It’s dark and quiet inside. Switching on the lights, I notice everything is as it was when I left the evening before. After depositing my garment bag across the back of my desk chair, I start by cleaning up the empty cups and glasses on the bar. I move to the laundry in the corner next, depositing it in a clothes basket and placing it by the door. I gather up the papers, quickly scanning each one and organizing them into piles based on what's on them. None have any of the information I’m looking for, not that I expected them to.
I suspect Owen is smarter than he looks. In that, we have something in common.
Moving to Owen’s desk, I start with the empty coffee cups, bringing them to the sink to wash before organizing the papers on his desk like I did with the others. Sweeping the last of them off, my gaze catches on a small Post-it note beside his keyboard. On it is only one name: Peyton Radd. Noother information. I quickly snap a photo of the Post-it, and then I look around at my clean-up job.
When I’m satisfied, I make my way to the gym equipment.
Instinct instantly takes over, and the movement is calming. I move through the familiar motions, lifting weights until my muscles feel like Jello. I finish with the punching bag in the corner. It’s covered with white leather and looks as though it’s hardly been used.
This is where I truly lose myself, working out every inch of pure rage that lives in my body, always at risk of exploding.
I don’t know how long I pommel the bag, but I feel the rawness of my knuckles when a familiar voice breaks the silence. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, Miss Riley.”
Instantly dropping my arms, I swing around to face him. Stray strands of blonde hair cling to my face, and I brush them away, finally noticing the blood.
Shit. I tore my knuckles.
Owen looks past me at the bag, and I follow his gaze to find blood spattered on the white leather. I groan. Who buys a white punching bag anyway?
“I’ll wash it,” I say and turn to meet his gaze.
He’s watching me as though he’s trying to piece together some puzzle. “You need to get that looked at?” His eyes drop to my bloody knuckles.
I cover them as best I can. “No. I’ll wrap them.”
“I take it this isn’t the first time you’ve beaten a bag until your knuckles bled?”
I shake my head.
Owen’s eyes drift from my face to the rest of me, and suddenly I’m all too aware that I’m standing in front of him in only a sports bra and a pair of tight-fitting leggings, and I’m dripping with sweat. I hadn’t expected to still be like this when he walked through the door, but I lost track of time.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say hastily, trying to cover the scar on my shoulder and hoping he hasn’t already noticed.
He turns and scans the rest of the room, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “I see you’ve been busy.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He regards me with curiosity. “Let me know if you ever need a real sparring partner. I used to box.”
I raise a brow. “Your bag looks brand new.”
“It is. I killed the last one,” he says as he strolls to his desk and drops a gym bag next to his chair, also placing a coffee cup near to his keyboard. His eyes drop to the sticky note, widening almost imperceptibly before his features return to neutrality, and he looks back at me.
Interesting.
“I haven’t had a true opponent in a while Miss Riley. I’d be honored to train with you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Getting close to him is part of the job, and I do want to punch the smirk off his face, but it isn’t exactly professional. I haven’t even officially gotten the position.
My curiosity overpowers my common sense. “Love to, Mr. Mills. Name the date and time.”
He smiles, that damn dimple appearing. “As it seems we both cannot sleep, how about I meet you here at 5:30 tomorrow morning.”
I nod, not thinking too hard about it. I’m supposed to earn his trust. What better way than beating the shit out of him?
“Let me get out of your way. I’ll shower and be back to work in a few minutes,” I say, heading for his personal bathroom next to the bar.
He observes my retreat with a look I cannot read. The sound of weights being moved and dropped pierces the silence as I slip through the door and close it firmly.
