Chapter Text
BAZ
“Pitch Perfect Nutrition, can I help you?”
“Hey, is this Baz?”
“Pardon?”
“This is Baz, right?”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“No, um…just, Penny said I should call.”
Ah yes. I knew this was coming. Penelope talked my ear off about her friend when I bumped into her at the hospital the other day. What did she say his name was? Seymour? Cyrus? Of course this oaf hasn’t bothered to mention it himself…
I typically don’t even consider taking cases like his (run-of-the-mill high cholesterol, boring human problem, how dull). I prefer a bit more of a challenge – a secret to unravel, a battle to undertake. I’ve built my reputation on literally turning people’s lives around. Helping them in ways that nobody ever bothered to help me.
Penelope begged me to at least speak to her friend. Apparently he’s at the end of his rope. She said he’s a real do-gooder with a heart of gold. She also assured me he was plenty challenging. I assume she was talking about his personality, not his medical history. Terrific. Just what I needed, another problematic client to make my life miserable.
I roll my eyes and encourage him to get to the point.
“What seems to be the issue Mr…?”
“Oh. You can just call me Simon…it’s…Simon Snow. I went to school with Penny…she said she knows you from work? We live together, me and Penny – but we’re not together, together! She’s like my sister, or… sometimes it’s more like she’s my mum. That sounds weird. Um. You know what I mean…”
Penelope’s going to pay dearly for this. I’m never getting these minutes of my life back. I am sorely tempted to put this idiot on speaker and fold my laundry while I wait for him to spit it out (one of the many benefits of being self-employed). But, I have a feeling all that blustering would be even more grating through the tinny phone speaker. I take a calming breath and try once more to nudge him in the direction of forming actual, relevant sentences.
“Right. Mr. Snow, why don’t you start by telling me what you need help with?”
SIMON
You ever call someone to help you out of a tight spot, like a plumber, or a customer service agent, or something? Like, you’re really panicked and you need help right away and you’re frantic to get hold of somebody who knows what they’re doing? And when the person picks up, their phone voice is like, surprisingly sexy? And when they repeat your name and your problem back to you like they were really listening, you just feel flooded with relief that you’re in good hands? That this person has a killer bedside manner and they’re gonna take care of you and everything is going to be ok?
Well, maybe not. But, I’m telling you – it’s a thing.
Anyway, I’m getting that vibe right now. From Baz (I guess I should call him ‘Mr. Pitch’ but I hate all that formal bullshit). He seems like a real stuck-up git, to be honest. But I can tell he’s being patient with me and his voice is like water, each syllable dancing perfectly off his tongue.
He probably looks like some fitness god too (not like I care or anything) (I notice when a man is attractive…but I only ever date women).
Anyway, it’s not as easy as it sounds, being patient with me. I’m pretty shit with words most of the time. But he’s right. We have to start somewhere. And I have a good feeling about him.
“Well, see, I’ve always wanted to be a firefighter,” I begin. “I like helping people, and I wanted to do that for my job. I’m pretty shit with words, but –– ”
Did Baz just scoff at me? Maybe he just had a tickle in his throat.
“But I’m good at using my body, right? –- Oi! I can hear you scoffing! Listen, I’m telling you -– I know I’m no good at talking, but I’m great in action.”
Baz makes a vague humming noise but doesn’t say anything. So I keep trying to explain.
“When I was a kid, I needed all the help I could get and I want to give back somehow. And I know I would be really good at it. Being a firefighter just makes sense for me. I've dreamed about it ever since I was little. It’s like, my destiny!”
I break for a second and let out a heavy sigh. Talking about this always gets me so worked up.
“I don’t have a Plan B,” I add in a quieter voice.
“I see,” Baz says. He couldn’t sound more bored if he tried. I hear him drawing in a deep breath. I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. No wonder he and Penny are friends.
“Mr. Snow, do you have a nutrition-related problem? Did Penelope tell you anything about the services I provide?”
He’s trying again to get me to get to the point (really, the man deserves a medal for being this patient).
“It’s the fucking medical exam!” I sputter.
My free hand is raking through my hair and I’m pacing back and forth in front of the couch. I’m a bloody mess, and this guy is so infuriatingly proper.
“I passed all the fitness tests and I’ve even gone to some of the optional training clinics. I’m in really good physical shape! I played rugby all through school. And I’m wicked fierce with a sword--”
“Excuse me?” Baz interrupts. “When was the last time you had cause to wield a sword?”
“Oh. Um. Well…I’m pretty active in the LARP scene. You know…live action role play?”
“Right…”
Yup, I bet Baz is face-palming right now. He thinks I’m a total numpty. Perfect.
“I’ll have to take your word on that, Snow. I think Penelope mentioned something about high cholesterol?”
“Yeah. I mean, that’s what they say…I don’t know what they expect. You have to eat a lot to do the things I do. I’m always fucking hungry…”
“Snow, it’s not ‘something they say’. If it’s in your bloodwork, it’s pretty much a fact.”
“Well, I need it off my record. Can you help me?”
There’s a long silence.
Shit, did I mess this up somehow? (Of course I did.) Baz is the only lead I have and I really need his help. He probably only ever has clients that are posh like him. Penny said he’s pretentious and hard to read but that he takes his work dead serious. She said I need someone scary like her if I want to have any hope of actually succeeding.
“Baz? I’m sorry. I know I’m a right mess. I’ll work hard. I promise.”
Did he hang up on me? I check my phone and the seconds on the call are still ticking. What the hell?
“Baz! Come on. You have to help me! You’re my only hope.”
“Snow, what I have to do is check my schedule and my client roster to see if I have the time to take you on. I’ll get back to you this evening.”
BAZ
I know I seem like a cold-hearted prick. Honestly, no one would fight you on that. I’m extremely picky about my clientele. There is no shortage of people looking to make good on promises to turn their lives around.
I studied nutrition under some of the best names in the field and I work hard for my clients. I’ve earned the right to be choosy. The Instagram for my business is chock full of inspirational stories, smiling faces and gorgeous food shots.
A fire fighter could make for an exceptionally moving profile piece. Or…he could be an aggressive, homophobic nightmare. I don’t like to stereotype, but I have to be careful about stuff like that because I work alone, often meeting clients in their homes. Also, it’s not worth it to me to pour my time and energy into someone who doesn’t respect who I am (I get enough of that with my father).
I’ll just check Penelope’s Instagram, confirm my worst suspicions about Snow and send him a polite note of apology and a referral to one of my colleagues.
Or…
Maybe I’ll just bang my head against the kitchen counter until I can knock loose the image of him that just seared itself onto my brain. Shit.
Meddling know-it-all (16:51):
Simon says he called you. He’s worried you’re blowing him off.Me (16:53):
I run a business Bunce, not a charity.Meddling know-it-all (16:53):
Basilton, please. He’s like my brother. He hasn’t caught a lot of breaks in life and he really needs one now.Me (16:58):
Fine. I’ll meet with him *once* and we’ll see how it goes. No promises.
“Fuck!”
I hurl my phone across the flat onto the couch and run my hands through my hair, letting them come to rest at the base of my neck.
Penelope Bunce is a thorn in my side. She knows I’m a highly successful professional with a refined clientele. I never agree to work with friends (or friends of friends) because the boundaries get too blurry. It’s easy for them to take advantage, or for you to overstep. She knows very well what she’s asking of me.
I retrieve my phone and go back to scrolling through Penelope’s Instagram. I can see exactly what I’m up against and it’s not good.
Snow is literally swinging a sword in one photo. Eyes flashing, skin glowing, bronze curls billowing. For some inexplicable reason his costume seems to include a pair of red dragony wings and a tail. Heaven knows why, but I can’t stop tracing the contours of them with my eyes. They’re astoundingly realistic; they seem as full of life as he does.
From what I can see, Snow doesn’t strike me as a laddish prick, but that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. On the contrary, Simon Snow is a disaster waiting to happen.
I am incredibly weak for rakish young men. Rakish young men with disarming grins who stutter through phone calls and blatantly inform me they’re ‘good with their bodies’. Bodies that apparently include wings at times. Christ.
Nope. I’d rather drown myself in the Thames than endure the torture of maintaining a professional demeanor with someone like this. He’s infuriatingly attractive and seems likely to test my limits at every turn. I will meet with him once to get a better sense of his case and then I will foist him off on one of my colleagues. Perhaps someone who specialises in athletes. That would be better suited to his situation anyhow.
Me (18:17):
I can meet you for an introductory consultation. Breakfast at your favourite cafe at your earliest convenience.Simon “nightmare” Snow (18:18):
thank god!! didn’t think u were gonna do itSimon “nightmare” Snow (18:18):
i work mornings this week but i could do saturday?Simon “nightmare” Snow (18:47):
or i could try 2 switch shifts with someoneMe (18:51):
No. That’s alright. I don’t usually meet with clients on the week-end but I can do it just this once.Simon “nightmare” Snow (18:51):
great!!Simon “nightmare” Snow (18:51):
do u know the wandernig gota?Simon “nightmare” Snow (18:51):
they have the best sconesSimon “nightmare” Snow (18:53):
*wandering goat*Me (18:54):
Yes. I believe I’ve been there before. 9am?Simon “nightmare” Snow (18:57):
uh… any chance we can meet at 8?Simon “nightmare” Snow (18:57):
i wake up earlySimon “nightmare” Snow (18:58):
and hungryMe (19:03):
Fine. 8am it is.