It takes me less than five minutes after Austin leaves to freak the hell out… And I’m still freaking a whole twenty-four hours later, over wine and cake with Millie. “Why, oh why didn’t I set him straight right there?” I wail. I take a long glug of Sauvignon Blanc—a perfect pairing with lemon chiffon cake and supremely bad life choices. “It was like I was possessed. My mind was saying a polite no, but somehow my mouth opened, and I heard myself say…‘Okay.’”
Millie looks at me, wide-eyed in admiration. “I still can’t believe you took the job.”
“He was just so hot, Mil,” I whimper pathetically. Ugh, how could I resist Austin’s handsome, earnest face? “You haven’t seen him in person—it’s wild. And he’s so sweet. He was giving me a pep talk about how great I am, and how he wants to pay me a ton of money to head the team. Plus, his forearms have these lines of muscle that look like…”
“He could just lift you right up?”
“Yes,” I mutter dreamily. I’ve never been lifted by a man in my life, aside from a failed attempt to recreate Dirty Dancing in fifth grade that left me literally scarred when Patrick O’Hannigan changed his mind at the last minute and left me crashing into the monkey bars.
“But he’s not lifting you up,” Millie reminds me, clapping her hands together in delight. “Because now he’s your boss. I knew an opportunity would come along!”
Now it’s my turn to be wide-eyed. “But it didn’t come along—not to me.” I groan in regret. Thanks, universe: Dangling the perfect job in front of me, only to yank it away. “This is my dream job, but even if he claims to want me working for him, we’re just one Google search away from him realizing I’m not the Jennifer Walker he was looking for.”
“Counterpoint,” Millie says. “Austin said he didn’t care about your qualifications, or what was on your resume… right?”
“Right.” I sigh mournfully. “He just went on about what a great fit we are, now he’s seen me in action. It was like a fire hose of validation coming right at me! How was I supposed to resist that?”
“So don’t!” Millie urges. “Take the job. He wants the plan that you laid out for him. You are a marketing professional; you are Jennifer Walker.”
“I am also nothing like the woman he thinks he hired, and there’s no way anyone would ever mistake the two of us.” I remind her ruefully. “Do I look like I’m five-foot-five, with beach blonde waves and skin like a glassy lake?”
“Au contraire!” Millie beams, holding out her phone. “I think there’s no evidence that Other Jennifer even exists at all.”
“What are you talking about?”
I look in confusion at her screen.
It’s open to Other Jennifer’s Instagram page, which usually details her world travels. There are many pictures of her standing waist-deep in infinity pools, and I’ve never seen her pose in the same bikini twice.
But, today, there’s only one photo on her account. It’s a blue-gold sunset over serene water, and Jennifer isn’t even in the picture—that’s a first. I frown, confused. “She deleted her other photos?”
“She deleted all her social media,” Millie corrects me, grinning. “Read the caption.”
“Going off the grid and off the Insta grid. Cheers to chasing new adventures and my inner peace. Namaste.”
“Whoa,” I breathe, looking up. “Other Jennifer got off the Internet? But… She loves the Internet! The girl posted photos of her IV drip from the emergency room that time she got food poisoning at VibeFest. And the fact I know these totally insignificant details about a stranger’s life says an awful lot about my insignificant life,” I add.
“Focus!” Millie laughs. “Other Jennifer just did you a massive favor. Even if someone does check out your-slash-her social media, they won’t find anything.”
“Oh…” I breathe, catching on. And a traitorous spark of hope flares in my chest. “There’s nothing to say I’m not the one and only Jennifer Walker.”
“Marketing maven supreme,” Millie agrees.
I pause, biting my lip, my mind racing. “But I couldn’t… could I?”
“Why not?” Millie shrugs. “I mean, look at it this way: If you didn’t happen to know that Other Jennifer existed, would it even be a problem?”
I slowly shake my head. “The recruiter called me about the job,” I start slowly.
“Asking for Jennifer Walker, who works in marketing,” Millie agrees.
“Which I do.” I add. “Then I went to the interview, where I absolutely didn’t lie, or say anything about my experience that wasn’t true.”
“And you knocked the CEO’s socks off, so much that he basically begged you to take the job, which you know you can do.” Millie finishes. “Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”
Is it? Or am I trying to justify this teeny-tiny whopper of a white lie?
It seems perfectly reasonable when we lay it all out like this. Lord knows, I need a job soon. Since my shitty former boss has been telling everyone that I’m a disruptive troublemaker, I’ve barely gotten an interview all week. My savings won’t last long, and who knows when another opportunity like this might come along?
But deep down, I know, reason isn’t the voice whispering in my ear, urging me on, telling me to throw caution to the wind and embark on this wild, reckless escapade.
No, the truth is, I’ve had a taste of Other Jennifer’s fabulous life, being respected and pursued, and admired for the first time, well, ever.
And I want more.
“Okay,” I blurt, feeling excitement racing through my veins. “Maybe I could give it a week to prove I’ve got the chops for this job. Then, I’ll tell Austin that I’ve realized there was a mix-up and hope he understands?”
“Yes!” Millie cheers. “And by then, you’ll have wowed them even more, plus made him fall in love with you.”
“Easy there,” I laugh. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“But I thought that’s exactly what you want Austin to do,” Millie smirks, reminding me of those magnificent arms. “So you’re going to do it?” she asks.
And, God help me, I nod. “A week, to prove myself.” I decide. “Two, max.”
Millie lifts her wine glass, and we cheers to my temporary plan. What could go possibly wrong?
For my first day of work, I dig deep into my closet’s not-for-SNZ section. I select a sheath dress that still has tags on it. If I had worn it at my former workplace, a lawyer twice my age would have remarked, “Ooh, someone’s got a hot date later.” But today? I do have a date—with destiny. I’m wearing a new dress for a new day at Vital.
During my new commute, I get in the zone. I’m totally capable of this—I have to be. This is my serendipitous chance to steer my career back on-track. If I can dazzle Austin in a week or two, hopefully he’ll laugh off the mix-up and want me to stay. It’s like an audition, I decide. For the new, amazing chapter in my life.
At the spa, they’re peeling down the tarps in the lobby, revealing smooth concrete walls inside. A painting crew is on ladders, painting the side wall a chic shade of grey. Shelves are propped against another wall, waiting to their turn to be installed.
I’m still glancing around when the young woman from the Hamptons event appears. “Jennifer, hey!”
I think fast. “Paloma, right?”
“Yup,” she beams, dressed in casual linen pants and a T-shirt. “Let me just say, we are soooo happy to have you aboard. We were supposed to hire someone months ago, but, well, you know Austin.”
“Not yet, really,” I say, but she’s already leading me back upstairs, to the level I caught a glimpse of during my interview. There’s a snack bar groaning with healthy treats and smoothies. It turns out that one of the bright, breezy, glass-walled offices is mine. And not just any of them, but one of the nicest, with a seating area, view out over the city, and a trendy wall of grasses bringing a splash of green color inside.
“And this is you,” Paloma says brightly. “I’m right next door. I’ll be getting you settled in until you have a chance to hire an assistant. I put everything in a packet for you. And there’s a serious discount for the treatments downstairs, should you need some rejuvenation. In fact, we’re encouraged to try them right now, all costs covered before opening. You know, as a training for the therapists.”
“Are you kidding me?” I blurt out—and immediately feel embarrassed for the outburst.
But Paloma grins, “I know, right?”
I collect myself and try to look managerial. “Thanks for orientation,” I say. “I look forward to getting to know each other.”
Once she’s gone, I spin around, taking it all in. This is so much nicer than my office at SNZ, there’s no comparison. And as I flip through the welcome packet, my eyes get wider. Complimentary meals at the soon-to-be-opened restaurant, credit for wellness and mental health treatments, personal ‘chill’ days… And all this is in addition to Austin’s very generous benefits package.
It’s like I’ve died and gone to Dream Job heaven.
I take a quick, 360-video for Millie and send it with nothing but exclamation points.
Then I sink into a comfortable, surprisingly chic desk chair to find there’s a notecard on my desk beside the vase of fresh-cut sunflowers.
Jenn,
Welcome to Vital. Thrilled to have you on-board. I’ve got meetings this morning—none as fun as the massage or helicopter ride, sadly—but will check later. Have a great first day.
Austin
It’s a thoughtful touch. I read it again, taking in his pleasantly dramatic handwriting, with its sharp, decisive lines. I wonder what it says about him…
Then I put the idle fantasies aside and get to work.
Time to prove I can do this job better than Other Jennifer—or anyone else.
The day flies by, as I meet the rest of the team, and get stuck into a thorough overview of the spa’s existing marketing materials and plans. From what I saw of the pop-up, I figured they would be all over the place, and sure enough, the materials Paloma sends over are like a brainstorming session on acid. Sure, there are nuggets of great ideas in here, but clearly, there’s been nobody calling the shots or reeling in Austin’s wilder flights of fancy.
A branded blimp dropping spa vouchers over Central Park? Sure, if he wants to leave his money drifting on the wind.
I dive in, warming to the challenge, and I’m so deep in work, I don’t even notice the sun dipping in the sky, until a voice from my doorway interrupts me.
“There she is,” Austin says, leaning against the frame. “Vital looks good on you.”
“Hi,” I say, flustered. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a Mets T-shirt, with a pizza box balanced in one hand. I swallow hard, overcome by the full sensory experience.
That man’s face and the scent of warm bread and melted mozzarella? It’s enough to make a girl’s mouth water.
“How were your meetings?” I ask, setting my laptop aside.
He shrugs. “Long. Complicated.” He holds up the box. “I thought I’d treat my new hire to a fancy business dinner.”
I smile. “Rossi’s,” I note approvingly. “My favorite slice in the city.”
“See, I knew you had taste.”
Austin takes a seat on the couch, and I join him, curling up in one of the chic stuffed armchairs. I reach for a slice, feeling weirdly self-conscious hanging out with him again. And not just because of the whole Other Jennifer Walker thing.
Nope. The butterflies in my stomach now are 100% Austin Banks.
“So,” he asks, “How are you settling in?”
I chew rapidly. “Great. There’s a lot to be working with.”
“I can see that.” He nods to the stacks of papers and notes I have spread in a neat formation. “I’m not expecting miracles, by the way. You’re allowed some time to get a feel for the place.”
“I wanted to hit the ground running,” I reply. “After all, launch is coming up soon.”
“Don’t remind me.” Austin winces. Then he reaches for one of the folders, a grin spreading across his face. “Does this label say recon? As in reconnaissance?”
I grin. “Your idea. You’re researching rival spas, so I thought I’d do my due diligence on how they’re marketing, too.”
Austin pushes the pizza box toward me, and I take another slice. Part of me doesn’t want to scarf down something as messy as pizza in front of this god of a man, but the “wants pizza” part of me is the larger slice of the—well—pie chart.
Austin leans back in the chair, studying me. “So, marketing… Tell me about that.”
“Not much to tell,” I shrug. “I kind of fell into it, to be honest. I was just looking for a job to pay my student loans out of college, but… I like it. It’s about communication, you know?”
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever had to market?” Austin asks, with a sly smile.
“A corporate law firm,” I answer, easily. “I’d tell you more, but then you’d nod off—face forward, right into the pizza sauce.”
He laughs. “That boring, eh?”
“Melatonin gummies had nothing on them,” I say, feeling a flicker of guilt. I need a topic change, ASAP. “So, was this always the plan? World spa domination?”
Austin chuckles. “No. Not at all. For a long time, baseball was everything. People were always telling me, the game doesn’t last forever. You’ve got an expiration date, you know? But I didn’t listen. Then I injured my shoulder, and…” he pauses. “Well, it was a big wakeup call. I spent a lot of time in rehab, and I realized, it wasn’t just about physical therapy. The treatments, the ritual, it all helped me heal. So, when I decided to retire, I decided to offer that to other people.”
“Were you a pitcher?” I ask, teasing. “Because that’s a hell of a pitch for Vital.”
He laughs.
“I mean it, it’s a great angle.” I grab my notepad. “We should use that in some of the materials.”
“My injury?” Austin scrunches his eyebrows down. “Really? I don’t know that it’s newsworthy.”
“It is,” I insist. “The spa is a promising business, but you’re the brand. Your experience as an athlete, your profile… The more people connect with you as a person, the more they’ll trust you, and want to see what you’re providing here.”
“I guess…” Austin glances away, looking reluctant. Then he changes the subject. “Whereabouts are you from?”
“Long Island.” I reply, still scribbling some notes.
“Are your folks there still?”
I nod. “What about you?” I ask, curious to learn more about my boss—and the man who has unwittingly turned my life upside down in a single week. The press articles I saw online were short on biographical details, and long on the way he looked in his tight baseball pants.
His tight, tight pants.
“My sister and nephew live nearby,” Austin says, with an affectionate smile. “They’re the greatest. I can’t imagine ever living more than a few trains from them.”
“Is your sister older or younger?” I ask. “You can tell a lot about a man by his sisters,” I add, and he chuckles.
“Older. And never lets me forget it,” he says. “She doesn’t give a shit about the surface stuff going on, she’ll aways give it to me straight. She’s basically my hero—don’t tell her I said that, if you ever meet her around the office.”
I smile.
“Surface stuff,” I repeat. “What does that mean?”
Austin thinks about this, pausing for more pizza. “Even when we were kids, she never paid attention to whether my team won or lost. She noticed if I tried a skill I’d been working hard on, if I supported my teammates, if I kept a clear head if another player was antagonizing me—that kind of thing. Without my family, I think I could have gotten a big head about baseball. My hometown is obsessed—the way Texas is about high school football? We’re that way about baseball.”
“So you must be a serious hometown hero.”
“I am,” he confirms—honest, but still modest. “But luckily, I was born into the only family on the block who didn’t follow sports.”
“Oh?” I finish my bite, trying to chew daintily. “Were your parents against you playing ball professionally?”
“Not against it.” he says. “But they worried about my future. They wanted me to have a traditional career or a trade to fall back on.”
“They must be thrilled about this,” I say, gesturing around to my beautiful new office, in a fancy new building. “You not only did the baseball thing, but now you’re launching a whole new business, too.”
“I guess,” Austin looks pleased. “I just want to prove I can do more than swing a bat, you know?”
Maybe it’s because this whole double-entendre thing is our in-joke now, but I’m proud to say, I barely choke on my pizza at the phrase.
Or the image it brings to mind…
Down girl.
Of course, then I ruin my nonchalance by dropping a glop of pizza sauce down my front. I mutter a curse, and reach for a napkin without realizing he’s making the same motion. Our fingers brush for a split-second, and we both startle back like we’ve been burned.
Our eyes lock. Man, does this guy have gorgeous eyes…
I tear my gaze away. There I was, doing such a good job of pretending like Austin Banks is just a normal, regular boss for ten whole minutes.
But nope. Still the most captivating man I’ve ever met.
“Well, I should get going,” I blurt out, suddenly panicked that he can read my attraction all over my face. “I’m… Dog-sitting. For a neighbor.”
“Oh, sure.” Austin stands. “That’s nice of you. What kind of dog?”
God—what kind of dog? I don’t know dog breeds because I don’t actually dogsit. I do babysit sometimes, for Isla. “Tiny one. Sleeps a lot, though, so… She’s easy as long as she’s fed.”
“Fun,” Austin says. “Well, see you tomorrow.”
Somehow, I manage to remember my manners. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Anytime,” He laughs as he grabs the pizza box, starting out the door. “You’re welcome for this beautiful gourmet meal.”
“I liked it.” My voice is too soft, too sincere, but Austin thankfully is already out the door.
I slump back, exhaling shakily.
I cannot be making eyes at the boss of a job that is barely mine, I scold myself sternly.
As if my life wasn’t already complicated enough.