“Arthur. I’m glad you’ve decided to get help for your injury, really I am. And I’m honoured that you’re asking me. But I’m a single mom with three jobs. I can’t train you outside my normal hours.”
He looks like he’s ready to argue, but then his expression shifts—eyes narrowing slightly, lips pressing together—like he’s running mental calculations.
“What if I come to you?”
I blink again. “Excuse me?”
“I could meet you at your house whenever it works for you. I’ll have to take team games and travel into consideration, of course.”
“With both our schedules, we’d probably only be able to train once a week,” I say, already booking sessions in my head.
One corner of his mouth curves upward, and the flicker of a smirk hovers there. “More than I’ve done for my injury in years. It’s a start.”
I sit forward, the hint of challenge sparking something in me. “I could give you exercises you can do anywhere. And if you had questions, we could use video calls. I’ve trained people remotely before. It works surprisingly well.”
He nods slowly, eyes not leaving mine. “That could work.”
“You’ll have to do what I tell you,” I say, leaning in a fraction before I realize it.
He pauses, gaze dipping to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “Well, yes. To a point.”
I shake my head. “No. I’ll give you a plan, and you’ll follow it. The plan doesn’t work if you don’t work the plan. My time is limited, and I don’t want to waste any of it. Understood?”
His lips press together, then part. “Understood.”
“Well…okay. We have a deal. I’d be happy to help you.”
He grimaces athelp.“We have no such thing. You haven’t negotiated what you want out of this arrangement.”
“I just don’t want to get fired.”
His sigh is long, and his eyes soften just enough to make my pulse tick faster. “Your position is safe. I’m not extorting physio sessions from you. You don’t have to do this. I’ll pay you for your time.”
He jots a number on his notepad and turns it toward me.
I stare at it. “This would be me extortingyou.My time isn’t worth that much.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” His voice is lower now, deliberate. “I took the standard rate for a private physiotherapy session, added an after-hours fee, and a bonus for having me at your home.”
Overwhelmed doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling. Grateful, yes. Nervous I’ll screw this up? Absolutely.
“How did you get to work today?”
I’m still staring at the number he wrote down, as if the ink might rearrange itself into something less outrageous. “My friend Jess drove me. She works at a police station five minutes away. She’s giving me a lift home too. Sam’s hanging out with a friend after school.”
He nods slowly, like he’s tucking the information away for later. “And your car?”
“I found a place that can take it tomorrow. They’ll tow it and everything, so it’ll be out of the lot then.”
Arthur slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys. “The Otters organization has a number of company cars that are never all in use at the same time. You’re welcome to use one until your car is back in reliable working order.”
You have got to be kidding me. A company car? Why is he being so nice to me? Does he think that I’m dying?
“Though,” he continues, “given the look of it, I’m not sure that car has been reliable for quite some time.”
I place a hand over my chest, feigning offence. “First of all—rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know I’ve had Millie for decades.”
“I believe you. She looks like you’ve had her for decades.”
