I knew my selling points.
I knew my audience.
Most importantly, I knew my numbers. My facts—my best friends.
That’s what made me different in my line of work. In a profession built around emotions, feelings, and ever-shifting grey areas, I broke things down into digestible pieces—facts and figures—and tackled them head-on. I wasn’t afraid to blend proven methods with new ideas.
Like I was doing now.
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as the red carriage stable came into view, its fresh coat of paint gleaming beneath the overcast sky. I’d fought for every inch of that transformation—right down to the new shutters, the tennis elbow I’d earned, and the stains I never quite got out of my jeans.
Pride warmed my chest as I rolled to a stop beneath the massive oak tree.
The stable was small—humble, a better word—but it did what we needed. For now. Someday, I hoped to add more stalls, a network of trails, maybe even a riding course if I could find the funds. In the corner of my mind, I pictured a therapy clinic right next door. My name on the sign.
But first, I had to get the ball rolling.
The brief bit of sunlight had vanished, replaced by a heavy grey haze stretching across the fields. Theo’s gaze stayed locked on the stable. Either he was waiting for a valet to open his door or he wanted to make sure I understood exactly how unenthusiastic he was about being here. I guessed the latter.
“Ready?” I said, injecting confidence into my voice as I pushed open my door. I didn’t wait for a response.
This was my show.
Briefcase in hand, attitude in my step, I rounded the hood?—
And slipped.
Not a cute, dainty misstep. I mean full-blown, limbs-flailing, air-grabbing, sack-of-potatoes kind of fall. Straight onto my ass and into a fresh pile of horse manure.
My briefcase flew from my hand, arced through the air, and landed squarely—upright—on the hood of the car. Right in front of Theo’s face, gawking behind the windshield.
Teeth gritted, I scrambled to my feet and swiped at the muck streaked across my brand-new charcoal Von Furstenberg power suit. The one I’d bought specifically for this meeting. The one that had devoured half my spring wardrobe budget.
I snatched the briefcase off the hood just as Theo’s door slammed shut behind him. He was grinning.
Of course he was.
“Ah, heck of an entrance. Hello, there,” a familiar voice called out from the stable, the tone immediately calming my anxiety, as it had done so many times before. I turned as June Massey crossed the driveway. I smiled. She’d pulled her long, grey hair into a slick bun, with not a strand out of place. This sleek do was in contrast to her trademark messy braid, more often than not, interwoven with hay. Her blue wide-rimmed glasses had been swapped out with more conservative, wireless frames. Perhaps most shockingly, the woman had put onmakeup. In all the years I knew June, I’d seen her in makeup only a handful of times. Her usual faded Levi’s and muck boots had been replaced with starched khakis—a line down the middle to prove it—and a white blouse under a plaid suit jacket that rivaled any eighties-era Murphy Brown blazer. Despite the football pads on her shoulders, she looked a decade younger than her sixty years. June had done herselfup, and it was the first time I wondered if she was nervous, too.
Always give them your best self,her voice echoed in my ear.
She seamlessly passed me a hand towel as her other hand stretched toward Theo. I wiped down my thigh and backside, the moisture already seeping through to my thong as I made the introductions.
June fell into casual small talk as she led the way into the stables.
I tossed the towel into the barrel next to the stables and followed June and Theo through the double sliding doors. The newly-swept concrete floor was gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The buzz of three space heaters broke the silence, and based on the warmth, they’d been running all morning. To the left were four small stalls with wooden gates, and a tack room on the end. To the right, an open space which, weeks ago, had been packed with mismatched plastic bins, cleaning supplies, medical supplies, wheelbarrows, bedding, hay, and in June’s case, multiple boxes of Christmas decorations. All that, though, had been sifted, sorted, organized and tucked away into a newly-added wall of metal cabinets. Three polished saddles hung next to our table with mounting blocks below. Nice touch.
I winked at June, and was met with a wink back, then said, “June, would you like to give Mr. Kline a quick tour before we begin the meeting?”
“Of course, Miss Floris.”
I grinned at her formality, then waited until they were in conversation before darting to the sink to scrub my hands, wipe down my heels, and spray my four-figure suit with disinfectant. It was like pouring salt on the only Twinkie left in the house because you were on a diet. Heart-breaking. Ilistened to the pride in June’s voice as she explained that each of her horses were rescued from bad situations and personally rehabilitated, an irony that was not lost on me. After that, we settled around the table.
I felt the heat start to rise up my neck, that familiar stress-sweat spreading over my skin. No, my adrenaline, noradrenaline, and cortisol levels werenotin check anymore. I was a mess. And that wasn’t like me. But the thing was, that meeting wasn’t only about me, it was about June and so many others in need. Ibelievedin it. And reminding myself of that was the kick in the ass I needed.
I yanked my shoulders back and pulled out my folder with color-coordinated tabs. Then, I angled myself toward Theo, and began.
“As you know, I’ve brought you here today to discuss my desire to add an Equine Assisted Therapy program at your clinic?—”
