At nine, she met with her graphics and design people. Her team of six was the heart of the organization. All presentations came out of that office, including graphic design, layout and videos for sample commercials and promotional spots.
There was also Sam’s staff of two accountants who ran all the numbers; Taryn’s assistant who doubled as the office manager; Larissa, Jack’s personal assistant and the boys’ private masseuse; along with Kenny and Sam’s assistant.
When Kenny, Jack and Sam had first come to her about moving to Fool’s Gold, she’d warned them that they would lose valuable staff. One of the few times in her life when she’d been wrong when it came to business, she thought. Everyone had been excited about relocating. Taryn had been the lone holdout.
Who could have guessed that carefully selecting family-oriented, well-adjusted employees would come back to bite her in the butt? she thought with a grin.
Her assistant stepped into her office. “They’re ready for you.”
Taryn followed her into the smaller conference room. Sam, Jack and Kenny were there, freshly showered after their morning game—because part of the remodeling had included putting in a locker room. Make that two, because while Taryn never planned to bathe at work, she’d insisted on equal facilities for the women. So they, too, had large showers, lockers and a steam room. The difference was she never insisted on holding meetings in the steam room, while the boys had on more than one occasion.
Now she walked to the far end of the table and opened the laptop there. Then her gaze settled on Jack, who had chosen not to dress after his shower. He sat at the conference table in a white robe and flip-flops.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Larissa is here.”
“She’s warming up the massage table as we speak.”
“Tell me you’re wearing underwear,” she said.
Jack winked.
“My team’s been working on several campaigns,” she said as she typed on the laptop. Through the company’s internal network, she could access her computer files remotely and pull up any necessary information.
“Here’s what we came up with for the Klassique Rum campaign. We’ll have the sample commercial ready by the end of the week, but in the meantime, here are our thoughts for print ads and the Facebook campaigns.”
She touched her computer keyboard, and a slide appeared on the large screen at the opposite end of the room. “We pulled colors from their new labels. Obviously rum means parties and fun.”
“Beach parties,” Kenny corrected, then grinned at Jack. “That was a hell of a weekend.”
The two of them had visited Klassique’s headquarters in the Caribbean. While Taryn had been invited, she’d passed. Watching Kenny and Jack in action with dozens of nubile, willing women wasn’t her idea of a good time.
The speakerphone in the center of the table buzzed.
“Jack, Larissa’s ready,” Taryn’s assistant said.
Jack was already up and moving. “See you later,” he called.
“I really hope he keeps his robe on until he gets into the massage room,” Taryn murmured.
“Me, too,” Sam told her. “Because he’s not wearing any underwear.”
Fortunately their employees were good-natured about the idiosyncrasies of working for former jocks, but every now and then Taryn had to field a complaint about too much male nudity.
Usually from the spouse of one of the female employees.
Taryn turned her attention back to the campaign. She went through it slide by slide. Kenny had several insights from the client’s perspective, while Sam tallied costs. Two hours later, when they had nearly finished, Jack walked back into the room.
He’d dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. But more than that, Taryn noticed how much more easily he moved. He sat next to Kenny.
“She says to give her fifteen minutes to relax her hands, and then she’ll be ready for you,” Jack said.
Kenny nodded.
Taryn glanced at Sam. “You okay waiting?”
“Sure.”
As a kicker, Sam had been beat up the least. The other two joked he had the easiest job in the game. Taryn knew differently. While she normally wouldn’t have ever bothered learning anything about the sport, her partnership meant she had to know more than the basics when it came to football. The kicker might not take the hits the other players did, but he worked under incredible pressure. Every second on the field meant being at the very center of everyone’s attention, often with games hanging in the balance. The NFL was a multibillion-dollar industry, and if you couldn’t handle the intense scrutiny, you weren’t going to last very long.
“What did I miss?” Jack asked.
“I’ll fill you in later,” Kenny told him.
Taryn glanced down the list of what she’d wanted to cover. “I think we’re nearly through everything. Sam, are you ready to update us on the party?”
She did her best to ask the question without any annoyance in her voice. Because after moving the entire company to Fool’s Gold, the boys had decided to entertain their largest clients with a big weekend party. They’d rented out a part of the Gold Rush Ski Lodge and Resort for a long weekend of the Summer Festival—whatever that was. Now about twenty clients, their spouses and assorted children were going to show up and expect to be entertained.
Sam cleared his throat. “Sure,” he began. “We’re having the clients in, as we discussed. In July.”
“During the Summer Festival, right?” Kenny asked.
Taryn turned to him. “You know about the festivals?”
“Sure. It’s one of the reasons we wanted to move here. The town has festivals every month, to celebrate the seasons and different holidays.” He nudged Jack. “There’s a balloon festival in June. We should get one and go up.”
“I’m in,” Jack said easily. “I get to drive.”
“You don’t drive a balloon,” Kenny told him.
“Whatever. I’m in charge.”
“Great,” Taryn said. “So you’re sure to crash or burst into flames. Sam, please make sure our key-man insurance policy is paid up.”
Jack gave her a lazy smile. “You’d miss me, darlin’.”
“That I would and then I’d move on with my life.” She turned back to Sam. “About the party,” she said again. “Where are we?”
“In the planning stages.”
She waited but Sam didn’t say any more. “It’s just over three months away. You have to get going.”
“I am.”
This wasn’t like Sam, she thought. Normally he was on top of things. “Do you have any details? You know we have to make sure our clients have a good time, right? And they’re bringing their families, which ups the pressure. You three are the ones who wanted to move here in the first place. You’re the ones who insisted on this party. Don’t come to me a week before and say there’s a problem, because I’m not going to fix this.”
“There she goes,” Kenny said conversationally. “Sam, you’ve riled Taryn, and no good comes of that. Back where I come from—”
Taryn slapped both hands on the conference table. “Do not tell me some good-ol’-boy farm story, Kenneth Anderson Scott. You may want the world to think you’re just some down-home guy from Iowa, but I know