s going to be using nicknames about him?”

She had a point.

“Another used her membership for less than a month and then never showed up again.”

I nodded, understanding where she was going with this. “But she signed up for a year-long commitment. Sadly, that happens a lot.”

“Another has two different profiles. I checked with the manager of the club who tracked down the trainer who gave her a new profile.”

“And?”

“No one in their right mind would call this woman
Fatty McSausagePants.
She slimmed down to one hundred and twenty-three pounds.”

A number of puzzle pieces fell into place. “So walk through this with me. Anyone who had intimate enough knowledge about these members to know what the staff called them would know things like they had passed away or lost a bunch of weight. And who would give a nickname to a woman who never showed up?”

“Precisely. And it’s unlikely that anyone in your organization would have personal access to members in that many locations anyway. Your corporate staff might have access to their profiles, but with nearly a thousand members in each location, they aren’t going to know the members by name and nickname.” She sat down across from my desk. “Let’s say for the sake of argument that your favorite reporter made up the nicknames to be malicious and for the byline.”

“It’s certainly a possibility.” If only I could prove it.

“How did she get the list of overweight members?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

“You no longer have a web guy, correct?”

“We have a company that maintains the hardware, but they don’t have access to the database.”

“I’m going to take a leap of logic. If the reporter had this information on Saturday, she would have exposed it then, don’t you think?”

Taking a leap of logic with regards to Amanda Shoemaker seemed dangerous, but I shrugged. “That would make the most sense.”

“Which means that someone accessed the records within the last few days. Let me get one of our IT experts in here. Depending on how your system was designed, there may be a way to track it down through the logs.”

“That would be amazing. Thanks.” The rolling of my stomach subsided ever so slightly.

“You’re welcome.”

“We’re still working out this afternoon, right?” I pointed toward her gym bag with my finger.

She wanted to get out of it. I could tell. Finally, she nodded. “Looking forward to it.”

“You are such a liar.”

But
I
was definitely looking forward to it.

The beginning of the warm-up portion of my workout that afternoon made me want to cry. I could see by the display on the stationary bike that the resistance was the same as the easier setting from the day before, but my poor legs felt abused. However, once I reached the seven-minute point of my ten-minute warm-up, I’d either loosened up enough that I wasn’t hurting as badly or I’d shot enough endorphins through my system that I couldn’t actually feel the pain.

I’d found my groove. I mean, I wasn’t about to sign up for the
Tour de France
, but I might at least live through the afternoon.

“Good news,” Quinn said as I hopped off the bike.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“You don’t need to weight train today. Only cardio.”

Just as well because I wasn’t really looking forward to putting my muscles through that again. On the other hand, weight training would have delayed the inevitable rematch with the treadmill. I eyed it with resolve. I was not ending up on my ass again.

Quinn climbed on his own treadmill, set it at warp speed, and was off.

More gingerly, I started mine and hopped into gear.

Three minutes later, the first trickle of sweat rolled down the side of my face. Another reason I’d never subscribed to the no-pain-no-gain-theory.
Pain hurt
. So did my legs. I gripped the sides of the treadmill and prayed for the next thirty minutes to roll on by.

I looked down at the red LED timer on the display. Seven minutes? That’s it? I looked up when Quinn spoke.

“A little too fast?” He glanced over casually while sprinting at a million miles an hour, barely winded.

I looked back down at the display. 3.2 miles per hour. His read 7.4.

“Your face is all red. Don’t push too hard,” he cautioned. “You’ll stop enjoying your workouts.”

Stop? When would I
start
enjoying them?

“See if 2.9 is more comfortable.”

I pressed the down arrow three times and found he was right. That made the pain tolerable.

Unfortunately, it also made me feel like a big fat failure.

~~~

The next morning, when the alarm went off, I didn’t have the urge to cry when I reached out my arm for my daily greeting of the snooze button. It gets lonely if I don’t pet it at least once.

I stretched carefully. A little stiff, a little sore, but nothing like yesterday morning. A few minutes later, the alarm went off again, and I slid my legs over the side of the bed.

Stumbling into the kitchen, I started coffee, fed Mr. Whiskers, and then shuffled into the master bath.

My bathroom scale sat on the floor, innocuously calling for me to test it out. I shuffled back and forth from foot to foot. To weigh or not to weigh, that was the question. If the number went down from late last week, I’d feel great about myself all day. If it went up, I’d be in a funk. Was it worth the risk?

What the hell.

I closed my eyes and stepped on. Finally it beeped, letting me know it had made its verdict. I peeked. “Whooo hoooo!” I scared Mr. Whiskers from his crouch outside the bathroom door. He streaked down the hall in a blaze of orange fur, and I did a little happy dance. Down two pounds.

Of course, I can gain or lose two pounds by walking past a bakery. But I chose to ignore that fact in favor of feeling like this was progress.

After my shower, I pulled on clothes and headed back to the kitchen. I caught up with Facebook on my iPad over some coffee, cantaloupe, and half a bagel.

Good
. I’d stuck to my diet, and it was working. Soon, I’d notice a difference in the way my clothes fit. If I continued to do well, I’d be able to get into the gorgeous tan-and-olive
Jones New York
suit in the back of my closet, two sizes smaller than anything in the front portion.

Throwing clean workout clothes into my duffel bag, I grabbed my briefcase and made it to the car ten minutes early.

It was going to be a great day!

Stepping into the gym a few minutes later, I whistled a tune—or more like warbled as I’m a lousy whistler—and had a spring in my step. I smiled at the greeter. “Good morning, Jenna.”

“Good morning, Katherine. You’re looking well.”

I grinned, unable to contain my happiness. “I lost two pounds!”

“Congratulations.” She smiled wide, earning extra points with me by realizing what a big deal it was. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, two pounds was nothing. But to me, at that moment, it was
progress
.

I hefted the strap of my soft-sided briefcase a little higher on my shoulder and headed for the stairs. “Good morning, Paige,” I said as I passed Quinn’s assistant’s desk.

The clickity-clack of her keyboard stalled. “Good morning, Katherine. You actually beat him in. Would you like some coffee?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I’m already caffeinated.”

She chuckled and went back to her typing. I slipped into my borrowed office and plugged in.

Twenty minutes later, I was doing a little chair boogie with my headphones on, enjoying the tunes of a little-known indie band out of Boston, and plowing through some serious planning when Quinn poked his head in, notepad in hand.

“Well, you’re in a good mood this morning,” he commented loud enough for me to hear over the music. The scent of his cologne wafted over me. God, he smelled good enough to eat. Like an Oreo.

I smiled and pulled the headphones from my ears. “I am,” I said looking up. He’d gotten a haircut since yesterday. I remembered my initial impression was that his slightly too-long strands were what made me want to run my fingers through it.

Guess the length wasn’t the reason because now my fingers itched to know if the shorter strands would be soft and silky or a little bristly. My hand lifted from the desk as if it had a mind of its own. I tightened my fingers into a fist and stuck it in on my lap before it caused me to do something ill-advised.

His crisp white cotton dress shirt stretched over his broad, strong shoulders. His black trousers hugged his perfect butt, and his rust-colored tie brought out little flecks of a lighter chocolate color in his eyes. Quinn was Yummy with a capital “Y.”