Or maybe it was just me she wasn’t good with.God knows, she could communicate better. If I just knew what I’d done this time—
“Mr. Winston,” she said, cutting me off mid-thought. “This is Parker Holmes. Parker, Gary Winston.”
I shook hands with him before she introduced me to another man and then a woman, all of whom were here to represent their company. We exchanged pleasantries briefly, and I turned on the charm after reminding myself that this was not the time to be thinking about my troubles with the consultant who’d brought them in.
As we led them inside, I was focused on the pitch and only the pitch. At first, it went off without a hitch. I showed them the booths where people could sign up before they went in, the coffee shop and café that were situated outside of the turnstiles that one needed either a membership card or a personal code to get past, and finally, the children’s play area which was behind the turnstiles but was also protected by a state-of-the-art, biometric security system.
It had cost a bundle to put in, but it had paid for itself already since parents were willing to be charged a premium to know their kiddies were safe, happy, and well looked after while they worked out for as long as they wanted.
Gary and the others nodded, sometimes exchanging glances and snapping pictures on the tablets they carried with them. He didn’t take many notes, but the other two did.
It was as I started showing them around the actual gym that things started taking a turn for the worse. Isabella was right at my shoulder, practically breathing down my neck and watching me like a hawk.
Although she stayed just slightly behind me, it was like I could feel her wincing whenever I veered away from her pitch even momentarily—and despite the fact that she’d told me to do it when necessary.
The more she reacted, even quietly, the more she knocked me off track. And the more she knocked me off track, the more difficult it became to keep getting back to what I was saying at the same time as being charming and trying to answer their questions.
My good mood evaporated quickly, and before I knew it, I dropped the charm and simply started going through the motions. She had to make up her fucking mind. Either she wanted me to stick to the pitch, or she wanted me to adapt and be fluid enough to keep them engaged.
When she cleared her throat for what had to be at least the tenth time, pointedly glancing at an activity I hadn’t even gotten to yet when I turned to look at her, I snapped.Fuck it. I can’t work like this. It’s ridiculous.