Who's Calling The Shots?. Jennifer Rae

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СКАЧАТЬ burn of tears in the backs of her eyes. Mitch. Even the sound of his name felt like sandpaper rubbing on foam.

      ‘I’m over him, Maddy.’ She heard her voice go quiet. She wished it hadn’t. She didn’t want her sisters to worry about her. She was over Mitch. Of course she was. Why wouldn’t she be? Like Maddy said—it had been twelve months.

      Something caught in Brooke’s throat. Twelve months since she’d decided not to put up with another one of his lies. Twelve months of thinking about all the things she’d say to him if she ever saw him. Something hurt in Brooke’s chest. She wasn’t in love with Mitch any more, but the anger about what he’d done was still there. She’d tried everything—yoga, meditation, drinking some disgusting concoction Melody called ‘calm juice’—but the feeling was still there. A hard ball of anger she couldn’t seem to shake.

      ‘It’s clear you’re not, Brooke. You don’t go out; you don’t want to meet anyone new. You just sit at home listening to sad music or working out like a demon. Honestly, babe, we’re worried about you. You need this. More than me. More than the brand. You need to do something to break you out of this rut.’

      Brooke breathed out heavily. She was in a rut. It was true. But she was happy in her rut. Happy to push herself to her limits at the family-owned gym and happy to work herself ragged as marketing manager for her family’s company.

      She excelled at her job. It was the only time she’d ever been close to competing with her sisters. Micky, the second oldest, was the country’s leading female equestrian at only twenty, Melody was in line to join their sister Melissa at the next Commonwealth Games, while Maddy, the most successful of all, was a former gold medallist.

      Brooke had just achieved her personal best number of pull-ups in a row at the gym. Five. Pathetic. At only four foot nine, and barely fifty-two kilograms, Brooke was smaller, weaker and so much less remarkable than her sisters. But she was very good at data and statistics and predicting trends.

      Since leaving school six years ago she’d managed to help Maddy take their company from a fledgling gym and activewear business to an award-winning national brand, with seventeen retail stores across the country and a dozen new lines ranging from home workout gear to protein powders. But times were tough. Money was tight. And to move to the next level—which they’d all decided it was time for—they needed to up their game.

      Publicity. Recognition. That was what they needed. Brooke knew it. But they’d planned for Maddy to get on to this stupid TV programme—Brooke had gone there for moral support and some sort of pathetic back-up on the off-chance Maddy didn’t get it. Brooke hadn’t doubted for a second that Maddy would get in. Maddy always won everything... Except this time.

      And now, in some cruel, unexpected twist of fate, Brooke was expected to expose herself on a reality show based on the ridiculous premise that there was a Perfect Match out there for everyone. But Brooke knew what she had to do. She had no choice. This was her family’s future and it was in her hands. Every team she’d ever been on had dumped her, due to her pathetic athletic ability, but her sisters never had. They’d always been there for her. From that first day.

      ‘OK, I’ll do it.’

      Maddy came around the desk to throw herself at Brooke, but Brooke held her back with an arm.

      ‘I’m going to hate every second, I’m going to regret this with every atom in my tiny body, but I’ll do it. For you. And Micky and M’Liss and Melody.’

      Maddy smiled her brilliant white smile and pulled her in for a giant hug. ‘You might be surprised, little sister—you might end up loving every minute.’

      Brooke pulled her face into a massive frown as she was squashed into Maddy’s chest, knowing deep, deep down that there was no way in hell she was going to enjoy any minute of this humiliating and utterly absurd experience.

       TWO

      Jack schooled his features into something more gentlemanly. His father’s face beamed at him from the big screen TV.

      ‘He’s a quality unit, Jack. He can make a hit out of anything. I want you to do anything you can to help him out.’

      The hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stood erect. It was happening again. Just like last time. Just like every damn time. And, just like last time, he wanted to hit someone. Preferably his father. But since his father was on the screen, not there in person, he’d do more damage to himself and probably have to fork out for a new TV. Not smart.

      ‘I’ve got it sorted, Max. I don’t need any help.’ He kept his tone low and calm.

      ‘Now, don’t go getting your knickers in a knot, Jacko. Rob Gunn is not there to take over. He’s a hit-maker—you should be relieved he’s coming on board.’

      His father never kept his voice low and calm. When Jack was younger, he’d thought of his father as some kind of god-like Santa Claus. He was big and loud and jolly, and he would fly back home laden with gifts for his only child. He hadn’t seen him often, so when he had Jack would hang on every word and lap up any attention he could get. But Jack wasn’t a child any more, and he could see his father for what he was. And he no longer believed in Santa Claus.

      ‘Mick and I have this under control. Anyone else joining would just make it messy...’

      Jack’s father held up a big, beefy sun-reddened hand. ‘Like you and Mick had it “under control” last time? We can’t afford another stuff-up like that, Jack. I’ve told you—’

      Jack knew his father hated being interrupted. It was one of the few things they had in common. Which was why Jack did it. That, and the fact that his father was moving into uncomfortable territory.

      ‘Max, I told you it’s under control. I don’t need your hotshot. What happened last time won’t happen again. Trust me.’

      Jack watched as his father’s face turned redder, which made his grey hair burn even brighter. Not for the first time during this conversation Jack noticed how old his father was looking. His normally round cheeks were drooping, his fleshy nose was covered in purple veins and his hair looked even thinner and greyer than normal. Jack felt an unusual flash of sympathy for the man. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since he’d grown up and realised that this loud, full-of-life man was an overbearing bully. Jack shook it off. If his father had taught him anything it was to eradicate any emotions when you were talking business.

      ‘You listen to me, boy. I’ve lined this bloke up to help you. It’s all about you. Like everything I do—trying to keep your head above water. Trying to keep you afloat. Do you have any idea how much your last little mistake cost our company?’

      Jack knew exactly how much it had cost. He’d been at every meeting. He’d gone through every figure with the accountants and he’d earned back every penny. But there was no use telling his father that. From the look on his face Jack knew the steam train had already left the station. The old man was about to blow and Jack was going to cop it—big-time.

      ‘I started from nothing to build this company, boy. Nothing. You have no idea of the things I did to make this company what it is today. And I did it for you. So you would be left with something rather than nothing—like I was.’

      Jack leaned back in his chair. He was going to be there a long time. He’d heard this СКАЧАТЬ