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Title Page

Dedication

In memory of my big sister and best friend,
Tamara Denise Roybiskie.

You remain forever in my heart.

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

A strident clink pierced the crisp, late October evening as Taylor Powell tapped her fork against her champagne flute.

“All right, ladies. Get those glasses in the air!”

She topped off her friends’ drinks, then emptied the last of the prosecco into her glass before holding it aloft. Turning to Samiah Brooks, she said, “To you, my kickass friend. May this genius phone app you created set the tech world on fire!”

“Hear! Hear!” the third member of their trio, London Kelley, hailed as their champagne flutes met high above the fragrant Tex-Mex feast on the table.

The light of the setting sun shimmered through the pale yellow wine as Taylor brought the glass to her lips. Its rays, reflecting off the tranquil aquamarine waters of Lake Travis, provided just enough warmth to make their decision to dine on an outside deck commendable instead of foolish. Tonight’s celebration warranted a full-fledged dinner at one of Austin’s most renowned restaurants.

Its menu prices reflected its prestige, which accounted for the cement block that had settled in the pit of Taylor’s stomach.

She shouldn’t even be here. After having to choose between making the minimum payment on her Mastercard or having her Internet disconnected—the Internet won out—Taylor had decided to skip this week’s girls’ night out. She’d had her excuse primed and ready, but then Samiah texted the news that her new phone app would be featured at some swanky tech conference. She’d asked Taylor and London to help her celebrate. What kind of friend would say no?

A friend who knows she can’t afford this shit! That’s what kind!

Taylor swallowed another gulp of the pricey wine.

“So I have a question.” London gestured to Samiah with the shrimp she’d just plucked from the platter of fajitas. “I don’t want to sound like a complete Luddite, but now that your app has been chosen for this fancy-schmancy conference, what does it mean in the real world?”

“It means she’s about to make money money.” Taylor rubbed her thumb over her fingertips.

“It will take some time before I see any real money money,” Samiah said. “But this is a big deal, ladies. Big. Huge.”

“Are you purposely quoting Pretty Woman?” Taylor asked.

Samiah stuck her tongue out at her. “Always with the jokes,” she said. “Seriously, this could be life-changing. The conference chooses only ten candidates from thousands of submissions to present during the Budding Stars Showcase.” She directed her attention at London. “It’s like a surgical intern being invited to present a paper at the American Heart Association’s annual conference.”

London straightened in her chair and flicked imaginary dust from her shoulder. “I presented as an intern.”

“Of course you did,” Taylor said. “You may claim to be a pediatric surgeon, but we all know you’re really Wonder Woman.”

“Wonder Woman is sitting at this table, but I’m not her.” London held her hand up to Samiah for a high five. “You are killing it, girl.”

Taylor could hardly believe the three had only met three months ago after learning they were all dating the same guy. It had been her first and only date with Craig Milton, aka Craig Walters, aka Craig Johnson—and those were only the aliases they knew about. An instant sisterhood had formed between herself, London, and Samiah, and they’d made a pact to spend some time working on projects that brought them joy instead of worrying about dating apps or trying to find a man.

Their weekly night out ever since was damn near medicinal—a heavy dose of much needed support, understanding, and camaraderie none of them had realized they needed.

Samiah had completed the phone app she’d been working on for years and, because she was an overachiever, had also snagged herself a cutie, her coworker turned boyfriend, Daniel Collins.

“I won’t claim success until I’ve secured funding for the Just Friends app,” Samiah said. “Winning this spot in the showcase gets me one step closer. What about you?” she directed at London. “Fill us in on your project’s progress.”

“I’d rather drink more wine.” London signaled their server, who’d just cleared the table next to theirs. “Can we get another bottle of prosecco and another order of the combo fajitas?

“I had back-to-back surgeries today,” she explained once the server left. “This is my first meal since the banana I ate for breakfast.”

Equal parts panic and dread clogged in Taylor’s throat. She wasn’t the best with numbers, but she could handle simple math. With another thirty-dollar bottle of wine and forty more for fajitas, tonight’s dinner had just crossed the two-hundred-dollar mark. And that was before tax and tip. Their practice of splitting the bill evenly meant she was looking at eighty dollars. That was more than her grocery budget for an entire week!

With their six-figure salaries, Samiah and London could easily afford to drop a C-note on a single meal without batting an eye. Meanwhile, Taylor was blocking calls from bill collectors like a thirsty match on Tinder.

“Umm, hello? Taylor!”

She startled at London’s fingers snapping just inches from her face.

“Huh? What?” Shit. If their concerned frowns were anything to go on, they’d been trying to get her attention for some time. “I’m sorry,” Taylor said. “What?”

“I asked about your project. How is it going?”

“No,” Samiah interrupted. “Before you get to that, you still owe us the full story behind your first and only day at the homeschooling job. And how it ended with you being arrested.”

“Oooh, you’re right,” London said. “Okay, you heard her, lady. Spill it.”

Taylor dropped her head back and groaned at the deepening purple sky. She would rather cover their entire dinner bill than talk about her humiliating stint in jail. She’d spent less than three hours behind bars, but that was long enough to convince her that nothing mattered more than her freedom. She felt claustrophobic just thinking about that holding room.

“Didn’t we already discuss this?” Taylor asked.

“You haven’t told us anything, except that you ran over a lawn chair with your car,” London said. “So what happened? Did one of the kids call you ugly? Talk about your mama?”

“Oh, stop it. It was nothing like that.”

“Then what was it?” Samiah asked, her words drenched with concern. “When Daniel and I bailed you out of jail, I could tell you were in no mood to talk, so I didn’t ask. But I’m asking now. What happened, Taylor? You said yourself that the opportunity to teach that phys ed class was too good to pass up.”

Taylor shrugged. “The parents didn’t think I was the right person for the job, that’s all.”

“So you ran over one of their lawn chairs?” Samiah asked.

“That was a misunderstanding.”

The server returned with the second bottle of prosecco and another steaming platter of fajitas. Taylor prayed the arrival of more bubbly would steer their attention away from her.

She should have known better.

“Explain the misunderstanding,” London said as she topped off their glasses. “How’d things go from ‘Sorry, you’re just not the right fit for the job’ to ‘Bitch, you’d better get out of that chair if you don’t want tire marks up your ass’?”

Samiah and Taylor both burst out laughing.

“Yeah, it sounds as if we’re missing a few details,” Samiah said, dabbing at tears of mirth with her dinner napkin. “Didn’t you curse out one of the kids too?”

“I never cursed out any kids. However,” Taylor continued, “I may have used a few choice words without realizing the kids were just a couple of feet behind me.” She raised her hands in defense. “I apologized to the kids! But, of course, little Jack or Ted or whatever his name was went tattling to his mom.”

“And the lawn chair?” London asked.

“It was a mistake! I was backing out of the driveway—which was long and winding and not the easiest thing to navigate when you’re upset because you’ve just lost out on a job.” Her shoulders sagged. “I didn’t even see the chair. I explained it to the police officer, and the parents even backed me up on that. They knew I didn’t purposely roll over the chair.”

It was just her freaking luck that a police cruiser happened to be driving by as she backed over that stupid piece of lawn furniture.

“Besides, I wasn’t arrested because of the chair. I was arrested because my car had an expired license plate tag, and I had a few unpaid parking tickets.” More like a dozen, but who was counting? Well, other than the city of Austin.

Now that she thought about it, luck had been on her side. She’d gotten off easy, only having to pay a fine along with the unpaid parking tickets. Sure, she’d maxed out her Mastercard, but it was worth it to get out of that stank-ass jail cell.

“I also didn’t lose out on the job because I rolled over the lawn chair,” she admitted. Taylor sucked in a deep breath and released it. This was the part that left a sour taste in her mouth whenever she thought about it. “They wanted someone with a college degree.”

The cement block in her stomach grew heavier.

“The woman who initially offered me the job claimed that it was dishonest of me to withhold that I didn’t have a degree, but she never asked! How is it my fault that she goes around making assumptions about a total stranger’s educational background? I was like, excuse you, lady!”

“Well, I can see where she’s coming from,” London said. “Public school teachers are required to have a degree, so it stands to reason homeschool teachers would as well.”

“No, that’s just—” Taylor started, but she realized she didn’t have a rebuttal. “Whatever. If I’d known they wanted someone with a degree from the very beginning, I would never have gotten my hopes up about the job.”

Her face grew fiery as the familiar frustration bubbled to the surface.

She had done everything she could this past year to take her fitness consulting business, Taylor’d Conditioning, to the next level. She’d studied the top Instagram fitness influencers, researching their journeys and trying her best to mimic their success. She just knew she would crush it, especially after coming up with the idea to use her background as an Army brat to specialize in boot camp–style workouts. She used all the right hashtags, offered free online fitness classes. She’d even started going live in her InstaStories—something she detested. But she couldn’t seem to break free from the pack.

Back in August, someone recorded the confrontation they’d had with Craig, and the video had gone viral. Taylor thought she’d finally hit gold. It wasn’t the most ideal way to get her business on the map, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that.

Alas, her fifteen minutes of fame had barely lasted the full fifteen minutes. After coming out of that viral video debacle with only a handful of new clients, she’d been forced to accept an astoundingly hard truth. Not everyone with an Instagram account or YouTube channel became famous. If she wanted Taylor’d Conditioning to succeed, she would have to do it the hard way.

Her chest tightened. It did that whenever she considered the idea she’d been gnawing on for the past few weeks. Well, for the past year, if she were being honest.

“I think I want to change my goal,” she blurted.

“Really?” London asked. “So you don’t want to grow Taylor’d Conditioning?”

“No, I do! That’s always my goal. I just…I guess I want to go about it a different way.” She thought about chickening out, but she knew both Samiah and London would hold her accountable. They wouldn’t allow her to use the eight hundred reasons she had locked, loaded, and ready to fire at the first hint of fear.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Taylor said, “I’m thinking about going back to school to get my degree in fitness and nutrition.”

There. It was out in the universe. No going back.

“Ah, okay. That’s cool,” London said.

“Good for you,” Samiah followed.

That’s cool? Good for you? Did they not understand how freaking terrifying this was for her?

Then again, why would they? Neither of them knew about her complicated relationship with school. They were both ridiculously smart women who had probably breezed through high school and college. She doubted they had any concept of the fact that for some people, the thought of sitting in a classroom was enough to make one break out in hives.

“This is a big deal,” Taylor said. She put a hand to her knee to stop it from bouncing under the table.

“Of course it is,” Samiah said. “You’ll be working full time while going to school, right? You should try bullet journaling to help organize your schedule. I’ve heard it helps you stay on track.”

“It’s not about my schedule. It’s about…about the stress of it all. Going back to school would be a huge deal for me. It’s…Just forget about it,” she said.

“We’re not going to forget about it. The whole point of this project is to help each other achieve our goals. If your goal is to get your degree, we’re going to help you do that.”

Taylor wondered how far that offer of help extended. Would they be willing to complete all her assignments and take the tests for her? Because that’s what she needed from them.

Stop! If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it on your own.

Once she decided to do something, she rolled up her sleeves and got things done. A bootstrapper, through and through.

But was this the right move for her?

“I’m still not sure this is something I even want to do,” Taylor said. “I’m thinking about it, that’s all.”

“Maybe you should do more than just think about it,” London said. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but a degree will open a lot of doors for you. You could find something even better than that homeschooling job.”

Taylor knew exactly what she was missing out on because she lacked a college degree. Just days after the homeschooling job had fallen through, she’d been offered her dream job—the kind of position that would elevate Taylor’d Conditioning in a way some stupid viral video never could.

But it, too, had been snatched away.

The server arrived with their bill, and even though London insisted on paying for the fajitas she would be taking home with her, Taylor’s stomach still performed a triple backflip when she added her credit card to the leather check holder. This was her emergency credit card. Dining out at a restaurant she couldn’t afford did not count as an emergency.

No amount of mental gymnastics could justify her irresponsible spending.

Night had completely fallen by the time they made it to the parking lot. London gestured to Taylor’s car. “Will you be okay navigating the twists and turns down this hill in that thing?”

“Hey! Nessie is not a thing,” Taylor said, patting the hood of the thirteen-year-old Nissan Sentra she’d inherited from her brother. Her finger caught on a rust patch, but she’d be damned if she showed any sign of pain.

“Why don’t you drive ahead of me so that I can keep an eye on you? Just to be safe,” Samiah said. She held up a phone. “Give me about five minutes to return Daniel’s call.”

Taylor knew any argument would be futile when it came to these two. She had to admit, it was nice to know they were looking out for her.

Her hands started to tremble as she slipped behind the wheel of her car, the enormity of what she’d done tonight crashing down on her. Now that she’d shared her intentions about earning her degree, she could no longer come up with a reason not to do it.

Taylor dropped her head on the steering wheel.

“What did you do?” she groaned.

Her head popped up. She knew one thing she’d done: She’d spent a shitload more on dinner than she could afford. She needed to make some money. And fast.

Taylor grabbed her phone and logged in to the Taylor’d Conditioning Facebook page.

Boot camp circuit training pop-up class.

3pm tomorrow.

Zilker Park.

Only $10.

She paid an extra five bucks to boost the post in hopes that it would reach a bigger audience.

“There,” Taylor said.

She may be down, but don’t ever count her out. In her twenty-eight years on this earth, she had always made a way when there seemed there wasn’t one.

Now all she needed was a few people to show up for her class and tonight’s dinner would be covered. Who knows, maybe she’d get enough attendees that she would be able to eat something other than ramen for the rest of the week.

It was a big ask, but she liked to stay positive.

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

Taylor crossed her arms over her chest and peered out at the group assembled before her. It was a move she learned from her dad when he’d worked with fresh Army recruits.

The eight people who’d signed up for her class resembled her typical clientele, for the most part. There were four college-age women, a couple of Gen-Xers, and a svelte older woman with sensibly coiffed silver hair and flawless skin. A proud Glam-Ma, as she’d informed the class.

There was only one member who gave her pause. Dressed in a black long-sleeved workout tee, with gray shorts over a pair of black running tights, Mr. Hot and Fit had proven to be a bit of a conundrum.

She’d pegged him as a Craighole, the name she’d given to guys who’d sought her out only after her brush with Internet fame. Each had claimed he wanted to get in shape, but what he really wanted was to prove he could succeed where Craig had failed. As if she were the prize in some video game or something. Jerks.

She was more than happy to take the money they paid for one of her classes, but she found most of them couldn’t keep up with her intense workout after the first ten minutes.

That hadn’t been the case with Mr. Hot and Fit here. He’d breezed through both the warm-up and core exercises. Of course, she had yet to put her foot on the accelerator. Let’s see how he handled her high-cardio sequence.

Taylor clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Okay, folks. It’s time to get that heart muscle pumping! Now, I understand that fitness levels vary, so you have a choice between burpees and the easier jump squats. I’ll show you.” She demonstrated both exercises, jumping with her hands stretched toward the sky, before quickly making it to the ground and executing a push-up.

“Do not push yourself to do the burpees if you don’t think you can handle them,” she cautioned. “This isn’t a competition. Work at your own fitness and comfort level.” She gave them an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up. “Ready? Burpees in three, two, one!”

She was relieved to see the Glam-Ma had opted for the jump squats. She sensed that the older woman had set her sights on the class’s lone male participant.

“Keep going,” Taylor called out, repeating the burpees again and again and again. “Your heart will thank you for it, but your arms and thighs may not be so happy in the morning.”

“Mine aren’t happy now!” one woman called.

“Remember to pay attention to your body,” Taylor instructed. “Don’t push yourself past anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

The Glam-Ma inched closer into Mr. Hot and Fit’s personal space, “mistakenly” bumping into him as he returned to a standing position.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” the woman said in a breathless Scarlett O’Hara–style pant.

“Are you okay?” Mr. Hot and Fit asked, his tone exceedingly patient as he took her by the elbow.

“I am now.”

Did she wink at him? Taylor didn’t know if she should intervene on his behalf or high-five the Glam-Ma for shooting her shot with a man half her age.

“Let’s kick this up a notch,” Taylor said, accelerating her pace just to see if Mr. Hot and Fit would follow. He did.

“If you want to…elevate your cardio even more…add some height to your jump,” she called.

Of course, Mr. Hot and Fit went for the high jump. He probably thought he could impress her with his stamina.

You think so, boo? Let’s see you do this!

“This is only for the most advanced,” Taylor said. “If you think you can handle it…put one hand behind your back…and give me an alternating single-arm burpee.”

Surprise, surprise. Mr. Hot and Fit was the only one who attempted—and perfectly executed—the most difficult workout move in her arsenal.

Well, damn. What would it take to break this guy?

Sweat poured down his face. His sculpted chest pushed against that expensive high-performance workout tee with each labored breath, but he withstood every challenge she threw his way.

Taylor was about to add on a few four-way lunges when she remembered that this was not a competition between herself and Mr. Hot and Fit. She had other class participants to think about.

Instead, she did one last burpee before instructing, “And rest.”

She derived some satisfaction from the fact that the class show-off looked to be on the verge of collapsing. But so was she. She’d pushed herself close to her own limits.

Not that she would allow him to see that.

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

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