With every click of the computer mouse, the accountant’s frown sank deeper until his mouth turned into a perfect upside-down U. Jaxon crossed his arms and sank back into the cushy chair in front of the nice oak desk.
Joe Dilley, CPA had been the quarterback in Jaxon’s graduating class in high school. While Jaxon had devoted time to the Future Farmers of America and track, Joe was dating the hottest cheerleaders and generally being a swaggering loudmouth. They’d never fought, but had never been friendly until after they’d both graduated and started up their own businesses. Jaxon had taken a chance and hired Joe as his accountant while Joe was running his accounting office from his mother’s basement. Now he had a nice office right on Main in the middle of the fanciest stores in Lexington. He even had a nice brass nameplate on his desk, his name engraved in all caps. Jaxon picked it up, sat it down and flipped through a brochure about stocks and mutual funds. The only real thing he took away from that was the happy couple walking through grass that needed mowing while swinging a laughing toddler between them.
His butt had become numb, and frankly, he was tired of looking at the office he’d helped fund. “So how bad is it?”
Joe’s U frown became a flat line and a shake of the head. “Not good. It’s like this. If you don’t bring in a better profit this year, with increases in taxes and fuel costs, you’re looking at bankruptcy next year. It’s not the end of the world, but…” He ended his gloomy prediction with a shrug.
“No. Absolutely not. I won’t file bankruptcy unless I’m starving.”
“Well, there aren’t many options, but let me do some research.” Joe resumed his mouse clicking, while Jaxon rolled the grass-strolling family on the brochure into a tight cylinder and tapped it on his knee.
Though he had known opening a small business would be a gamble, he had been up to the challenge. But bankruptcy meant death to Pie in the Sky as far as he was concerned. Sure, some business owners went from bankruptcy to bankruptcy, wearing suits they couldn’t afford and schmoozing with bigwigs until they landed a rich investor. But that didn’t suit Jaxon one bit. He wasn’t a cheater. Everything he accomplished, he earned through hard work and commitment. He’d let the place fold and go to work as a private pilot for the schmoozers if he had to. Pride had no place in his life. He had a mother and sister to care for. Harper would argue that she was plenty capable of taking care of herself, and she was, but she tended to overlook practical matters like taxes and utility bills.
He would not, he repeated to himself, would not be a loser like his dad. The man had been little more than a sperm donor. Jaxon couldn’t recall one job that he’d held for more than a year. Whenever he’d managed to get a steady paycheck, he’d usually had it all spent before they saw a penny of it. Meanwhile, Momma had worked her ass off just to keep them fed and clothed because she didn’t want to rely on food stamps and welfare checks. Jaxon felt guilty about all the times he’d pitched a fit about not being able to go to summer camp or an amusement park like his friends did. Back then, he didn’t understand the delicate balance of living at the poverty level. Then their useless sperm donor just up and left without so much as a goodbye.
“Okay.”
Joe’s voice startled Jaxon. He dropped the rolled-up brochure and sat up in his chair.
“Advertising,” Joe said.
“What?”
“Advertising,” he repeated, enunciating each syllable as though Jaxon hadn’t heard the word before.
“What about it? I’ve done some advertising.”
Joe shook his head and took his reading glasses off his nose. “Yes, some, but not enough and not the right kind.”
“I’m in the Yellow Pages.”
“Are you kidding? The only thing those are good for now is keeping the recycling business afloat.”
Jaxon groaned. He knew what was coming.
“The Internet,” Joe said, sitting back in his seat like he’d just made some momentous proclamation. “You’ve got to get online. Website, social media, blogs, YouTube, all that. Podcasts are doing well these days too.”
“Pod what? Look, I’m old school. I don’t even have a smart pad or whatever it’s called. I do have a computer and Facebook page.”
Joe settled his elbows on his desk and chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s what I’m getting at. The Pie in the Sky Facebook page has fifty-two likes, and you haven’t posted anything for two weeks, and the last post was a kitten video.”
Jaxon grinned. “That was funny. Cats jumping and not quite making the landing…yeah, okay, so I’m not good at the online stuff. What can I do?”
“You’re a great pilot, Jax. Great tour guide. Good business owner, too, as far as integrity and dedication goes, but if you want to stay afloat, you have to get somebody to help you graduate from old school and enter cyber space.”
“Harper can-”
Joe shook his head and waved a hand to cut off that thought. “No, you need a professional. Someone who can take your vision and translate it to the online masses.”
“All right, then, who do you suggest?” Jaxon rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling tired and wishing he’d have done something simple with his life like that Home Depot job he’d had during high school. He’d have been manager of the paint department by now, his skin splattered in mustard yellow and lady luck green.
Joe scribbled down something on the back of a business card and handed it to him. “Call this place. Great advertising firm. I used them myself and got this place and a condo in Key West.”
Jaxon narrowed his eyes at the balding money handler. “So how much of a commission are they giving you?”
“Nothing, seriously,” Joe said. “You and me come from the same place. We didn’t start out with silver spoons in our mouths, but there’s nothing wrong with earning some silver for our efforts. Now it’ll cost you some dough to work with this agency, and of course there’s no guarantees it’ll pay off, but I wouldn’t recommend it if I didn’t think it’d work for you.”
Jaxon stared at the number, an odd sensation crawling down his spine. Something was about to change. For the better, for the worse, he didn’t know, but he knew that once he called that number, he’d be starting something he couldn’t walk away from.
“All right. I’ll call. Thanks.”
“Good luck, Jax.”
Jaxon stood, shook Joe’s hand and pulled out his flip phone as he headed for his truck.
It was Friday morning, and Lena was set to start her new job the following Monday, but she called Laverne and asked if she should come in.
“Come on in,” said Laverne. “We’ll give you the grand tour. Hang on. Jill — got a little time this afternoon?” A peeping noise from somewhere in the distance. “Well, give that to Lyle. I want you to show around Lena Bosko. She’s coming in — what time, Lena? An hour is good?”
“I can do that,” said Lena. Actually, her makeup often took close to an hour, so normally that would be a no-go, but she’d put it on for breakfast, because Harper had come over to have a piece of wheat toast, spoonful of egg white omelet, and a cup of Lipton without milk or sugar (skinny girl’s breakfast), and Lena wanted to look perfect for her adorable new bestie.
“You going into town?” Harper asked, tilting her dainty teacup at her dainty lips. “I’ll drive you in. I’m working up at the Foundation today. I can meet you for lunch and bring you back here tonight.”
Lena didn’t take offense that Harper preferred her pink breast cancer pickup to her own refurbished jalopy. She had a hankering to ride in that vehicle with the windows down listening to some music – something better than Harper's preferred contemporary country hits, though. They had a nice ride. Harper talked about her aunt and about the good work the foundation was doing. She complimented Lena’s suit, hair, and nails, and said she hoped they could go up to Cincinnati for a shopping spree some time. But Lady Antebellum and Carrie Underwood – nah, not angry enough for a young urbanite.
You're in the country, Lena thought. Try to love it. Just try.
“Sounds great,” Lena said to the shopping. “Soon as I earn something, if that ever happens. So remind me how you know Laverne.”
“Oh, she’s a breast cancer survivor. We honored her at a dinner for Kentucky businesswomen. Raised a lot of money for us at the Foundation. Would you believe, when she survived 9/11, it was the day before she started her first round of chemo. What a brave, strong woman. Oh, by the way, I told Jaxon you asked about him and he said he remembers you. I shouldn’t have said anything about heights making you airsick, right?”
“Well, it’s true,” Lena answered. “Truth is truth.” It wasn’t good news that the man remembered her, since it increased the odds that he remembered her proclaiming he had a sweet dick.
Harper dropped her off outside a ten-story office building called “Bluegrass Towers.” The lobby was mirrors and blue tile floors with a mosaic of a racehorse and rider opposite the glass doors of the entrance. Classy. A smiling black security guard waved her in with a smile. “Where you headed?”
“Costard Agency. I’m their new hire. Lena Bosko.” She shook hands with the guard, who looked surprised at the gesture.
“I’m Pete,” he said. “It’s short for Albert.” He grinned.
“Thanks, Pete. What floor?”
Pete pointed at the bank of two elevators. “Sixth, make a right when you get out. Watch out for elevator B. It still has the pee smell from when those kids sneaked in an ostrich last month.”
“No kidding, really?” Lena felt like laughing. “That must have been cool as hell.”
“Sure. They put the security video of the event up on YouTube. Don’t ask who gave it to them.” Pete winked. "Ostrich feathers are great for tickling the wife, but I didn't just say that."
Lena had a real smile as she went up in the elevator. This was already a nice place to work, and the ride in had been good — Harper was good company.
Lena was greeted at the door by Jill, a stout woman in her thirties with dark hair, big square glasses, and a toothy smile. “Real pleasure to have you,” Jill explained, pumping her hand and then taking her arm. “Laverne’s been saying since forever that she wants to add a youthful, hip, urban point of view.”
“Oh, I’m not a hipster,” Lena blurted. “You mean like flannel shirts and cowboy boots? No, I’m a Brooklyn loudmouth — uh, as you can see?”
Jill blinked. “Well, that is just sensational. Number one thing around here is that no one ever makes you feel small. Think before you talk, but talk boldly and talk often, you know?”
“Oh, I’m all over that.”
Jill walked her around, showing her various offices, including two empty ones she could pick from. They stopped in a small kitchenette, where Jill laid out two clean mugs with the Costard Agency logo and started the Keurig, placing one mug underneath its spout.
“You’re our first millennial,” she said. “Are you on your phone all the time, connected to everyone with social media?”
“From work, yeah,” Lena said.
“Can you teach me Instagram? I’m not sure I know what to do with that. With ideas I’m sharp as a tack, but I’m behind with software. Do you use Snapchat and Whatsapp? Can you show me?”
“Sure, I can show you.”
“Thanks bunches! We’ll be a great team. Oh, hello, Lyle.”
They were joined by a shortish man with wire-rimmed glasses and huge arms. His shirt stretched over his muscled chest, giving him a slightly ridiculous appearance, like a bookworm on steroids.
“Well, hello, darling,” said Lyle in a thick country drawl. “Well, who’s this? Would you be our Miss Lena?”
“Yeah, I’m Lena Bosko. Laverne mentioned you earlier.”
He squeezed on the handshake. Lena, not one to be intimidated, squeezed back.
“I’m just here to provide a little beefcake for the female clients, and to show a male face to clients who trust testosterone a wee bit more. Jill and Laverne are the brains.”
“No,” Lena said. “Jill and Laverne and Lena are the brains.”
“Heh. Touché, sweetie. Well, back to staring at a blank screen, writing no copy, and checking email every five minutes. Bye, y’all.”
When he was gone, Lena made eye contact with Jill and tried a questioning look.
Jill shrugged.
Lena said, “He’s kind of a jerk.”
“He’s a little challenging to get along with, but Laverne likes a challenge.” Jill inserted a new K-cup into the Keurig and handed Lena her coffee. Lena added four sugars and a spoonful of creamer.
As Jill was mixing her own coffee, Laverne Costard herself made her appearance. A short, stout black woman over fifty, she had dark, shining eyes and a kind of triumphant twist to her lips when she smiled. She wore a blue suit and walked with a strut somewhat like a fashion model. Laverne carried herself like the boss she was – she just had an air of command about her. “Jill, were you bringing her by to see me? You’ve been here a while; I didn’t know if the tour was finished?”
“Not yet.”
“Hello, Lena. Come to my office. Jill, you can come by when you’re ready.”
Lena followed her new boss, who had an enormous l-shaped desk with a reddish mahogany finish. The walls were occupied with a floor to ceiling window, a framed print of the Manhattan skyline containing the Twin Towers, and a poster of a younger black woman with braided hair. The photo was accompanied by some lines of poetry:
STAND TALL
You can't fall
If you stand tall.
You know a lot,
Don't need to know all.
You're a giant woman;
don't feel small.
Hear the voice inside you call.
Not small.
Tall.
You can't fall.
~ LZB
“I like the poster,” Lena said. She actually didn’t; the poem was a little too middle-school for her.
“LZB inspires me,” said Laverne. “I think you know that already. It's something I hope you will take to heart. Another thing: courage isn't something you either have or don’t. If you want to be brave, just be brave. Truth is, you must be brave. No one protects you; you protect yourself. No one makes sure you're okay; you make yourself okay with your attitude.”
“Um…But I kind of have an edgy attitude. I can't really control it. Things just slip out.”
“Edgy how?”
Lena didn’t want to screw herself out of this new job, but she’d just been told to be brave. “If something strikes me as bullshit, it's kind of hard for me not to make a remark about it. And if someone's a jerk, I pretty much say that right away.”
“So?” Laverne looked genuinely puzzled.
"So?" Lena was puzzled about the fact that Laverne was puzzled.
"So what's wrong with those things? Why do you call them edgy, rather than brave?"
"Because most people would say you have to be a little fake to get along with others."
"Not to get along with me. And not to get along with anyone who prizes assertiveness and candor. Come to the window, Lena.” Laverne caught her elbow and steered her.
Outside the window, under the blue sky, was a busy street in the heart of Lexington, with a mixture of old stone buildings and new glass-and-concrete towers. “From here to the sky, all the space that you see – there is no room in it for cowardly falsehood! Look at the beauty of the world. Look at the vitality of our civilization, even in difficult times. Lexington may seem like a backwater to you compared to New York City – that's what I thought when I moved back here fourteen years ago – but it’s beautiful, and you are beautiful, and you have to be who you are in order to occupy your proper place in the world.”
“Right. By figuring out how to sell people shit.” Marketing professionals were usually more money-minded than philosophical, but with all the life-threatening experiences Laverne had lived through, it was no wonder she had turned to poetry and existential stuff.
Laverne showed no sign of being offended by Lena’s bluntness. “We increase the beauty of the world by keeping it vivid and alive. You’re sniggering. What’s funny?”
“Sorry. You said keeping the world alive, and I had a vision of that street down there being full of the walking dead.”
“Interesting. Maybe we can sell something with that image. Write it down.”
Shocked she had not gotten in trouble for her mouthiness, Lena tapped into her phone’s notepad.
Lexington, walking dead in street. Sell what?
Laverne waited for her to finish, then finally let go of her shoulder. “The corner office has more windows and so more of the sunlight that inspires us, but the office beside it has a larger space. I’ll have your desktop set up in whichever one you prefer.”
“Oh. The corner. I’ve never had a corner office. I’ll feel badass.”
Laverne smiled. “Be badass, Lena. That’s what I hired you for. In fact, since boldness is a requirement for a proper life, I will need you to see a client first thing Monday morning.”
Lena was terribly excited by that — not. She kept up the fake smile, which her boss was quick to read.
“Jump in the pool with both feet, young lady. The water is always warm if you think of it that way. Here.” She retrieved a large business card from her desk.
It had a picture of a helicopter and read, Pie in the Sky Tours. By Jaxon Wheeler.
“Harper’s brother. That’s definitely jumping in the pool with both feet.”
“Of course. Harper is such a delight, how could I not send my brightest new advertising executive to the rescue when she asks? Besides, the two of you are close in age, but I understand he’s a little old-fashioned. You can bring him up to date on technology, the same as you’ll be doing with Jill.”
“Definitely. I really like Jill.”
“Good. So do I. How did you like Lyle?”
“I didn’t, but he’s better than Elvis.”
“Who?”
“He's a guy at my old job who was pretty sure team-building exercises were chances to talk about his penis. In high school they voted him most likely to move in next door to a proctologist's office. Water under the bridge. Let me phone Harper and let her know I'm supposed to go see her brother. Laverne, no matter how my big mouth is making it seem, it’s an honor to work for you. Really. I promise to help keep Lexington alive.”
Laverne tapped on her large Samsung phone. “I’m adding a meeting with you at 6 PM Monday. Send a preliminary plan for Pie in the Sky to my inbox by 5 PM. Heard?”
“Heard.”
Lena found Jill waiting for her outside the office. Her call to Harper was postponed as they took their coffee into Jill’s office, which was lovingly decorated with puppy pictures, tiny puppy Beanie Babies, and a wall of layouts she had done for horseracing-related businesses. Jill put Lena onto the Costard Agency Wi-Fi and then steered Lena toward a demonstration of Instagram, which turned into an explanation of how to use Twitter better. Soon it was way past lunch. Lena realized Harper was probably waiting outside, quickly sent her a text and took her leave.
Harper had eaten four or five almonds, which had killed her hunger. At a family restaurant for lunch, she had a small salad with tofu and green tea. Lena, still thinking like a Brooklyn girl, ordered a burger and fries, but then realized that things had changed and prudently left most of it on the plate.
"Hey, I'm going to see your brother on Monday, to try to fix his business."
Harper raised an eyebrow. "He's hard to get through to sometimes."
Lena shrugged. "Hey, that's my job."
"Just remember, though. Jaxon is a man's man, a pilot and an outdoorsman, but he does have a sensitive side, too. Promise you'll be nice to him."
"Of course. I'm always nice to my clients."
Leaving most of the burger and fries uneaten had been tough for Lena. Her palate and her stomach complained during the drive back to the house, where she unloaded the rest of her scanty belongings from her car to the upstairs room, then took the car for a wash and vacuum. Leaving the car wash, her rumbling hunger compelled her to stop for a smoothie, but she had kale mixed in to ease her guilt.
She was going to meet Jaxon Wheeler on Monday, and on the one hand, he was absolutely de-lish, but on the other hand, he was a client now, and that ‘old-fashioned’ part Laverne had mentioned made her nervous. The Boskos were old-fashioned, but Lena wasn’t. She was with the times, and the Southern version of old-fashioned gave her visions of boring polite men saying, “yes ma’am” and smiling faintly and disinterestedly at her bluster. She’d met plenty of them at UK and had to drink herself silly in order to get through a date with any of them. Taken on looks alone, Jaxon was so hot she’d gladly be his dog, but personality counted more, and he was sure to be a stiff and disapproving sort of person. Harper had said he had a sensitive side, but that was probably just her being an overprotective sister. Lena would be unwise to get seriously interested in Jaxon; she couldn’t be with anyone who didn’t respect her, even if her behavior wasn’t always respectable. She couldn’t be with anyone she didn’t respect either. No, she would keep it businesslike. She’d met guys as hot as him before. Or, actually, she hadn’t, but never mind.
****
She spent the weekend eating homemade food, taking long walks in the grass, watching the horses exercise, smelling manure – a scent she could do without. She said so long to Val who was headed up to Jersey for the final week before Ellison gave birth. She talked to Ellison for hours and went shopping with Harper to buy an outfit for her first day at work.
As they browsed through some dowdy brown fall fashions looking for a pop of color somewhere on the racks, Lena decided not to ask what sort of girls Jaxon dated. She followed this plan by asking, “What sort of girls has Jaxon been dating?”
“You know, he hasn’t dated anyone since college. He’s just so busy taking care of Momma and working at his business. I’m so proud of him, but I wish he would do some dating sometime. We need to carry on the Wheeler family, and of course, I haven’t got anyone either. I guess we’re both workaholics. I keep meaning to introduce him to some of the girls down at the Foundation. There’s this cutie-pie named Rosalie with just the sweetest smile. She’s not but five feet tall, and she grew up on an apple orchard her daddy owns. Red cheeks like an apple.”
Lena told herself not to ask anymore. This time she managed it.
****
The Hyundai Accent was equipped with a new radio, installed at Mark and Val’s expense as a good-luck gift for her new job, and Lena cranked up some tunes on the winding country road that would take her to the business office of Pie in the Sky Tours. It was an air-conditioned mobile home on concrete blocks, Harper had explained, set at the edge of a huge airfield where hot-air balloons could be inflated and where there was room for a large helicopter, a small helicopter and a large supply shed.
Lena rolled down the car windows and felt the fresh air caress her face. Her hair might get a little blowsy, but a few minutes with a brush before entering was a fair trade for the feeling of the sun and wind on her skin. Twenty-One Pilots came on the radio, and as Lena rocked out to “Wish We Could Turn Back Time,” forgetting to think businesslike, she had to brake suddenly as a massive object passed within yards of her vehicle. Before she could even process what it was, her tires were screeching and her heart was beating wildly and she jerked forward, her chest pressed against the steering wheel.
“What the fuck!” she shouted and turned off the radio.
The massive shadow passed as the hot-air balloon, just a few feet above the road, moved toward a strip of forest ahead on her left. She climbed out of the car and shouted, “Look the fuck out!”
Someone in the balloon’s broad cylindrical basket waved at her and shouted something she couldn’t make out.
“Fucking asshole,” Lena told herself. She looked at the big red balloon rising now to clear the trees, and made out the logo on it. Pie in the Sky Tours, of course. She’d just cursed at her client, her local bestie’s brother. But he’d scared the crap out of her; what was he doing so low to the road?
“Shit, I hope he didn’t hear what I said. I think I’m having a heart attack.” She got back in the Accent and put it into drive. Still shaking, she kept checking the balloon with sidelong glances until her view of it was cut off by the trees. It was another mile or so drive before she found the wooden two-part swing gate, wide open, with the same logo on a sign next to it. She drove through, taking deep breaths, and found that the road quickly turned to dirt and split off into one path that ended in a large clear area with a mobile home trailer and some parking spaces, and one path that wound around behind. She could see the red rise of the balloon descending about a football field’s length behind. She parked by the trailer, next to a huge pickup with a camper shell. A man in his mid-fifties, heavily built, wearing a Pie in the Sky baseball cap, came around from the side of the trailer to meet her.
“Morning, ma’am,” he said.
“I’m not a ma’am,” she snapped at him. “Were you flying that balloon? You scared the shit out of me.”
“No, Jaxon was in the balloon. She caught a bad wind, I think. I’m Benny, the helicopter pilot. You my 10 AM passenger? We can go out early if you like.”
“No, I’m Lena Bosko, from the Costard Agency. Nice to meet you, Benny.”
He declined the handshake. “My hands are dirty.”
“Give me a fist bump.”
“What’s that, now?”
Lena showed him. “That’s how we do it in Brooklyn, Benny.”
“Brooklyn, huh? I heard you guys have good pizza. I don’t like Chicago deep-dish anyway. Jaxon’ll be in soon as he secures the balloon. Just giving it a test fly. We have some people coming right before lunch. You should go up in her; it’s just amazing.”
Lena shook her head. “Nah. Heights and me — not friends. I’m sure it’s great, though. ‘Scuse me.” She went back to the Accent and took out her keys, which were still in the ignition. That close call had really rattled her — she’d left the car running as well. She also grabbed her briefcase, which contained a pad, pens, a highlighter, and a Galaxy Tab that she would use for taking notes. It was Harper’s old tablet, as witnessed by the pink case with the breast cancer loop on the front flap. Harper was a pretty damn good bestie, she had to admit; you couldn’t hold having a perfect ass against a girl if she was really nice. Lena owed her in a big way.
They stood awhile with Lena feeling awkward while Benny talked about headwinds, tailwinds, and autorotation, all of which turned the remnants of Lena’s spoonfuls of egg white and toast corners and eyeful of uneaten ham, and her two cups of black coffee with eight total sugars, into a double handful of queasiness and indigestion. As her chest began to heave with suppressed nausea, and she lowered her eyes so that Benny wouldn’t realize it, she was suddenly confronted with the tall, muscular frame and the lust-inducing chin dimple and dark eyes of Jaxon Wheeler.
“You okay?” he asked, touching her arm just below the wrist. “Lena? Come on in to my office.”
“You scared the… uh, the Jesus out of me with your balloon.”
“Sure, I’m sorry about that. I dropped it down some to get out of high winds and passed a little closer to the highway than usual. But I was still way above you. Please, come on in. I’ve been thinking all weekend about this meeting.”
“At least you didn’t call me ma’am,” Lena blurted.
“Why would I do that?”
“Benny did?” The pilot was in full retreat at this point. “Somewhere between tailbooms and pitch change horns and freaking autorotation.”
“Autorotation’s pretty scary,” said Jaxon. “Happens if you run out of fuel or your motor cuts out for some other reason. Anyway, sorry I scared you, come on in. Let’s talk.”
She finally followed him. His lips were tighter than Aunt Violka's on a rainy day, but as he steered her up a short flight of wooden steps into the trailer, she thought his gaze was lingering on her. Was that good or bad?
Be businesslike, Lena told herself.
The interior of the office was neat except for a clutter of papers on the desk, which he quickly gathered into a neat pile and slid into a drawer. She could guess the reason well enough — he wasn’t busy, had plenty of time to keep his office in order. He sat behind the desk, and she was about to sit in front, facing him, but there was a stool in the corner, next to the gray filing cabinet. She set it down beside him, turned to face him from close range. He turned, saw her there, gave a start, and looked at her with piercing intensity.
“I don’t like sitting across desks,” Lena said. “I’m working with you, not for you. We’re a team now. I’ll pitch strategies to you, but whatever they are, we have to do them together.” This was complete bullshit; she had never said anything of the kind to other clients, but her past clients had not been gorgeous men close to her in age. Lena wanted to sit as close to Jaxon Wheeler as she could. She hoped he didn’t realize how attracted she was to him; this was still supposed to be a business meeting.
“What exactly will we do together?”
“We’ll bring your marketing and advertising up to 2018 standards. We’ll get you better-crafted materials, better distribution. We’ll identify the categories of customers your services appeal to, suggest more ways to use your resources, you know, ways the customer base will like, and um, we'll figure out how to get visibility for what you have to offer. Also, and I’ll do this for you special extra because Harper is so totally awesome, I’ll set up your new computer for you.”
“I don’t have a new computer.” He pointed at a laptop across from him that had a large crack across the right-hand corner of the screen.
“You will before the weekend. You’re buying one right now. Fire up Amazon.”
“Can’t I just go to Walmart?"
“Open the site. I’ll help you buy a new laptop.”
“My budget…”
“Trust me, you need it.”
He looked bemused. “Lena, I don’t think you understand how behind I am. I don’t have any Internet service on this computer. I use it to keep some records and write letters. I don’t really use the Internet much.”
“But you have a Facebook page.”
“Yeah, Harper made it for me. I’ve got on there a few times. Between work and caring for Momma, you know, I'm just too busy for that stuff. But I get it, I do. I have to learn or I won’t have any work before long. So what do we do?”
“Hang on. My phone’s a Wi-Fi hub. Just turn your laptop on.”
It took about ten minutes of fumbling before his computer was online. She opened Amazon and made him register an account, picked out a new laptop for him and made him order it along with a portable Wi-Fi hub. Fortunately, he did have an email address, but it had a ridiculous name not suited for clients, so she created a new Gmail for him as well.
“Welcome to twenty-first century technology,” she told him, giving a pat on the shoulder that was meant to be ironic, but sent a thrill through her. He was warm, and his muscles were firm.
“I don’t see how this is all going to help,” he said stubbornly. “You’re persuasive, but I worry that I’ve just wasted all this money that I can’t really spare.”
“Hey,” Lena barked at him. “I’m from Brooklyn. We’re the original penny pinchers. This was the cheapest stuff that was good enough to use. I’ll come back when it’s delivered, maybe Wednesday, and show you how to use it. Then, Friday, we’ll have a pitch meeting.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s where I present the agency’s recommendations, which means I make it up and Laverne checks it and tells me I’m awesome and my ideas are perfect, and then I tell you and you say yes and I do it.”
Jaxon looked deep into Lena's eyes. “Oh. So that's how it works." She couldn’t tell if he was buying into it.
“That’s how it works when you’re with Lena Bosko, because I know my stuff. I mean it. Dead ass.”
Jaxon smiled, slightly, for a millisecond. “Okay, we’ll do all those things, but one thing has to be different.”
“You’re the client, so you can make changes, of course. Just so long as they make sense.”
“Does dinner Friday at Blue Door Smokehouse make sense as a change? I’d rather hear the pitch with food in my stomach. It’ll keep the butterflies under control.”
What butterflies? Lena thought. Could she be giving him butterflies? That would be too much to hope for, that this insanely handsome man would look at her like anyone other than his sister’s college friend. She had a brief fantasy about her tongue tracing that chin dimple, but shook it off. She figured out what he meant. “Nervous about change, huh?”
“I’m skeptical, yes. But Friday night is Harper’s night with Momma, so I usually go to Blue Door. If you don’t mind?”
Lena told herself, don’t say it’s a date. Don’t say it’s a date.
“It’s a date,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll call you when the computer arrives.”