Claire looked away from me, and her gaze swept over the water. “What would you do?”
I pictured Wes’s face when he talked about his sister and her eating disorder, and my stomach sank. “I don’t know . . . but you have to say something. People could get hurt.”
Claire plopped back. “I’m working on it. I want a few more people on the record. I’m giving you a heads-up, too, because when I out HottrYou, this project might end.”
“Is there any chance it’s just your coach? Maybe you got a bad one?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been meeting other people through their message boards . . . it’s common. Two people told me their coach encouraged them to do these wildly unhealthy diets, and one tried to get her to buy some weight loss protein powder he was selling. Others said their coach recommended these intense exercise regimens but didn’t give any guidance on doing them safely. I talked to one guy who reported a heart condition early on, and the coach forgot about it when recommending things. The guy had to remind him multiple times.”
I didn’t have any sort of response, just looked at her trying to piece all this together. I had no idea how, but this needed to come out. A little part of me also knew that if Claire sank the project, I didn’t have to admit to my inappropriate relationship with the CEO of FitMi and could figure out how to tell said CEO who I really was.
“Everyone I’ve talked to assumed it was just them, and it’s buried. I want to get it right.” Her voice was low, like someone might overhear us. “And I can’t wait much longer.”
I might come out on top, but that felt like a hollow victory, especially with the secrets I was keeping. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
Claire’s expression lost a touch of softness, and she emptied her glass, shoulders square. “We?”
“I’m not trying to steal your story. I just meant I’ll be supportive.”
“Oh.” She settled back on the raft. “That means a lot. Thanks.”
I finished my glass of wine and poured more for us both. If we were having a truce in the middle of a lake, it was better we both get a little soused. My phone buzzed in the plastic holder, but I ignored it.
“Do you remember when you started at Best Life?” Claire’s question surprised me.
“Sure. You were new then, too.” She, Ben, and I had all joined the Best Life team at around the same time. I’d been excited for a few minutes to have fellow newbies, until I realized I was drooling over Ben, and Claire didn’t like me. Ben didn’t stay an assistant for long, though.
Claire sipped her wine, looking out over the lake.
“What made you think of that?”
She looked toward me with a wry smile. “You know, I let Ben convince me you were a threat? He’d throw in comment after comment about how two women of color coming on at the same time, we’d always be compared to each other.”
My face warmed, because I remembered him saying something similar. I figured he was looking out for me, that it was a sign he cared. “He told me I really needed to distinguish myself as the voice of color in the room. As if we’d have the same perspective.”
“Exactly. But he got under my skin eventually, and I started to see you as the competition.”
“I did, too.” I’d put a lot of energy into outdoing Claire over the years. “Honestly, I never thought twice about it. Why would he even do that?”
“He’s an asshole.” Claire sighed, raising her glass to me. “Plus, we were so focused on each other, we never had time to be a threat to him.”
My phone buzzed again, and Wes’s name and photo flashed on the screen with an incoming text.
“You’re right. God, we’ve been acting like rivals for years.”
“Patriarchy. Am I right?” She waved a hand in the air. “I have no idea why you still like him, by the way.”
“I mean, he has his flaws, but he’s a decent guy.”
She arched an eyebrow, finishing her second glass of wine.
“I mean, he’s not a serial killer.”
Her raised eyebrow twitched. “You might need to raise your bar for ‘decent.’ Is that him blowing up your phone?” My phone buzzed one more time, and Claire glanced at the screen, her expression surprised and something else I couldn’t read.
I lunged for it, but the raft shifted, and I dropped my hands, worried about tipping into the water.
“Who is Wes?”