“No.”
“Oh. Okay. Then I’m sure I’ll survive.”
Damien does NOT laugh.
He leans in a little.
“Elena, has there been anything…inappropriate…happening between you and Colt?”
My brain short-circuits.
My mouth opens.
Closes.
Then I grin wide. It’s involuntary but idiotic.
Damien’s eyes narrow.
“No,” I say. “No. Absolutely not. Nothing inappropriate. Everything is…very appropriate.”
He squints at me harder.
“Really?”
“Really,” I say brightly. “One hundred percent. Pure professionalism. He’s very professional. So professional. Honestly? He’s probably the most professional human I’ve ever met. I should nominate him for an award. A professionalism award.”
Damien juststares.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Smiling like what?” I lie, smiling harder.
“Your face says otherwise.”
“This is my neutral gym face.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, suffering.
“Elena…I’m going to ask you clearly. Has Colt done anything out of line? Said anything? Made you uncomfortable? Crossed a line?”
I laugh again, loudly. Too loud.
“No!” I wave a hand. “God, no. He barely even touches me during training. He’s like—like a monk. A fitness monk. A monk with a whistle.”
Damien’s eyes narrow.
“Did you say…fitnessmonk?”
“Exactly.”
The man looksexhausted.
“Look,” he tries again, “I need to protect our trainers but also make sure our clients feel safe. So if there’s anything?—”
