Race to the Top

Chapter 2

The next morning, I wake up with a small whiskey headache as the light filters through the curtains into my bedroom. I get up, chug a glass of water then start preparing for my workout session at the club. After slipping on a simple pair of black yoga pants, a black sports bra, and a loose racerback tank top, I stuff my wraps, gloves, water bottle, and a few other items in a gym bag.
On the subway, I'm shoving a protein bar into my mouth while googling the CEO of Adair Knives, a young, muscular Scottish guy by the name of Callum Adair. A profile from a 40 Under 40 article states that he's 36 and started Adair Knives when he was just 30. He started out hand-making the knives in his garage. After gaining popularity in the U.K. and the rest of Europe, he's now a multi-millionaire with distribution all over the eastern half of the world. Next stop: the Americas. The article makes sure to touch on his love of the outdoors and the fact that he's single.
Flipping over to Instagram, I use my personal account to look up Callum Adair and see that his account is public and filled with photos of the shirtless Scot fishing, camping, hiking, whittling (who the fuck whittles anymore?) and generally being hot as fuck. I bet he falls for a tall, blonde Scandanavian woman who loves all this outdoor shit as much as he does. Based on his panty-dropping photos, I'm sure women throw themselves at him all the time.
I lock my phone and slip it into my bag while balling up the wrapper to my protein bar. My stop arrives and I quickly make my way through the Saturday morning farmer's market crowd on the way to the club.
The club, which looks nothing like the name implies, is a kickboxing gym in an old, shitty warehouse. It permanently smells like sweat and dust with three boxing rings, and wall-to-wall mats topped with bags and pads. Three times a week I come here for a class but I usually double up on Saturdays where I take a class and a personal training session.
I got into kickboxing about three years ago after trying everything from yoga to pole-dancing. After my last raise, I was looking to reinvest in my appearance while also getting some unchecked aggression out and kickboxing just hit the right balance for me. I don't make a huge salary (especially for New York City) but I choose to spend my expendable income in very specific ways. I buy myself decent clothes so I look good in professional settings, I work out regularly so I look good in professional settings, and I buy top-shelf whiskey for after I look good in professional settings.
I dump my bag by the lockers and sit down to wrap my hands. Maggie comes over and plops down next to me.
"Ello girlie, ready for a grueling workout?" She nudges me with her elbow and laughs as I let out a groan.
"I had a long, exhausting night of drinking, please go easy on me."
"No can do there baba, I've been looking forward to kicking your ass all week," she laughs again and pops up off the mat without even using her hands.
Maggie, short for Magdelana, was Polish and probably the scariest woman I've ever met, and I am not scared of much. She was gorgeous with clear, green eyes, and short blonde hair but she also had well-defined muscles and an eight pack to boot. She was badass female goals for me. I took her class every Saturday and then followed it up with a personal training session with either her or Emmerick, the smooth-talking, gorgeous black man currently training a bulky guy in one of the rings.
Maggie's class was nothing short of brutal and I felt like a bowl of jell-o afterward. After class, as I mopped sweat off my neck and chest, she approached me and lightly punched me in the shoulder.
"Well job done today Ginger, I thought you weren't going to make it for a second there," she says, I smile at her cute phrasing of "well job done."
"I almost didn't but I have some extra motivation today," I reply. Maggie raises an eyebrow in question. "I have a fundraiser tonight that my whole company will be at and I bought a dress that I need to look absolutely deadly in."
Maggie nods her understanding.
"Maybe you'll find sexy man to pump you up," she laughs. I laugh too. I love her bluntness.
"I doubt it, but shmoozing my boss and wooing a few clients has its benefits and the confidence of an expensive dress helps," I say, still trying to catch my breath.  "Is my session with you or Emmerick today?"
"Emmerick, I picked up another class, mainly men, I like to make them hurt," she smiles wide.
"Give em hell Maggie," I say as I pull off my tank top and toss it aside.
Emmerick walks up to me with sweat dripping down his chiseled muscles.
"Ready to get to work Ginger?" His voice is light and smooth instead of the gruff, raspy voice you expect out of someone with giant muscles and no body fat.
"I guess, Maggie just worked me over but I'll try."
For the next hour, Emmerick shouts orders and praise as I work the bags and pads he has secured to his arms. Finally, we do some sparring in the ring.
"Remember G, keep your arms over your core, don't give me access to your ribs," Emmerick says as he fakes a strike then hits me with his other hand right on my shoulder.
"Ah, fuck!" I shout in frustration.
"Come on G, you're better than that! Push! Give it your all!"
I muster up all the energy I have and attempt to kick Emmerick, he sees it coming, grabs my leg and takes out my other leg putting me right on my ass and back. His face appears above me with a wide, bright smile.
"You were too focused on striking and left yourself open."
"Proud of yourself for beating up a girl?" I say jokingly in between fast breaths.
"Yes, but only the badass ones, come on," Emmerick holds out his hand and helps me up. "I got a little extra time today if you want to go again?"
"Thanks but no thanks, I've had enough ass-kicking for one day," I say as I begin to unwrap my hands. "I've gotta go home and get ready for a work event tonight."
"Well, good effort, same time next week?" Emmerick asks.
"You got it, thanks Emmerick," I tap his knuckles with mine and grab my stuff.
I change into non-soaked clothes but leave my shower for later. Nadia is going to come over to pre-funk with me while I get ready, I usually prefer to be a drink or two in before I walk into work functions.
On the train, I pull up Callum Adair's Instagram again and start scrolling back a few years. Clearly he got a publicist at some point as his older posts are less aesthetic and cohesive, and clothed. I can't blame whoever he's working with for getting him to show off those abs and biceps but seeing more of his personality in the older, unfiltered content will give me more of an idea of what he's like.
Finally, I stumble upon photo after photo of him with a tall, gorgeous blonde woman. I mentally high-five myself for predicting his type. She's tan and naturally beautiful with minimal makeup. I see a post that he tags her in so I click on her screen name and go to an account that shows the same bright, vibrant woman. Her last post was over four years ago.
I decide to google her full name: Anna Hanson. Nothing specific comes up so I add Callum's name and search again.
There it is.
She passed away in a car accident over four years ago. It was just a nasty accident in inclement weather, they didn't find her car for several days. Her fiance, 31-year-old Callum Adair, was heartbroken.
My heart suddenly flip flops for Callum. I'd certainly never lost a fiance but I had been at my share of funerals and knew the pain of burying people far too soon. I normally would feel excited to dig up personal information about a potential client but this just made me feel shitty. I toss the phone in my bag and brood in silence for the rest of the subway ride. Thankfully, I was wearing sunglasses so no one could see the silent tears sliding down my cheeks.
*********
Several hours later, I've eaten a generous gyro from my favorite local eatery and I'm combing through my freshly showered hair while a toothbrush hangs out of my mouth.
I barely hear a knock on the door over the music I'm blaring.
"Coming!" I yell, still brushing my teeth as I make my way to the door in my towel. Nadia is leaning against my door frame holding up a bottle of vodka.
"Ugh, really Nadia? I hate vodka."
"I know, I know, this is for me. I bought you this."
She shoves a pint of Basil Hayden's bourbon in my hand and struts around me into the apartment. I moan.
"Oh thank you, this is exactly what I need today."
I finish brushing my teeth then come back out as Nadia pours us a few drinks over ice. She adds diet coke to hers.
"To your promotion," Nadia raises her glass.
"Hopefully, cheers," I say clinking my glass to hers.
"So, do you want to hear about the delicious man I went home with last night?"
"I mean, sure, I'm pretty much living vicariously through your sex life," I state. "I'm going to go change but I'm listening."
As Nadia starts to describe, in great detail, the number and magnitude of orgasms she had the night before, I am laughing to myself while pulling a pair of lacy, black underwear out. My dress has a super low back and a deep slit in the front so I have to tape my tits up. They're not huge and I could probably get away without anything but I would hate to flash a bunch of old guys my nipples. After I fashion a tape bra, I slide on a robe and join Nadia as she's still talking about how she went blind after the last orgasm.
"Seriously though Ginge, this guy knew how to work a vibrator," Nadia says.
"Well, I feel like most of the work is done for him, how hard can it be to get a girl off with a vibrator?" I ask as I grab another drink and start to put my hair up in front of the mirror.
"It's not about the getting off, it's about the teasing, the where and how," Nadia says matter-of-factly.
"I dunno," I reply. My mind drifts to Callum Adair. I bet that dude doesn't need to use any toys, he probably gives women orgasms just by looking at them.
"What are you thinking about?" I snap out of my dirty thoughts to see Nadia looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I sigh.
"Honestly? Callum Adair, the Founder and CEO of that company I want to pitch to."
"The army knife company?" Nadia says?
"Outdoor knives, yes," I pull out my phone and pull up his Instagram. "Just, look."
Nadia's eyes go wide as she sees a plethora of photos of shirtless or almost shirtless Callum Adair.
"Sweet Jesus Ginge, how are you going to keep yourself from soaking through your panties in his presence?" She takes the phone from my hands and starts scrolling. I shrug even though she's not looking at me at all.
"Eh, you know me, my panties will be soaked if I land the account," she looks at me like I just tried to kill a puppy. "Not that I don't find him hot," I add reassuringly. She turns back to the phone.
"He's probably taken anyway," she says.
"Nope."
She looks up at me again like I'm trying to kill a kitten this time.
"His fiance died four years ago, car accident," I say quietly.
"Oh, that's so sad."
"Yep."
"Well you can bond with him about personal tragedy, lord knows you have plenty to share."
"I think my moral obligations stop short of me using my dead family to get an account," I say like I haven't already thought about it.
My family died years ago. First it was my dad when I was six, then my mom when I was 15. My brother and I were living with my uncle after that, then my brother ran away and overdosed when he was 17. It all sucked, a lot. But years of healing, therapy and kickboxing has helped me move on as peacefully as possible. I miss them all dearly but plenty of people have less than me. I feel grateful for what I do have.
My uncle is still alive though his health has been deteriorating for some time. I visit him at least a few times a week in the extended care facility where he's currently living.
Nadia breaks the silence.
"So is that sexy guy from the bar last night going to be there this evening?"
"What guy?" I ask.
"Jason? Jefferson?" Nadia says.
"Jackson?!"
"That's the one," Nadia says.

"Ugh, I fucking hope not. I don't know how I could've made it any clearer last night, but I kind of hate that guy," I said rolling my eyes.
"No one says you have to love him, but I'm dying to know what's under that suit," Nadia says as she starts spacing off.
"I'd rather poke my own eyes out than sleep with Jackson."
"Psh, I've seen you do plenty worse than him," Nadia says. "Why do you hate him so much anyway?"
"He's been one step ahead of me for years, I've beat him out a few times but I hate that he seems to be at the top of the mountain just as I'm getting there," I say as I head back to my bedroom.
"Well, if anyone can tame him, or beat his ass, it's you girl," Nadia says and I hear the ice cubes clink in her glass.
I slip on my new dress for the party. It's simple: black with little sparkles in the fabric. It shows just enough skin but not too much. Well, not too much for NYC anyway.
I finish off my look with a light red lip stain and a pass of mascara. My freckles and pale skin make the red hair piled on my head pop. I put on my black stilettos and grab a black, leather clutch.
I walk out of the bedroom just as Nadia looks up.
"Fuck Ginger, too bad you aren't seeing that Callum dude tonight, who could resist you?"
I do a little twirl and put my hand on my chest.
"Why thank you Nadia."
"Seriously babe, you look amazing."
"I appreciate it, alright, I gotta go. Share a cab?"
"Sure," she says as she grabs her purse. "I'll try not to make out with you on the way."