Coached to Death Read online

  I blinked again. “You were at all three conferences?”

  “Oh, yeah. Those three and, like, twenty others. I go to all of ’em. Can’t get enough of that girl-empowerment stuff. Not that any of it’s helped. My life right now is definitely circling the drain, but, you know . . . gotta keep fakin’ it till you’re makin’ it, am I right?” Erma held up one large, meaty palm in an invitation for a high five, and I felt myself recoil slightly. One good high five from the woman across from me and I’d probably go flying, ass over teakettle.

  Sitting firmly in my chair, I compromised by raising my hand slightly to give her an air high five. She didn’t seem to notice my lack of enthusiasm because she slapped at the air too. “Yeah!” she shouted. “Girl power! Unh!”

  My wide-eyed, somewhat panicked gaze flickered to Gilley. His back was to us, but I could see him hunched over and shuddering with laughter. The little hobgoblin.

  “So,” I said to her, trying to get us back on track. “Talk to me about what’s not going well with your life, Erma?”

  She snorted out a chuckle. “It’d be faster to tell you what is going right with my life.”

  “Okay,” I said. “That’s a good place to start. Tell me about that.”

  “Well, I’m sitting here with the famous Catherine Cooper-Masters!” she said, her smile so wide it hurt to look at her. “Or is it Catherine Cooper now? I heard you got divorced.”

  I cringed inwardly. It was hard to be reminded of that still painfully fresh experience. “It’s just Cooper now,” I told her. “But you can simply call me Cat.”

  “Oh, that’s so cool!”

  I smiled nervously. Good Lord, what’d I gotten myself into?

  “Cat,” she said, taking it for a test run. “Cat, Cat, Cat, Cat, Cat!” she added, taking several loops around the track.

  “Yes,” I said. “But let’s focus on you, Erma. I was really looking for something more specific that had to do with just you. What’s going right in your life?”

  “Um, well, I guess my car hasn’t been repossessed yet. I’m ninety days past due on my payment, so I think that’s super positive!”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gilley stand up abruptly. “Erma?” he said.

  She swiveled in her seat.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you own a green Chevrolet?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “There’s a man with a tow truck breaking into it.”

  Erma flew up off the couch faster than anyone of that size should’ve been able to. Dashing out the door, we heard her shout, “No! Not today! Any day but today!”

  I was slower to react, but I quickly joined Gilley at the window. “Oh. My. God,” I whispered.

  “Where did you find her?” Gil asked me as we watched Erma flap her arms wildly at a man almost her match in size who was clearly repossessing her car right in front of my office.

  “She was the first person to answer my ad.”

  “Didn’t you do a little background check on her first? You know, check her social media profile to make sure she wasn’t someone like . . .” Gil paused to wave a hand at the window. “That.”

  “No,” I said crossly. “I’m a life coach. I’m supposed to help people in crisis, not stalk them on Facebook to see if they’re only slightly in crisis.”

  “Honey,” Gil said seriously, “there’re people in crisis, and then there’re people in the circus, and you got the later.”

  I stared out the window at Erma as she began to flap her arms up and down and hop about like an angry chicken. “Craaaaap.”

  “What should we do?” Gil asked as we watched Erma’s dance escalate when she threw herself onto the hood of the tow truck in a desperate attempt to stop the man from taking her car.

  “Hand me my purse,” I said.

  Gil reached under his desk to retrieve my purse and offer it to me. I took it outside and waved to the driver, who was currently yelling at Erma to get off his truck or he’d call the police.

  “Yoo hoo!” I sang.

  Both the repo man and Erma stopped their yelling and turned to regard me silently. I fished inside my purse and retrieved my checkbook. “How much?” I asked as I stepped up to them.

  “How much what?” the man asked.

  “How much does she owe? Including your towing fee, of course.”

  “I get three fifty to tow the car and not answer questions about how much anybody owes,” he said to me.

  “Ah,” I said as Erma wiped at her cheeks and eyed me with desperation. “Well, what if I give you three hundred and fifty dollars not to tow the car?”

  The tow-truck driver wiped his hands on a bandana he retrieved from a back pocket. Leaning against his truck, he said, “That’s not how this works, lady. The bank gives me three fifty for this car, plus thirty other cars to repo a month. If I take your money and don’t bring this hunk of junk in, then I risk losing that business, and unless you’ve got a hundred grand to give me, which is what I’ll lose if I take your money, then I ain’t gonna do that. Now, I’m sorry, but I gotta take the car. There’s no gettin’ around it.”

  Erma let out a loud sob and buried her face in her hands.

  I pressed my lips together in frustration. Then I peered around the tow truck to take in Erma’s car, which had definitely seen better days. “Erma?”

  “Y-y-yeah?” she said between tearful sobs.

  “How much do you owe on this car? Total.”

  Lifting her chin to reveal splotches of red all over her pale face, Erma said, “I don’t know. A little over two thousand, maybe?” She then looked at the car herself and added, “I know it’s not much, Ms. Cooper, but it’s the only asset I’ve got.”

  “How did you get so behind on the payments?” I asked as gently as I could.

  “Well, I don’t make a lot of money at my job, and you’re pretty expensive, so I made a few monthly sacrifices in order to come here and get your advice.”

  I bit my lip again. I knew it wasn’t my fault that Erma appeared to be such a mess both socially and financially, but it was still tough to hear that I was the reason she’d been skipping her car payments. Just then the tow-truck driver finished hooking Erma’s car to his vehicle, and before getting into his rig, he said to her, “If you want your car back, you’ll need to talk to your bank. They’ll let you know how to get it out of the yard. And if you don’t come up with the cash to pay all the fees and catch up with your payments, they’ll sell it at auction after thirty days.”

  Gilley joined us just as the driver pulled away with Erma’s car. When he turned left at the light at the end of the block, my new client sat down on the curb, buried her face in her hands again, and sobbed in earnest.

  Gil eyed her with pity, but I was already formulating a plan. “Gilley,” I said softly.

  “Yeah?”

  Shoving a twenty at him, I said, “I need you to go to the nearest doughnut shop and bring back some goodies for Erma. Then I need you to head to the house and retrieve the Audi from the garage. Bring it back here as fast as you can.” I owned several cars. The Audi had been a favorite of my ex-husband’s, so I’d made sure to take it in the divorce.

  “Why am I retrieving the Audi?” Gil asked.

  “I’m going to loan it to Erma.”

  Gilley raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t otherwise question me. Loaning out one of my cars to a relative stranger wasn’t the smartest thing I could do, for sure, but this woman needed help, and at the moment, it was a means to an end until we could get the rest of it sorted out.

  Gilley left, and I took Erma gently by the arm, leading her back inside, where she flopped down on the love seat and continued to weep into her hands. “I needed that car,” she said at last.

  I offered her a box of tissues and some water, which she took, and then I sat down across from her. “Hey,” I said to get her attention when she simply stared forlornly at the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, lifting her eyes to mine. “Now you know wh
y I needed your help. I’m a disaster!”

  “Yes,” I said bluntly. “You are definitely a disaster.” That won me a startled look. “But you know the good thing about disasters? They’re very effective at wiping the slate clean. Once we clear away the debris, Erma, we can rebuild your life into something that will work for the long haul.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “But how can I do that without transportation? There’s no way I can come up with the money to get my car back if I can’t get to work and earn the money. And I need it to get to work.”

  “What about the train?” I asked.

  Erma’s frown deepened, and she went back to staring at the floor. “I used to take it in to work, but with all the stops I’d have to get up at five to get to the train by six to get to work on time, and I just can’t seem to get myself together in the mornings in time to make it into work before eight. My boss threatened to fire me if I was late even one more time.”

  “Well, then, it’s settled. I’ll be loaning you my car for now, and I’m going to loan you the money to pay off your car and get it out of the yard. You may pay me back over the course of the next several months with whatever payments you can afford.”

  Erma’s wide eyes blinked several times. “You . . . you’re . . . gonna loan me your car? And help me get mine back?”

  “Yes. I have a very comfortable spare car that I’m going to allow you to borrow. And I’m not going to take any more of your money for our sessions together, Erma. You can’t afford me.”

  A look of panic replaced the incredulity on her face. “But I need you, Ms. Cooper! I need a life coach!”

  I smiled reassuringly. “I agree. Which is why I’m going to coach you pro bono.”

  Erma began to weep again in earnest. “It’s too much,” she sniveled. “I feel like I can’t accept because it’s just too much.”

  “It’s not, Erma. It’s not. And you will accept my offer to help you. That’s the first step to getting your life back on track. You’ve got to recognize when it’s okay to both ask for and accept help.”

  “I’m not so good at that.”

  I sat back in my chair, knowing I had the perfect advice to give this woman for our first session together. “The only way to be good at something is to have lots of practice at it. So, on that front, between now and our next session, I want you to ask ten people for help.”

  Her eyes bugged. “Ten?”

  “Yes. Ten. And not a person less.”

  Erma bit her lower lip. “Okay. I guess I can do that.”

  “No, no,” I said, wagging my finger. “You don’t guess. You will. You will ask ten people for help. It doesn’t have to be for something big—heck, you can ask a stranger to hold the door for you, and that’ll count as one, but you should ask at least a few people for some kind of meaningful help in some way over the course of the next week.”

  Erma nodded, and her eyes finally reflected more determination. “Got it. Ask for help. Okay, I’ll do it!”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Gilley pulled up in my Audi A3, and after scarfing down a doughnut, Erma was happily on her way. As we watched her drive off, Gilley bumped my shoulder with his. “That was a nice thing you did,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I replied, allowing a satisfied smile to rest on my lips. It felt good to help people. I liked this feeling even more than I liked closing a major marketing campaign, which until today had been my absolute favorite thing—professionally speaking.

  “Should we go to lunch?” Gil asked after Erma had turned the corner.

  I eyed my watch. “I can’t today. I’ve got that luncheon to attend at Heather Holland’s.”

  Gilley made a face. “Oh, ugh, is that today?”

  I mirrored his expression. “Yes.”

  He put a hand on my arm. “My condolences.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Why are you going, again? That woman hates you.”

  It was true. I’d moved to the Hamptons just six months earlier, choosing to live in Chez Kitty—the guest house—until the main house was complete. From the moment the moving van had appeared to cart a few essentials into the guest house, my neighbor, Heather Holland, had made it very clear that I was persona non grata by calling the police about the expired tag on the moving van and filing complaint after complaint with the East Hampton Town Board all through the construction process of my new home. “Oh, I know she hates me,” I said. “And I’m positive that she’s hoping I don’t show up, which is exactly why I have to attend. If I don’t go, she can claim that I’ve snubbed her invite and the opportunity to bury the hatchet.”

  “Huh,” Gil said, pondering that. “How are you so sure that’s what she’s up to?”

  I bounced my eyebrows. “I’m sure because after nearly twenty years of running my own marketing firm in a highly competitive field populated mostly by women, I’m now fluent in bitch.”

  Gilley laughed. “I almost feel sorry for Heather.”

  “Don’t,” I told him. “She started this feud, and I’ve tolerated it only because standing up to her before the house was finished would’ve worked against me—especially with her considerable influence over the town’s planning department.”

  Gilley scrunched up his nose. “How many inspections did you have to go through again?”

  I shook my head in disgust. “Seven,” I said. “The nitpicky things they found to write up and delay my certificate of occupancy were ridiculous, and I’m certain that Heather was behind all of it. Her or one of her cronies,” I added, referring to one of the dozen women from the town who’d aligned themselves with Heather against me. Most of them would likely be in attendance at her luncheon, the better to either provoke me or talk about me behind my back if I didn’t show up.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Gilley asked again. “You’re gonna be swimming in shark-infested waters over there.”

  “I can handle myself—not to worry, my friend.”

  The truth, however, was that I would’ve loved to have taken Gilley with me, but I was afraid that he’d bristle when either Heather or one of the other women insulted me—which I totally expected to happen—and that would then turn into a thing, and I’d never make friends in this town.

  “Well, how about a coffee and a scone right now to help bolster your courage?” Gil said hopefully.

  I touched his cheek. Gilley was such a dear. Always looking after my empty stomach. “I can’t, lovey. I’ve got a little business to attend to, and then I’ll have to scoot home to change.”

  “Business?”

  “Yes. Someone’s coming to look at the upstairs office space. He should be here in a few minutes.”

  “Will it take long?” Gil asked.

  “Maybe a half hour or so. Why?”

  “Would you mind if I borrowed your car for a little shopping spree? I’m putting together a care package to send to Michel, just to let him know how much I miss him.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said, feeling a tiny pang in my heart. Gilley and Michel adored each other, and they were always doing little thoughtful things for one another just to keep the spark alive. In the first few years of our marriage, Tommy—my ex-husband—and I had done similar little thoughtful things for each other, but in the two years before we finally called it quits, we hadn’t even exchanged gifts at Christmas. Odd how I hadn’t really missed having a romantic relationship with Tommy until well after we were divorced.

  “Of course you can take the car,” I said, handing Gilley my keys. “Just be back here no later than eleven-fifteen, okay?”

  “Pinkie swear,” Gil said as he all but dashed away.

  I sighed and moved over to the entrance of the staircase leading to the other office suites. After making my way to the top floor, I came up short when I spotted the figure of a man at the end of the hallway, standing in front of the available office suite. “Oh,” I said, to him, “I didn’t realize you’d already a
rrived.”

  The figure turned, and I found my breath catching. He was an absolutely gorgeous man. Tall and broad-shouldered, he carried himself with obvious confidence, and there was a slight tilt to his chin as he regarded me. The rest of his face was somewhat square, but compelling in a roguishly handsome way. He was fair-skinned and light-eyed, with dark blond hair. His features weren’t necessarily classically handsome, but there was something about the whole package that drew me in.

  “Hello,” he said. “Are you Catherine?”

  I detected a Slavic accent as he addressed me, something that I should’ve expected given the name he’d left in his e-mail. “Yes,” I said, resisting the urge to fan myself as I walked to him. “And you must be Mr. Grinkov.”

  Extending his hand to shake mine, he said, “Please, call me Maks.”

  I placed my palm in his, and he, in turn, placed his other palm on top of our joined hands and held on for an extended moment, as if he enjoyed the feeling of our skins touching. It was a subtle but intimate and delicious moment that caused a small shiver of pleasure to tickle my backbone. (Okay, and maybe also my hoo-ha.) “It’s lovely to meet you, Catherine.”

  My free hand moved to cover my heart. “The pleasure is mine.”

  For another moment, we simply stood there, looking at each other. I felt caught up in the stare of his beautiful hazel eyes. I didn’t want to blink or turn away. Ever.

  At last, however, the moment began to turn awkward, and Maks let go of my hand. “Shall we have a look at the space?” he asked.

  I pulled at my sweater. Why was it so hot in this hallway? “Yes!” I said, too quickly and definitely too loudly. “This way, Mr. Grinkov.”

  “Maks,” he reminded.

  I stepped in front of him, and the chemistry between us buzzed a degree hotter. Good God, Cat! I thought. Get ahold of yourself!

  Doing my best not to fumble the keys, I led us through the doorway, then stepped to the side to allow him to inspect the office. Maks walked to the center of the room and surveyed the area, like a lion coming into a new territory.