“You did something no one else has ever done, and I was impressed with your ingenuity.”
Sharleen thought for a moment, tried to figure out what her boss was referring to, but came up empty. “What did I do?”
“You orchestrated the perfect publicity stunt, and now my phone is ringing off the hook!”
It wasn’t a publicity stunt. I love Emilio with all my heart, and I want to marry him.
“I have ten thousand new Twitter followers, and online searches for Pathways Center have surged by one hundred percent!” Her eyes were bright with excitement. “I told you to create more buzz and attract more clients, and you delivered big-time.”
“My feelings for Emilio are real. It’s not something I played up for the cameras,” Sharleen said. “Emilio’s not the bad-boy athlete the blogs make him out to be. He’s sensitive and compassionate, and I love spending time with him.”
Mrs. Fontaine’s eyebrows rose and fell quickly. “I bet you do. One of his ex-lovers gave a tell-all interview with Channel 6 News this morning, and she said he’s very well-endowed.”
Too shocked to speak, she stared at her boss.
“I understand. Your hormones got the best of you, but don’t do anything stupid like fall in love. It doesn’t last.” Mrs. Fontaine’s voice carried a bitter edge, and a scowl twisted her lips. “Emilio’s a superstar athlete who’ll never be faithful to you.”
Sharleen remained silent, stunned. Her body was weary, desperate for sleep, and thinking about her troubled relationship only made her feel worse.
“You have what it takes to go far in this business, and I’d hate for you to throw it all away for a guy who’ll never commit to you.”
A headache pounded in her temples, and her throat closed up. Something Emilio had said weeks earlier, during one of their morning coaching sessions, came back to mind, and Sharleen smiled despite the overwhelming weight of her sadness.
“I never wanted a family for fear of losing them one day, but then I met you and now it’s all I think about,” he’d said, pulling her into his arms and brushing his lips softly against hers. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
The memory brought her comfort, filled her with hope. Sharleen admired Mrs. Fontaine and thought she was a smart businesswoman, but she was wrong about Emilio. They were soul mates, not just sex buddies, and he’d never do anything to hurt her.
“I hope you have more ideas on how to attract new clients, because our LA clinic opens next month, and the more publicity the better.”
“I became a life coach to help people transform their lives, not to become famous. If you can’t respect that, I’ll have no choice but to resign.”
Mrs. Fontaine’s eyes filled with fear, and the smile slid off her face. “Y-you don’t mean that,” she stammered, fussing with her scarf.
“Yes, I do. I can always freelance or start my own clinic right here in Atlanta...”
“You wouldn’t!”
Sharleen cocked her head to the right. “Just watch me.”
“I want us to be partners, not adversaries—”
“Then make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
The silence was deafening, and several seconds ticked off the wall clock.
“I’ll increase your salary by ten percent and give you six weeks’ paid vacation...” Mrs. Fontaine began.
“And you’ll rehire Jocelyn,” Sharleen said. “Jocelyn deserves her old job back, and that’s one issue I won’t concede on.”
Mrs. Fontaine sat back in her chair, then slowly nodded her head. “It’s a deal.”
The women shook hands and shared a smile.
“To celebrate your promotion I’ve arranged a small soiree tonight at Dolce Vita at six o’clock,” Mrs. Fontaine explained. “You’re more than welcome to invite Emilio, and your family members as well.”
Sharleen struggled with her words. She was thrilled about her promotion and wanted to celebrate with her friends and colleagues at her favorite restaurant, but she wanted to see Emilio before he left for Milan. Should I go to my promotion party or Emilio’s estate? It was the biggest decision of Sharleen’s life, and she didn’t know what to do.
Chapter 19
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Emilio scowled at his silver-haired pit-crew chief, wishing the loud Irishman would leave him alone. Lockland Walsh was working his last nerve, and he was sick of his questions. On Fridays the Atlanta Motor Speedway was filled with race-car fans of all ages desperate for a behind-the-scenes view of America’s most dangerous and thrilling sport, and Emilio wanted to give the cheering spectators a good show. “I’m here, aren’t I?”