Bad Influencer by Kenzie Reed
Chapter Five
Elliott
If there was ever a time I needed the ability to focus, it’s now. We’re opening our seventh new park in days, and every department head is bombarding me with urgent messages that need to be answered yesterday, if not sooner.
And knowing that Jillian’s going to be coming in this morning is scrambling my brains like eggs on a hot griddle.
The truth is, long before Jillian took our company to task for inadvertently doing business with animal abusers, I was aware of her.
She’s been crowding into my head ever since the first time I saw her bartending at Nowhere Special. It’s not just that she’s pretty, although she is that. She has hair the color of chocolate, an adorable button nose, a wide, generous mouth, and she’s curvy in all the right places. But what’s most attractive about her is her energy. She’s one of those people who glows with kindness and has a pure, genuine smile for everyone.
She’s a portable happiness power plant; people light up in her presence. Their slumped shoulders straighten, their frowns melt into grins.
After the first day I saw her, about ten months ago, I found myself heading down to the bar a couple of times a week after work. I’d sworn off women after my disastrous breakup with my fiancée, but this was different. It was like a special treat I allowed myself, like a cheat day when I should be dieting.
As soon as I got there, I’d send someone else to order my drinks, and I’d sit there with my back to her, watching her in the mirrored window. Sounds weird, sure. But the point was never to try to get to know her. It was to feel lighter and happier for an hour or two just by being in her orbit.
I’d never try to actually date a woman like her—a free-spirited woman who lights up a room when she enters. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, had my heart stomped flatter than a steamrolled pancake. And my ex-fiancée even kept the ring.
I think that’s partly why I’m so against having her work for us. Jillian Fletcher was great as my far-away dream girl. She was the perfect fantasy relationship. But now, for the sake of the company, I’ll have to find a way to get rid of her and ruin everything.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the mental image of Jillian leading a group of Australian tourists in a rousing chorus of “Why was he born so beautiful”, which is the bar’s wacky version of the happy birthday song. Happiness just flowed from her and washed over everyone else. And the whole bar, except for me, joined her in song.
I squint and stare at my screen, but the emails are dancing in front of my eyes. I can’t concentrate.
I finally give up and go to the employee lounge. I usually find it kind of relaxing—as relaxed as I allow myself to get, anyway. My mother has it decorated like a living room, with groupings of leather sofas and round farmhouse-style coffee tables with turned wooden legs. The fresh flowers in the vases are from our garden. Wisteria picks them and arranges them “in harmony with the cosmic vibrations of the universe”, and I bring them in to work a few times a week. I will grudgingly admit they look good. She’s still nuts, though. Apparently “cosmic vibrations” are one of Wisteria’s things this year. Last year she was all about crystals.
I find an empty grouping of chairs at the edge of the room, plop down, and massage my temples. Not for the first time, I wonder if my grandfather had too much faith in me.
When I was nine, my grandfather told me that my father might inherit his position as the face of Bradford Family Amusement Parks, but I’d be the brains of the operation. My mother was always busy pursuing her latest whims and artistic passions, my father was shaking hands and schmoozing celebrities into performing at our parks, and in the meantime, Grandpa and I were hunkered down in our offices, reading over spreadsheets and reviewing our quarterly profit-and-loss statements. My parents loved me, but Grandad and I were kindred spirits. Even as a kid I was a serious little boy with no time for screwing around, much to my parents befuddlement. But Grandad? He just got me.
My father and grandfather always had a bit of a fraught relationship. Grandad was a company man through and through, and the third generation of Bradfords to run our parks. He married late and had two kids in his forties. My aunt never had any interest in the family business, and my father’s goals in life were improving his golf swing and growing orchids. Fortunately, my father genuinely loves people and he’s great at grinning and schmoozing, and my grandfather arranged things so that while he was still alive, my dad never had to do any of the heavy lifting. That was all grandad and me. He never let my dad hear the end of it, though.
Grandad always had unwavering faith in me to save the park, and in all my years as CFO, I never let him down. Now, though, I feel as if I’m drowning. This was never meant to be my role.
I pat my jacket pocket, and an envelope crackles under my hand. I’ve written a check that should solve the Jillian problem, but I wish it didn’t have to come to that.
“Elliott! How’s it hanging?” My best friend Cameron’s voice booms across the room, jerking me from my gloomy thoughts.
Trevor and Cameron make their way across the room and plop down into two chairs facing me. Cameron and I went to the same prep school, and we’ve been friends ever since. His mother bailed on their family early. He’s worked for his father’s venture capital firm off and on over the years, always trying and failing to win the man’s approval.
After a particularly brutal blowout with his Type A father (In his dad’s case, A stands for asshole), I was happy to snag him an assistant manager position in our operations department. I kind of promoted him above his experience level, ticking off a few people, but as far as I can tell he’s settling in nicely.
Cameron leans back in his seat, crosses one lanky leg over the other, and runs his fingers through wavy, dirty blond hair. He tends to dress as casually as he can get away with; today it’s khaki slacks, penny loafers and a blue polo shirt.
“So, you’re okay with the new social media hire?” Cameron asks me.
“Of course I’m not okay,” I scoff.
“I agree.” Cameron nods vigorously, his sandy brows drawing together in a scowl. “Her image is all wrong for this company. She’s the one who goes to nightclubs every single night, right? Always leading people in conga lines and dumb crap like that?”
“That was when she was in her early twenties, if we’re being fair,” Trevor says. “We’ve done our due diligence and researched her background thoroughly. Nobody’s photographed her at a nightclub in years. Most evenings, she’s working in this building at the bar, and days she’s volunteering at animal shelters and doing influencer gigs for vegan companies.”
“Still. Her image says fun, but it’s the wrong kind of fun. We run family parks and resorts, not singles cruises. So what are you going to do about it?” Cameron asks me.
Why did this have to be dumped in my lap now, of all times, when I’m opening a new park and fighting for the future of our company?
I shrug moodily. “I could make her life difficult and get rid of her that way.”
Trevor shoots me a look.
“No, trust me, I could,” I insist. “I’m capable of being annoying as hell when I want to.”
Trevor lifts one thick, dark eyebrow. “Who’s arguing?”
I lash out to kick him in the ankle. He moves his foot out of the way.
“Too slow,” he says lazily. “And give her a chance, okay? This is important.”
“What a coincidence. I can be annoying as hell too,” a cheerful voice says from right behind me.
I spin around. Jillian’s made her way across the room, and she’s standing right behind me. She’s wearing a sky-blue skirt and a white eyelet shirt that gives tantalizing peeks at creamy skin through flower-shaped cutouts. Her wavy brown hair cascades down her shoulders. She looks like she’d be at home on a horse-drawn Roma wagon, with a wreath of flowers in her hair.
Edith is by her side, all smiles, and worse, she’s brought my mother and Wisteria with her. My mother is carrying a box containing three vases of flowers.
“Cameron, I’ll see you later.” I give him a look. He’s very protective of me, and he can be sharp-tongued to the point of being inappropriate in pursuit of that.
He shrugs. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got work to do anyway. Minions to torture.” He strolls off, hands shoved in his pockets.
I shoot Edith a dirty look. “You brought Mom in for reinforcements?” She wants to make very, very sure I don’t fire Jillian on her first day.
“And me,” Wisteria pipes up. “Don’t forget me.”
“I’ve tried, believe me.”
Wisteria stares at Jillian, then nods in approval. “I brought some sage with me just in case, but her aura is clear.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Of course it is.”
“I’m going to make myself some tea.” She spins on her heel and strolls off. I stare after her for a minute, wondering what must go on in that head of hers. I’m scared to consider all the possibilities.
“Fayette has some fresh flower arrangements to drop off.” Edith explains as she settles into a chair facing me.
My mother walks over to the table nearest us, sets down three paper-wrapped flower arrangements, and pulls some wilting flowers from a vase. Jillian perches on the arm of Edith’s chair and smiles at me, her eyes gleaming with a challenge that heats my blood.
“Hello. You seem as if you have some thoughts you want to share,” Jillian says.
My heart does an odd little skip-jump, but I keep my expression blandly neutral as I stand up and extend my hand for her to shake. “Good morning. I’m Elliott Bradford. We haven’t been formally introduced. Last time I saw you, you were dancing on a table-top with a napkin on your head, singing into your shoe.”
She looks down at the hand I’ve offered, then up at me. “Glad to know I made such an impression on you. That was a birthday party for a group of our regulars, who put in a special request for my karaoke skills. Last time I saw you, you were dining on filet of endangered orphaned puppies, using a spoon made of elephant tusk.”
I drop my hand. “Endangered orphaned puppies?” I scoff.
She folds her arms across her chest and regards me through narrowed eyes. “I said what I said.”
I turn toward my mother. “Was your introduction to her this… interesting?”
“Quite. She’s a lovely girl.”
A wide grin spreads across Jillian’s face, and she has the audacity to wink at me. “What else you got?” she says.
“All right, Ms. Fletcher. Enough foreplay.” Then I remember where I am, and glance over at my mother, who is making a big show of arranging flowers in the vase nearest us, and shamelessly eavesdropping. “Sorry, Mom.”
My mother smiles like the cat who just lapped up all the cream. “Not at all. I’m intrigued. This is better than Days of Our Lives.”
I heave a sigh. I hate being the bad guy, but when you run a company with thousands of employees, you get used to it. It’s a necessary part of the job.
I return my attention to the problem at hand. “Ms. Fletcher.”
“Jillian,” she corrects me. “I’m not your kid’s first-grade English teacher.”
“Jillian.” My mouth caresses the word, tasting its sweetness, and then I shake myself back to reality. “I’m sure you’re good at what you do, but you’re not right for this company. There’s a difference between fun and frivolous.” I see a flicker of hurt in her eyes, and grimace in dismay. I could have been more tactful. But I’m not going to back down.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” I whip the envelope out of my pocket. Edith and my mother watch me with interest. “Here’s a twenty-thousand-dollar kill fee. It’ll tide you over while you seek more suitable employment.”
I hand the envelope to Jillian.
She rips it into tiny shreds, and they fall like snow onto the tabletop. “I’ve already signed the contract, and I’m here for the summer, like it or not.”
My mother breaks into a huge smile. “I like her,” she says to Edith and Trevor. Trevor twitches his mouth up in half a smile. Then my mother glances at me. “And she’s got a great figure. You do like a girl with some meat on her bones, don’t you?”
Meat on her bones.My mother just compared Jillian to a prize cow, basically. I can see that Jillian is as horrified as I am. We simultaneously cringe.
“Thank you for making me sound like an actual cannibal,” I say, appalled.
“Fayette,” Trevor groans. “What episode of Mad Men did you escape from? This is 2021. You’re a human resources nightmare.”
“Sorry, I tend to say what’s on my mind,” my mother says blithely. “It’s the free-spirited artist in me. She just can’t be caged.”
“Mom? You’ve been dining out on that excuse for far too long. What will it take to make you be quiet and go away?” I demand. “I say that with love. And utter desperation.”
“Well, we can sit here all day, or Wisteria and I can go home and I can finish packing for my trip, and you two can go get some actual work done,” my mother says. “I believe Ms. Fletcher needs to work on campaign ideas, and you need to wrap up your obligations here so you’re ready for your trip tomorrow.”
And now she’s looking at Jillian speculatively. “Are those what they call child-bearing hips?” she asks me, eyes blinking innocently. “I’d like to have grandchildren while I’m still able to hoist them up onto my hip. I’m not getting any younger. Just saying.”
“Right! We’ve all got work to do!” I cry out. “Why isn’t Jillian being shown to her office? Those social media campaigns aren’t going to plan themselves!”
Jillian and I leap to our feet. We both flee in opposite directions, as if the hounds of Hell are nipping at our heels.