Lyons den, p.3
Lyon's Den, page 3
“Joni?”
She looked up, seeing the last of her team leaving to follow some of the others up the large staircase that was against the far wall. Kendall Lyon—Kenni—was waiting for her. She met her gaze and nodded, finally moving closer. She was surprised when the woman hoisted one of her bags onto the table and opened it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked sharply.
“Searching your bags.”
“Whatever for?”
Kenni pulled out a bottle of wine. “This, for starters.” She set the nice bottle of red aside, one of the blends she’d brought, next to a bottle of pinot grigio.
“Look, I’m just here to write a story. I don’t think I need to adhere to all these silly rules you have.”
The woman stared at her. “Silly? If you think they’re silly and have no merit, perhaps you should request a refund and head back to Denver.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, other than, yeah, she’d like to head back to Denver. This whole setup here was so over the top, she felt like she was in a 1970s time warp and stuck in a commune of not like-minded women.
“No?”
Joni shook her head. “No. I don’t think my boss would go for that.”
“Right. Hard to do an article on us if you don’t actually participate in things. So, I guess you’re stuck with my silly rules.”
To her horror, Kenni next picked up the bag she’d stuffed full of wine. She was surprised that the annoyance on the woman’s face turned to amusement as she searched through the clothes that had been painstakingly wrapped around each bottle.
“Wow. Eight bottles in this bag alone.” Then she fished inside a shoe. “Ah. And a corkscrew.” The woman actually smiled at her. “You’ve won. Congratulations.”
“Won?” She smiled too. “Does that mean I get to keep the wine?”
“No. That means that over the ten years that I’ve run this place, no one has tried to sneak in more than two bottles.”
“Only two? Amateurs,” she muttered.
She’d packed ten bottles and, yes, the Lyon woman found them all, as well as the cute little plastic wine glass she’d hidden in a side pocket.
“You’re on the third floor. Room 33.”
“I don’t guess there’s an elevator.”
“No.”
She blew out her breath. “Bellboy?”
“Afraid not. Feel free to make two trips.”
Kenni turned away and left her standing there. All the other women had already gone up the stairs. And all of them had only two bags. In fact, most had one large bag and a smaller backpack. They had all apparently read—and adhered—to the rules. She looked at her three bags—which now weighed much less without wine—and the large backpack. I hate this place. She slung the backpack on her shoulder and picked up one of the bags and headed to the stairs. Yes, she would have to make two trips.
“I should have quit my job.”
Chapter Six
Kenni walked down the steps of her cabin, her moccasin-clad feet making little noise as she moved over the pine needles that littered the forest floor. The moon was high and bright as it shone through the trees, and she walked among them, her gaze going to the sky time and again.
For five months out of the year—May through September—she hosted twenty women for a month-long retreat. The program had evolved a lot in the ten years she’d been doing this, and the message had changed some too. Her clientele had certainly changed from those early years, that’s for sure. She still didn’t know why the rich and pampered women flocked to her. Because being pampered was the last thing they were going to be.
And maybe that was why they were drawn here. Most of the women were very intelligent and able-bodied, yet living a life where they were coddled and had most of their life decisions made for them, usually by the wealthy, domineering husbands that they’d married. Here, they would learn independence and perseverance. They would challenge their bodies to do things they’d never imagined. In one short month, their eating habits would change, their bodies would change, and their mindset would change.
She could already picture them in the morning. Six o’clock was much earlier than most were used to having breakfast. In fact, she guessed most would not normally be awake at that hour. But they would show up, all having taken the time to apply their makeup as they usually did. By the third day—or even the second—most would have completely ditched the makeup routine. After the first week, those whose hair was long and flowing would be tying it into ponytails. All of their status symbols—like their gold and diamonds—would be stripped away. Two weeks in, they would be more concerned with their team and winning the daily activities than worrying about how they looked. By the time the month was up, each would have transformed into a very different woman from the one who had arrived today.
Not all hung on to their new identity, of course. Some went back to their lives and reverted to their earlier selves. Yet some felt so inspired when they left here that they completely changed their lives—for the better she would like to think. Judging by the number of emails and letters she received from them, it was. Some divorced their overbearing husbands and got out of loveless marriages. Some started new careers. And some gave back to the community, volunteering when they’d never entertained the idea before.
For some reason, the image of Mr. Willet popped into her mind. He’d been the epitome of a domineering husband and father. She imagined he ran his household much as he did his company—with an iron fist. It was a shame his oldest son had slipped out from under his thumb. She sighed and pushed those old memories away. She didn’t want to think about that night and the heartbreaking weeks afterward. No, she rarely thought of that night.
Instead, she walked on through the trees, seeing the lodge. All was dark and quiet…except for a lone room on the third floor. She smiled slightly and shook her head. Was it the journalist? Most likely. That made her wonder why in the world a magazine—Mountain Life—wanted to write an article about them. Lyon’s Den didn’t do much advertising anymore. They didn’t have to. Through their website and word of mouth, their monthly sessions were always sold out. In fact, next year’s sessions were already booked, with only a couple of spots still available for next September.
Well, she didn’t suppose it mattered. She wasn’t going to deviate from their normal routine because a journalist was here doing a story. And she also wasn’t going to cut the woman any slack. She’d signed up for a spot and she was now on a team. It wouldn’t be fair to the others if Joni James got special treatment. That, in turn, made Kenni laugh out loud, remembering the ten bottles of wine she’d confiscated from her. Wine and the contraband that went with it. Yes, there was always someone who tried to sneak in a bottle or two. But ten? She laughed quietly as she made her way back to her cabin.
When she had bought this place, the lodge had already been there. It had been a summer church camp, built with a generous donation from one of their members. Unfortunately, the wealthy donor had passed away and his children had no interest in supporting the church. Their money dried up quickly, and they were forced to abandon the project. She and her grandmother had snatched up the lodge and the fifty acres it sat on, outbidding another buyer who had wanted to turn it into a fancy resort.
To be fair, it was her grandmother’s idea to start the retreat. This type of endeavor had not occurred to her. She had simply wanted to take the money and forget all about that tragic night. But after many long discussions, her grandmother had convinced her that she could do something good with the money. She had enough capital to get started but still needed to secure a business loan for all the upgrades she needed. Pitching her idea for the retreat was met with skepticism by most loan officers. She kept trying, finally securing a loan at a higher interest rate in order to get the approval.
That was ten years ago. And in that time, the price they charged per month had doubled to nearly ten thousand, which was why their clientele had changed too. At first she’d been shocked by all the wealthy women who had started to come. How could she possibly help them? They had plenty of money for therapists to get them through any rough patches they may have. She soon realized that was the very reason they came to her.
The women with less income, those who saved for months or a year to be able to come there, only benefited as long as they were there. Once back in the real world, they didn’t have the money to make changes in their lives, even if they wanted to. Well, some did, sure. But not most of them. The ladies who came now, though, didn’t have that restriction. Those who came now left empowered and they had the money to redefine their lives if they chose to. And surprisingly, a large number of them did.
She climbed the steps back to her front porch, then turned again, taking one last glance at the moon. This little cabin was home for six months out of the year. Or more, if she could stretch it. At the end of September, when the last clients left, they closed up the lodge and the staff departed for their winter homes.
Wanda lived down the mountain in Gunnison with her daughter. Sky was from Miami and worked for her father’s real estate company during the winters. Mindy traveled back to Los Angeles and worked at a yoga studio. Karla and Jenn were both from Denver. Jenn spent the ski season in Vail, and Karla was a personal trainer at a gym.
And her? While her grandmother had left Phoenix and retired in Flagstaff, she had settled in Santa Fe, although she didn’t consider it home. She stayed right here until the snow came. Then she’d venture off the mountain and head south. Depending on the weather, she came back around the first of April, getting everything ready and organized for their first group of ladies on May 1.
It was a routine she was well used to by now. She much preferred the summers. She’d made a few friends in Santa Fe, but she wasn’t there enough to nurture relationships. But up here? Yes, this was home now, and her staff had become not only good friends, but they were as close as family.
She stood still, listening to the quiet, listening to the darkness. She was aware of the contented smile on her face as she slipped back into her cabin.
Chapter Seven
A loud blaring noise made Joni sit up in bed, her heart pounding. “What the fuck?” She fumbled with her phone, but the sound was coming from the hallway. Fire alarm? But no. The sound stopped and she heard no screaming or running. She lay back down with a groan. Surely it was still the middle of the night. She picked up her phone again—5:31 stared back at her.
“Oh my god.” That must have been that stupid alarm Sky had mentioned. Who got up this early? Who ate breakfast at six in the goddamn morning? She rolled over and closed her eyes again, hoping to fall back to sleep. Without her usual glass or three of wine last night, she’d still been wide awake at nearly midnight. Maybe she could snatch another hour before they missed her. But no. She heard the sounds of doors opening, heard voices in the hallway. The others were up and about. Crazy-ass women.
With another groan, she tossed the covers off and made herself get up. She had discovered last night while roaming the halls alone that there were three bathrooms on each floor. They were surprisingly large, with three showers and three toilets in each. She’d even wandered downstairs into the lobby for a bit but felt embarrassed for snooping around. Especially after she’d convinced herself that the Lyon woman surely had security cameras hidden about.
She stood there now in the middle of her tiny bedroom, eyes still closed. She yawned. Did she have time for a shower? That would at least help wake her up. She shuffled to the small dresser and grabbed her toiletry bag. She opened the door, then shielded her eyes against the bright, glaring hallway lights.
“Christ,” she muttered.
“Oh, good morning. You’re Joni, right?” said a cheerful voice in the hallway.
She blinked her eyes, then yawned, barely managing to cover her mouth somewhat politely. “Yes, Joni,” she said hoarsely. She had no clue who the woman was.
“I’m Christine. We’re on the same team.”
“Uh-huh. Great.” She motioned to the bathroom. “Shower.”
“Oh.” Christine looked at the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. “Better hurry. I don’t think you’re allowed to be late.”
Allowed? She mentally rolled her eyes. What were they going to do? Kick her out of camp?
“I’ll save you a seat,” the overly friendly woman said as she hurried down the hallway to the stairs, her long blond hair flowing nearly down to her waist.
Joni guessed her to be late forties, maybe even fifty. Wasn’t it time to cut that mane already? She sighed loudly. “Somebody shoot me.”
Apparently she was the only one who needed a shower to wake up. The bathroom was blessedly empty. Despite her indifference to the rules, she did not linger in the shower. As she was brushing her teeth, the freakin’ alarm went off again and she nearly choked on her toothbrush.
“What the fuck?” she murmured as she rinsed out her mouth. A glance at her phone told her she had three minutes. She shoved everything into her bag and nearly raced back to her room. She stood there stupidly. What the hell was she supposed to wear? She closed her eyes. What had Christine been wearing? She shook her head. She hadn’t been awake enough to notice. She jerked on a pair of navy sweats and shoved her sockless feet into the new pair of running shoes. Right! Running shoes! How funny! She allowed a quick laugh. She hadn’t run a day in her life.
She pulled out one of the new T-shirts that Dana had bought for her—nothing she would have ever picked for herself. She was as flat-chested as a runway model and rarely wore a bra. Did I even bring any? She slipped on the shirt, then grabbed her phone, and, with one look in the mirror, realized she had forgotten makeup.
It was 5:59. She ripped open her makeup bag and hastily applied moisturizer—6:00. “Oh, fuck it.” She ran a hand through her still damp hair, shoved her phone in her pocket, and bolted for the door.
* * *
Kenni glanced at the list, noting the lone name not crossed off. She stared at the stairs, then shook her head. Karla elbowed her.
“Looks like one of your team is late.”
“The journalist. Joni.”
“Gonna be a problem?”
Kenni glanced at her. “She’s the one who tried to sneak in the wine.”
Karla laughed. “Oh. That one.” She clapped her shoulder. “Glad she’s on your team and not mine.”
They both looked up at the running down the stairs. Kenni was shocked at the transformation of Joni James. Gone was the makeup. Gone was the styled hair. Gone was the expensive blouse and tight-fitting black jeans. In its place was fresh, clean skin, hand-tousled hair that was still damp, and baggy sweatpants with a loose-fitting T-shirt.
“Good morning,” she managed as she stared at the lovely woman approaching. Then she remembered her purpose here and gave a slight scowl. “You’re late, Ms. James.”
Joni gave her an “I don’t give a fuck” look—complete with an eye roll—and sauntered past them into the dining hall. Kenni couldn’t keep the smile off her face.
“Oh, she’s going to be fun,” Karla teased.
“Yes, I think she is.” She held up her cell phone. “Go on in, Karla. I’ll run the first test.”
That first test was calling everyone’s cell phone. It was such a habit for most that they often forgot the rule of no phones, simply slipping it into a pocket without thinking. Inevitably she would find someone who had forgotten. And if she had to guess, Joni James would be that someone. She called all twenty numbers, saving Joni’s for last. She stood in the doorway as it rang, the sound causing everyone to stop talking and look around for the offending phone.
Kenni nearly laughed as Joni tried to discreetly pull her cell out. She answered quietly.
“Hello.”
“Ms. James, could I see you in the lobby please?”
She watched as Joni jerked her head up, meeting her gaze across the room. “Well, fuck,” Joni mouthed at her.
The call disconnected, and Kenni turned away, unable to keep her laughter in any longer. She waited until Joni came out, then she closed the door to the dining room. She held her hand out.
Joni frowned. “What?”
“Your phone.”
“What about it?”
“We went over this yesterday. Phones aren’t allowed. Hand it over.”
“So now what? You’re confiscating it?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Okay, no you’re not. I cannot live without my phone.”
Kenni sighed. “Of course you can.”
“No! Really. I can’t.” She clutched her phone to her chest. “You can’t take my phone. I won’t let you.”
“You can get it back tonight after dinner. If you feel like you need some of that nonsense that’s on there, look at it then. In your room. Alone. But during the day, from six in the morning until after dinner, no cell phones.”
“No. I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I just can’t do it.” She held the phone up. “My life is on this phone.”
Kenni rolled her eyes. “Oh, give me a break.”
“It is!”
“Then you need to work on your life. And this is a great place to do that.” She held her hand out again. “Now, give me the phone,” she said slowly, enunciating each word clearly.
