One
Libby
Today was not the day for Libby Lamb to lose her mind.
Too bad her brain hadn’t gotten the memo.
She exhaled a slow breath, then focused on her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. Her heart hammered in her chest as a bead of perspiration trailed between her breasts.
“Stay calm and breathe. Maintaining a sense of tranquility is literally a yoga teacher’s job,” she said, trying to calm the tittering, raven-haired nutjob looking back at her.
Unfortunately, her words couldn’t permeate the aura of chaos that had engulfed her for the last seventy-five days.
Seventy-five days.
It was insane that it had been that long. And she could still recall the exact moment when her sacred inner equilibrium had been blown to psychic smithereens. But she absolutely, positively could not allow her mind to go there.
No way!
She had to keep that cosmically cataclysmic event out of her head.
Embrace positive energy.
Do not think about stupidly sexy rippling torsos or beautifully beefy biceps.
“Distract your mind and put your intention elsewhere.”
Picture a time when you were truly happy. Hold that feeling inside your chest, close to your heart.
This guided meditation usually worked like a charm, but she was too keyed up to concentrate.
Try something else!
“What do you see?” she whispered, then shifted her attention to her clothing.
Looking yoga fabulous, she’d chosen a sparkly gold sports bra and paired it with white yoga capri pants and a ruby-red, long-sleeved wrap that accentuated her long, jet-black hair. She capped off the outfit with a bracelet.
And it wasn’t just any bracelet.
She’d chosen to wear her beaded green jade bracelet with a Buddha charm—a gift from her brothers. Granted, with that color scheme, she was rocking a quasi-Christmas vibe in mid-June, but she hadn’t chosen these pieces willy-nilly. Today was too important for just any yoga ensemble, and she required every drop of positive juju the universe could supply.
She adjusted her sports bra, smoothing the twisted strap, and straightened her shoulders. Gold held a crazy amount of psychic energy. Representing luck and power, she zeroed in on her heaving breasts encased in the shimmering color as her chest rose and fell with each ragged inhale and every shaky exhale. She caught the glint of green jade at her wrist, and the tense muscles at the base of her neck relaxed a fraction.
Like gold, green offered luck. She not only needed loads of that, but she also required the color’s power to regulate physical and mental energy.
Her breathing evened out as she dropped her gaze to her legs. The white yoga capris caressed her curves and drew on the healing and protective properties of the color that also signified a deep desire to serve others. And that’s exactly what she wanted to do more than anything—to serve others and assist adults and children in achieving and maintaining a healthy sense of balance.
Moment of truth—she sure as hell could use some of that balance. But she couldn’t dwell on the sorry state of her inner tranquility—or lack of it.
She brushed her bangs to the side and concentrated on her bold, red wrap.
This color was her secret weapon.
Red emanated passion, strength, and courage. And she needed to project these qualities in spades.
In terms of psychic energy, was red a slightly aggressive hue?
Yes.
Was it the shade most closely related to flying off the handle in a fiery rage?
Roger, that!
But she had to risk it. Red was her ticket to achieving success. She required an injection of confidence. A booster of boldness! Standing in the restroom of a downtown Denver skyscraper with barely fifteen minutes to go before the biggest meeting of her life, she had to let go of her fears and welcome red’s properties of kicking ass and taking names—metaphysically speaking, of course. She, in no way, condoned violence.
Dressed in colors to psychically slay, she had a date with destiny. Even her horoscope was in agreement. As a Libra, Friday was her day—the day of the week Venus ruled, and Libras should, hypothetically, win.
And sweet Buddha’s belly, she needed a win.
It was a stroke of luck she’d even come upon this opportunity a few weeks ago.
She rarely perused the internet.
It wasn’t that she was opposed to technology—the length of her text strings with her best friends, Penny Fennimore, Harper Presley, and Charlotte Ames, could circle the entire planet at least once, if not twice. She loved connecting with her girls at the drop of a yoga mat. But when it came to her career as a yoga instructor, she sought connection through movement and meditation. That’s why it was so miraculous she’d learned about this opportunity on social media. But once she saw it, the post rattled around in her mind until she couldn’t help but fill out the attached application and hit send.
She could see it now.
Denver-based venture capitalist group, Tri-Derrick International, is looking to promote the next female wellness and fitness sensation, age 21 to 26.
Prize: twenty thousand dollars plus seed money of one hundred thousand dollars to invest in the winner’s business plan.
This money could change everything.
She’d dreamed of working with children and adults in her own yoga and meditation center—and now it was within her grasp. She’d drafted a stellar business plan and had finalized her pitch last night. She’d also dressed the part, and as long as she could keep her wobbly chi in check, she truly believed sweet victory would be hers.
But there was more. This prospect would make all the difference for her brothers as well.
She unzipped her yoga bag and reached between her rolled-up mat and portable gong and found her cell phone. Scrolling through her text messages, she landed on a line of text and a picture that reminded her of why she was here today. And why she had no other option than to go big and turn this interview into an offer—an offer that included a bonus of cold hard cash.
She studied the image on her phone, and a lightness came over her. Four years her junior, her twenty-one-year-old twin brothers, Anders and Alec, stood together grinning with a group of children and a half-built structure in the background. Then she read the message accompanying the jovial photo.
We were accepted into the study abroad program in Quito. Pre-med, here we come.
Her brothers had spent the last few months building a medical facility in a remote village outside of the Ecuadorian capital as a part of their university’s study abroad program that partnered with a local nonprofit. They’d been accepted into their college’s accelerated medical track to study medicine abroad in Quito.
Seemed like a dream come true, right? Young men wanting to become physicians to give back and help those who needed it most.
Here’s the kicker.
The whole here-we-come part only worked if she could pony-up sixteen thousand dollars in sixty days. Eight thousand each for the twin’s room and board. And while her brothers had received grants and loans to pay for most of their education, not everything was covered. And it wasn’t like they could depend on their father for help.
She was it. She was all they had. And she’d made a promise to watch out for them, to be the big sister. And if one thing were true in this life, it was that Libby Lamb didn’t break promises.