The Fastest Way to Fall(83)

“Good morning,” Pearl said without looking up from her keyboard. The massive bouquet of tulips I’d had delivered filled the space with color. I’d tried to apologize in person, and she told me not to get all sappy on her, then muttered something under her breath about Cord minding his own damn business.

“It is good, isn’t it?” The memory of Britta’s soap-slicked body and her cries growing louder and more frantic as I took her against the wall made me want to give everyone a raise, pump my fists in the air, and run a victory lap around the city.

“You seem . . . happier,” Pearl commented, skeptically walking in to hand me a couple of files and a few messages. “They give you an extra scoop of wheatgrass in your protein drink this morning or something?”

“Just a beautiful morning.” I flipped through the messages, pausing on one with Mason underlined three times.

“He’s been lurking since seven. Said he’s been trying your cell and emailing.”

I’d turned my phone off on Saturday night, deciding to give up everything but Britta. I’d given myself permission to not worry about missing a call from Libby, or Mom’s rehab facility. “He’s never in early,” I noted, glancing at the other messages. “I need to talk to him anyway, though.”

“I am tired of seeing his twitchy little face, so please call him back.”

“Do you want me to fire him for you, Pearl? I’m having a great morning. That could only make it better.”

She nudged me toward my desk. “Don’t bother . . . unless he tries to date another one of my sisters.”

Cord popped his head into the office at that moment. “Morning,” he said with a smile that widened on Pearl.

She gave him a tight-lipped grin that might have lasted a little longer than normal, but then turned back to me. “You need anything else, Wes?”

“I’m good, thanks, Pearl.” She nodded and walked out with another short glance at Cord.

He followed her with his eyes, and I smiled to myself. No chill.

Cord dropped into the chair on the other side of my desk. “How was your weekend?”

“Pretty fucking awesome.” I needed to at least fill in Cord. “Gotta tell you something, though.”

Mason knocked and then stepped inside. “I called you ten times.” Even his impatient tone couldn’t dull my mood.

“My phone was off. What’s up?” I sat back in my chair, expecting Mason to take the seat next to Cord. Instead, he stalked back and forth in tight circles.

“Haven’t I asked you to help me help you? I’ve told you I can’t do my job if you keep me in the dark.” He was running his hands through his disheveled hair.

I exchanged a look with Cord, who shrugged. “What are you talking about? What’s to tell?”

“A reporter, Wes? You loosen up for fifteen damn minutes out of your whole uptight, rule-loving life and it’s to bang a reporter who holds the company’s reputation in her hands? That’s the last thing we need.”

Cord asked, “What the hell are you talking about?” at the same time I asked, “How did you know?”

Cord looked to me expectantly, and the two sets of judging eyes on me didn’t feel great.

I held up a palm. “It just happened, and I think ‘holds the company’s reputation in her hands’ is a bit much. You said it was a goodwill piece.”

Mason laughed, but it was mirthless. “I said the mentor program article was a goodwill piece. Try again.” He tossed his tablet and a few printouts on my desk, and Cord and I leaned in to read them. The header read Best Life, the site that had a reviewer using the app. I looked up from the tablet.

“Oh, shit,” Cord muttered, reading the printed pages.

“Read on,” Mason said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Body FTW filled the header, with links to the writers, the blog posts, the apps, and other social media. I scrolled down, and my hands stilled.

Two Best Life staff members are on healthy living journeys using two competing apps that offer coaching. Claire and Britta are getting real about bodies, fitness, wins, losses, and life.

I reread the lines a few times. When Britta said she worked for a magazine, I thought she’d known about this conflict for a couple weeks, not since February. I clicked the link to learn about the women. Britta’s smile. It was the same smile she’d given me that morning when I kissed her during a break in our run. The other photo was of a pretty woman with a slim build.

My stomach dropped. “She’s the reviewer for Best Life?”

Mason scrolled on his phone and held it out for me to see. It was someone’s selfie in the park, but in the background was us after we’d run that first time. We were hugging, but her face was visible, as was the FitMi logo on my shirt. The top comments under the photo were:


SuperClown: Isn’t that the chick from @BestLife in the background?


Amandamanda: It is! I love her. Is that her coach?


SuperClown: Looks like he loves her, too wink



“Yeah,” Mason said when I looked up, derision dripping from his voice. “Keep going.”


AnonymousE7: I checked out this app because of how passionately you wrote about the dedication of the coaches. I didn’t believe an app could connect you with someone as caring as you describe your coach. Now I know why. You should have told readers it’s because you’re sleeping with him. I’m disgusted with this site, you, and this app. I’m canceling my subscription to both and telling everyone I know to do the same.