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
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.