I stare in disbelief—and confusion. This is New York, the city of 9 million people. And this guy shows up… again?
“It’s me, Austin, from Mavericks?” he clarifies, shaking my hand. Then he makes a fist, pantomiming a gentle punch in the air, like he has to remind me.
“Of course!” I blurt. “From the bar! I couldn’t forget that.” I gulp, my mind racing.
And as for my pulse…
“You’re Jennifer Walker, my new marketing maven?” he asks again to confirm it. “Oh, man. This is fantastic,” his face spreads into a delighted smile. “Lisa, well done. Jenn here is a find. Tough. Capable. A real knockout.”
He gives me a wink.
Lisa beams like she made a scientific discovery. “You should have mentioned you already know the CEO,” she says to me.
I manage a vague noise, still trying to process it. This dream job on the table?
Hot, chivalrous Austin would be my boss.
I mean, Other Jennifer’s boss.
I stifle a groan. This is a mess! I feel like I could liquify from embarrassment. At least that way, I could slither out the door in puddle form instead of trying to explain that I’m not, in fact, the glamorous globe-trotting marketing maven they think I am.
“Forgive me interrupting your interview,” Austin cuts in. “I’m running out the door for something, but I wanted to say ‘hello’ before I leave.”
Whew. It’s all I can do not to exhale in a whoosh of obvious relief. Now I only have to explain the mix-up to one of them—and Lisa’s not the one with the piercing eyes. “Of course,” I say quickly. “We won’t keep you!”
“Although…” Austin pauses. “Why don’t you come along?”
I blink. “Me?”
“Sure,” he grins. “Lisa was just going to do the screening interview, to make sure you were the right fit before we met. But there’s no need for that now, is there? Come on, we can talk in the car. It’ll give me more time to convince you to come work with me,” he adds with an irresistible grin.
Like this man has had to convince any woman of anything since the day he was born.
“I… I…” I stammer, trying to come up with an excuse. I… Have to dog-sit? It doesn’t really work here.
But Lisa is clasping her hands together like it’s a done deal. “This seems like a wonderful fit. Have fun.”
She’s gone just as quickly, and then it’s just Austin left—and his welcoming smile.
Directed at me.
Because this handsome, funny, thoughtful man thinks that I’m the answer to all his prayers.
I gulp. Everything has changed so much in the past five minutes that I feel disoriented. I was eating miserable breakfast cake in my apartment less than two hours ago and now I’m in a half-finished spa with a whole-ass man.
Austin holds one hand out, an “after you, my lady” gesture toward the exit. He gives me a soft smile. “I’ve got to say, I’m glad you dropped that client, the one who was such a creep. But I’m extra thrilled that it brought you to my doorstep.”
Welp. How can I argue with that?
I follow him out, keeping pace with his long-legged strides. Maybe it won’t hurt to talk to the guy, I decide. See if there’s any hope in hell of me being qualified for this job. Because looking around, I can tell, it would be an amazing place to work—light years away from Snooze and their decades-old media templates.
Who knows? If there’s even a chance I could straighten out this whole ‘Jennifer Walker’ mess and land a great job at the same time, then it really would turn everything around.
And, you know, I wouldn’t have to have a heart attack of looming dread every time I look at my bank account.
“So,” I venture brightly, wanting to get this bizarre interview back on track. “Tell me about this place. I thought you were in the nightlife business.”
Austin smiles, holding the door for me. “I am, with my friends. But this venture is all my own. A new kind of spa experience, aimed at busy professional men. Hi-tech, cutting-edge treatments, physical therapy, luxury all the way.”
“Because fancy lavender soaks and complimentary cucumber water isn’t manly enough,” I quip, and he chuckles.
“Exactly. The concept is inspired by all the treatments athletes receive, both preventative and restorative. Ice baths or cryotherapy, massage guns, electric stimulation, all kinds of stuff.”
“Oh, right,” I remember. “Lisa mentioned you were a professional athlete.”
“I was, yes. MLB.” He smiles over hesitantly at my blank smile, then tags on the clarification. “Major League Baseball.”
“Cool,” I say, brightly. There’s really no other way I could follow up. Here’s what I know about baseball: hot dogs, Cracker Jacks, and the national anthem. Tight pants. So, yes, I will be googling Austin later. Already wincing, I say, “I’m afraid I don’t know much about baseball.”
He doesn’t look offended at all. In fact, he’s looking over with interest. We’re outside now, squinting in the morning light. “You don’t know who I am?” he asks.
“You’re Austin,” I say, with an apologetic shrug. “My backup in a bad bar situation. Jacket saver. Bar investor. Spa owner.”
“All true,” he admits. Then, he adds, “And someone you’ve agreed to work for…?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Nice try.”
“OK, OK.” Austin holds his hands up, flashing another grin. “You still need convincing. Let’s see if my next meeting won’t help.”
To my surprise, we only walk a couple of blocks before we reach our destination: Another chic spa-looking place, although this one doesn’t have the amazing light or sleek design, I note, as I follow him through the doors. I figure Austin is here to consult with another founder, or discuss partnerships, but instead, he leans in close to me. “If it comes up, pretend you’re my girlfriend.”
“What?” I blurt.
“Reconnaissance,” he explains, with a covert glance around. “I want to know more about the competition, so we’re undercover. OK to play along?”
He waits for my reply. I blink. “Ummm, sure?”
Why not? It’s not as if my day could get any weirder. Play girlfriend to the hot stranger who thinks I’m somebody else entirely? Bring it on!
The lobby smells like a Tahitian getaway—how I imagine it anyway. A small fountain gives off the soothing sound of trickling water, and from a quiet speaker system, that gentle music they play in yoga classes. Austin heads for the main desk.
“Hello,” says the clerk, with a quiet, soothing voice. “And welcome to your escape at Eucalyptus.”
“Glad to be here,” Austin says. “We’re ready for our treatments, isn’t that right sweetheart?” he gives me a conspiratorial smile, and dammit, just hearing him say ‘sweetheart’ melts something inside me.
“That’s right, honey-bun,” I manage to reply. Austin’s lips quirk in a smile.
“Wonderful. Who will be doing our Balinese experience?”
“She will,” Austin says. Meaning me. “You love to relax, don’t you, pumpkin?”
Pumpkin? Now I’m the one trying to keep a straight face.
“That means you’re set for our restorative therapy,” the reception guy says, handing Austin locker keys for the both of us.
“Great!” I exclaim, taking my key. “But be gentle. He may look tough, but he’s marshmallow really, aren’t you, muffin?”
Austin and I are both trying to keep from laughing, all the way to the locker rooms. But the minute the reception guy leaves us, I have to chuckle out loud. “Laying it on kind of thick, weren’t you?” I tease. “Clearly, you missed your calling as an actor.”
“Watch the video of my fourth-grade performance in Fiddler on the Roof, and you’ll be singing a different tune.” Austin shoots back. “Anyway, go enjoy your treatment. I’ll see you after. And take notes!”
There’s really nothing for it but to follow his orders—all the way to the luxury massage table.
“Let me know if the pressure is OK,” my therapist murmurs, pouring delicious scented oil on my back, and then setting to work swiftly kneading all my many, many stress-induced knots out of my muscles.
Ahhhh…
I sink into the table in bliss. Is this really what Other Jennifer Walker’s life is like? Getting whisked off for luxury spa treatments by hot men just begging her to come work for their swanky company?
I knew our lives were light-years apart, but this is a whole other galaxy. My last interview involved me walking into a room of blank stares in a crummy office building in midtown, and then politely explaining I had not, in fact, come to take their lunch orders. But this?
This is heaven.
A temporary heaven, I remind myself, through the haze of aromatherapy oils. Because as much as I wish I could seamlessly step into Other Jennifer’s stylish three-inch heels, I doubt I’m qualified to head up the entire marketing team for a hot new company, just a few weeks out from launch.
But how do I gracefully tell Austin that humiliating fact?
I can’t.
By the time my massage—and soothing scalp massage—is finished, I’ve decided to take the coward’s way out, and not explain the whole embarrassing mix-up at all. There’s really no need. I’ll just go along with the rest of this unconventional interview, and if Austin doesn’t realize I’m woefully ill-equipped for the job himself, I’ll simply let the recruiter know it wasn’t the right fit and turn his offer down.
Simple.
So, after a quick shower, I dress, and meet Austin back in the lobby—still feeling blissed out from my treatment.
“Well?” he asks, greeting me, and I have to stifle another blissful sigh. His low voice is honestly like a spa treatment all on its own. Just put me in a sensory deprivation tank, except for him saying my name. I blush at the thought, jolting back into reality.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “Jenn’s not available right now. She’s floating on a cloud.”
“Glad to hear it,” he laughs. We head toward the exit and, once out the door, Austin continues. “Okay. Tell me your thoughts. What parts did you love? Anything missing?”
I try my best to be useful, since I’m taking up his time here. “Well…” I think hard, to anything I noticed besides the utter relaxation. “I saw a woman in the locker room taking a picture of the robe. If you haven’t already finalized your orders, I’d make sure the Vital robe is distinctive or has your logo on it. Same with the spa sandals, those kinds of pictures are all over social media. That way, when someone posts a photo, they’re doing the promotional work for you.”
Austin smiles at me like I’m a genius, instead of someone who just made a basic recommendation. “Let me take you to lunch,” he says.
I really shouldn’t. The words are in my mouth—I swear they are. But instead, I blurt out, “Sure. Lunch.”
His car takes us to a nondescript building, where we ride the elevator to the top floor. In close proximity, I can smell the massage oils on him—something woodsier than my own lavender. My pulse kicks. The elevator is dark and private, and it’s impossible not to think about how little space we’d have to cross to touch.
To kiss…
What is it about this man’s mouth? I wonder, trying my best not to stare. I’ve never noticed another man’s lips, but somehow, I can’t look away from his smooth, full pout—
“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Austin asks.
“Why?” I ask.
“Well…” The elevator doors open, onto the rooftop level. But instead of a fancy lunch spot terrace like I’m expecting…
There’s a helicopter waiting.
I blink. We’re on a roof with a helicopter pad. It’s just sitting there, framed by the skyscrapers, as if this is totally normal, and not serious Thomas Crown Affair shenanigans.
“Didn’t I mention? Lunch is in the Hamptons,” Austin clarifies, obviously delighted to have shocked me.
“Must have slipped your mind,” I reply faintly.
He grins. “Have you ever been in a chopper?”
“This may surprise you,” I say, wryly, “but no.”
He smirks, like a little kid. “You up for it?”
This day is just getting crazier, but there’s no way in hell I’m saying ‘no’. Tomorrow I’ll go back to sensible job-searching and meal-prepping, but today?
I’m going to live like Other Jennifer Walker. And enjoy every minute of it.
“Absolutely!” I grin.
We strap in, and the helicopter speeds over the city, as I crane my neck in every direction. There’s no way I’m playing it cool for this, and soon, Austin is pointing out landmarks as we leave the city and head for the Hamptons.
“So, this is your life, huh?” I ask Austin over the headset. “Helicopters to the Hamptons?”
“Generally, no,” Austin says.
I arch an eyebrow. “Usually private jets to dinner?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Things are just on overdrive at the moment. This event in the Hamptons is a pop-up for the spa; there will be media, locals, influencers… We’re trying to build some buzz for the launch. I want you to see for yourself what the team’s working on.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” I nod. “Events like that can generate a ton of free exposure.”
“And we’ll need all the press we can get.” Austin nods. “The recruiter tells me this is your strength—spearheading big splashy initiatives. I stay off social media, so that’s exactly what I need.”
Luckily, we land before I have to explain that the splashiest initiative I spearheaded at SNZ was switching from black-and-white photos in the company brochure to full color. Austin climbs out first and offers me his hand. Good thing—I’m a little dazed.
“That was incredible!” It feels like I’m shouting. “Am I talking too loud?”
“No,” Austin yells back. “Am I?”
We both laugh.
We’re on a stretch of beachfront, near shops and houses. There are a few white tents in the distance, with a crowd gathered around, and the sound of bad hip-hop music playing.
It’s a beautiful day, but as we draw closer, I realize that the vibe here today is not sunny or breezy. There’s nobody snapping photos in front of the Instagram-friendly wall of florals, the stage is empty, and all the people milling around seem restless and annoyed—except the pimply faced dude in a backwards baseball cap, enthusiastically DJ-ing from his iPhone.
This is… Not what I expected.
“Austin!” A young woman intercepts us, looking panicked. She’s dressed in what seems to be the spa staff uniform of cool neutral shades and is clutching a tablet screen like a life raft. “Thank God. We’ve been trying to reach you. The DJ’s stuck in traffic, the food’s still not ready, and people are already leaving!”
“What’s the hold up?” Austin frowns. “They were supposed to start serving an hour ago.”
The girl pauses.
“I… don’t know.”
Her eyes dart around, like there’s something she’s not saying.
Austin huffs a sigh, looking irritated. “Fine. I’ll handle it.”
Without another word, he makes his way to the stage area and gets the amateur DJ to cut the music. “Good afternoon and thank you for being here!” He calls, drawing attention. He flashes an MVP smile, like nothing’s wrong at all. “I’m Austin Banks, CEO of Vital. How’s everyone feeling?”
The group shifts restlessly, with a few grumbles. I do not envy Austin in this moment, up against a cranky crowd.
“Bodies tense?” he suggests, taking the mic off the stand. “Bad-mood cloud hovering over your heads? It sounds like you’re in need of some next-gen therapies, courtesy of our amazing therapists.”
Still, crickets.
I wince on his behalf, but Austin seems totally at ease, clocking the mood. “Now, Camille,” he says, pointing to a reporter in the front row. “I read your column on essential oils. Care to have our on-staff aromatherapist give you a showcase?”
She tries to fight the smile but can’t help it. “Well… For the story… Sure.”
“And how about we put those phones down for five whole minutes?” Austin suggests, nodding toward a group of influencers. “Group meditation with our Zen masters? Head that way. Please, try our five-minute massage for clarity! And our clean, delicious snacks will be ready in moments—thank you.”
Austin sets the mic down to applause and moves into the crowd, greeting everyone by name and shaking hands, like he’s delighted to meet each and every one of them. Soon, there are smiles, even laughter, as everyone thaws under the warmth of his charm.
Damn, that’s some charisma.
Crisis temporarily averted, I turn towards the spa employees clustered nearby, talking in stressed whispers.
“You tell him!”
“I can’t! You know what he’s like.”
I ease closer, curious. “Everything OK?” I ask. They fall silent. “I’m here to help,” I add. “For today, at least. Austin brought me in.”
They exchange quick glances. The guy speaks up, diplomatically, “The boss is, uh… Very detail-oriented.”
“He’s micromanaging everything,” the other girl blurts out. “He wants to have approval on every tiny detail, and it slows down the whole process—we can’t get anything done, and then it’s a last-minute dash! He didn’t approve the DJ until this morning, so they didn’t have time to beat the traffic, and we didn’t have a back-up. Except the intern.”
“Oh,” I reply, surprised. Austin has seemed like the picture of ease all day. “Good to know.”
They introduce themselves as Austin’s assistant, and one of the marketing team. “Please don’t tell Austin we told you this,” The marketing girl, Paloma, blurts. “He’s the greatest boss in so many ways. But he insisted on approval of every ingredient, and the chef was insulted because he sources local ingredients and availability changes daily, and so I had to do so much damage control and—”
“Paloma,” I say, calmly. “Relax. It’s OK.”
“I’m normally a very composed person,” Paloma blubbers.
“She is,” Asher agrees, loyally.
Paloma sniffs, tearful. “This morning was just chaos.”
“But it’s fine now,” I reassure her, gesturing around. Sure enough, the caterers are finally circulating trays, somebody with taste is manning the music, and everyone is enjoying the treatments as God and Austin intended. “Why don’t you go join the meditation group,” I suggest, as Paloma keeps sniffling. “Get some clarity. Breathe!”
I shoo them off to calm down, and then drift through the event, sampling the stalls and the delicious food, and chatting to some of the other employees. Now it’s all going to plan, I can see that the pop-up was a great idea. But as for those plans…
Austin finds me after an hour or so, as I’m polishing off a sample coconut smoothie—apparently healthy, but tastes like a desert-island dessert.
“So, how about it?” Austin asks, gesturing around. “You’ve gotten a glimpse of the wild ride that is the luxury spa business. And how desperately I need a genius marketing head to keep things running smoothly,” he adds, rueful. “So, will you take the job?”
I want to scream Yes! But I like Austin, and I want him to succeed. And if I can’t confess the truth about my name mix-up, then at least I can do is be honest about his marketing needs.
“Can I be honest with you?” I ask.
He winces. “Why does no good conversation come after that?”
I smile. “Look, this event turned out great, and you have a fine product in the spa. I’m sure people will respond to it.”
“So why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” Austin asks, running one hand over the crown of his buzz-cut.
“Maybe because there is one.” I say gently. “The truth is that you got lucky today. Social media gimmicks are all well and good, but only if you have the foundation and team to back them up. And you don’t, at least, not yet.” I hold up a flyer as evidence. “There’s nothing on here about the launch date, or a website to find out more. You’ve got top influencers posting hashtags, but half the people here couldn’t tell you where the spa is based or what the membership benefits are. I know it’s not glamorous,” I add, “But you need bread and butter basics before you slather jam on top. Or some other food metaphor,” I add with a smile. “Did I mention these smoothies are delicious?”
Austin smiles at my lame joke, but he looks thoughtful. “And you can do that?” he asks. “Bread and butter basics, to get us on a solid footing for launch?”
I pause. The irony is, I can. Basics are my strong point. But Austin doesn’t want me. He still thinks I’m Other Jennifer Walker, and as much as it’s been fun to get a taste of her life, it’s time for me to get back to my un-luxurious, unglamorous reality—without massages, helicopter rides, and handsome men looking at me like I’m the answer to all their problems.
“I’ll think about it.” I tell him, hating myself for the lie. Am I a coward? Maybe, but I’d rather simply fade out from Austin’s fast-paced world than have to explain myself. “But either way, I know, this is going to be a huge success,” I tell him. “You’ll do great.”
And I’ll find another job, better suited to my SNZ-worthy skills.
I only wish it didn’t sting quite so much, seeing how the other half lives.