“I agreed toprepyour meals, Logan Callahan. The rest is on you. As for your mom…” I grimace, since I haven’t figured out how to follow through with the condition he set. “If I’m going to help you have a conversation with her, you have to give me something in return.”
He lifts a thick eyebrow. “The thousands of dollars a month isn’t enough for you?”
This man is going to single-handedly pay my rent every month based on what he requested through my questionnaire. That’s not the problem. “I need you to help me get more clients. Guys on your team.”
I don’t know what I expected as a response, but it wasn’t a snort of laughter. “Are you joking?” he asks, wrinkling his nose. “They can’t afford that.”
“But they’re professional athletes!”
“They play rugby in the States. It’s not exactly the NFL, love.”
My confidence wanes in the wake of his sober expression. I think he’s telling the truth; he has no reason to lie to me. “Then how canyouafford me?” Did I count my chickens before theyhatched? I thought for sure bringing Logan on would be a boon to True Fuel Kitchen, but…
He leans closer, forcing me to lift my chin to keep my eyes on his. “Because I play real rugby. The Thunder is only temporary.”
I need to know what I’m dealing with here. Though he’s still looming over me, I grab my phone and do a quick search to see how much players make here in the US. “Max salary of forty-five grand?” I squeak out when the results come up.
“If they’re lucky,” Logan confirms.
“Well crap.” No wonder Moxie doubles as a vet. Logan’s right. No one making that much—that little—would have the extra funds to pay for my services. Why couldn’t Logan have been a football player and given me a connection to the Chargers or something? Granted, the NFL team probably already has a nutritionist on staff, and it’s not like their players need a meal at home all that often when they spend most of their time at the practice facilities.
I swear under my breath as reality hits me. Looks like Logan won’t be able to break me into the sports scene after all, and I’m back to my plan of finding more people like Lola. Seven meals a week isn’t much, but if I get enough clients…
Groaning, I head into my kitchen and flip on the oven, bumping the temperature a few degrees lower than I would at Lola’s house because my oven runs hot. It took me almost two years to get hired by the Shafers. I only found three more consistent clients to add to my schedule last year with a smattering of pop-up orders. This is in no way a sustainable way to build a business, and I’m going to have to find work in a restaurant orsomething despite being more interested in the nutrition side of my business than the cooking part.
That, or I admit defeat and go back home. But I’ve come so far! I don’t want to have to hear my mother tell me that I should have listened to her from the start and followed in her footsteps, marrying rich and playing social housewife. There’s nothing wrong with motherhood, and I’d love to have kids someday. But I’ve always wanted more in my life. I’m not the type to settle.
Stalking to my fridge, I grab one of the meals I prepared for Logan and practically toss it onto the counter in my frustration. It slides, careening toward the other end, and I scramble forward to grab it.
Logan beats me to it, long fingers catching the container before it splats on the ground. “You…” His other hand wraps around the back of his neck as he stares at me warily. Like I’m a landmine he just stepped on. “You look tense.”
I huff out an anxious laugh and start to pace as words slide off my tongue in fragments like they always do when I’m nervous or stressed. “Because Iamtense. I hoped you could…but they can’t afford…not enough clients…business is dead…” I stop when he appears in front of me, a genuine look of concern in his eyes. His eyes are almost gray in color, like the Pacific on a cloudy day. A lot like his personality, I suppose, with the barest hint of a warm green at the edges of the cool color.
They’re a lot like his mom’s eyes.
“You want to work with athletes?” he asks. I’m pretty sure he’s actively trying to gentle his voice because it’s missing its usual growl, and that sexy Australian accent of his isn’t as thick. I appreciate the fact that he has a softer side that isn’t allarrogance, but my appreciation doesn’t put money in my bank account.
Heaving a sigh, I nod. “I mean, I’ll work with anyone willing to pay me, but there’s something fascinating about the way athletes eat, you know?”
“Six thousand k-cals a day.”
I gape at him, though that number shouldn’t surprise me. “That’s how many calories you consume?” I can’t imagine eating that much food in a day, especially when keeping to a healthy diet. “What, do you eat three whole chickens every day?”
He chuckles, a bit of a smile creeping onto his lips. “Currently, I’m surviving on protein shakes and takeout, which is why I’m hiring you.” His eyes drop to the shepherd’s pie on the counter. “Assuming you know what you’re doing.”
“Of course I know what I’m doing.”
“Your lack of clients would say otherwise.”
“I’m trying to grow organically,” I complain. It’s a weak argument, even if it’s true. “You can ask Mrs. Shafer, and she’ll tell you that my food is delicious.”
His expression turns hard, though a bit of pain softens the edges. “That would require her to be willing to talk to me.”
“Oh.” I deflate. “Right.” That’s why he’s here in the first place. “Honestly, Logan, I don’t know if I can convince her to give you a chance. It’s not like she’s my friend, and I can’t just casually stroll through her front door and say, ‘Hey, Lola, I know you’re my top client, but I met your son when my cat attacked him and he leveraged my near-bankrupt status to coerce me into telling you that you should have a conversation with him.’”
Logan’s forehead creases. “Bankrupt? It’s that bad?”
“No.” I wince, realizing too late that my financial situation is something I should keep to myself. Does that stop me from saying more? Of course not. Once I get going, it’s hard to stop. “But it’s close. With student loans and things, it’s almost impossible to put any energy into scaling up when I’m barely making enough to cover my bills.” As if telling him all this is going to change his mind. I don’t know much about Logan Callahan, but I can guess pretty easily that he’s not the fickle type.
