Preston ogles my new outfit just as shamelessly. Leopard print leggings. A loose, oversized tee with slashed sleeves revealing a bright orange tank top underneath. I don’t know why I did it. Probably thought it’d help me blend in while I lurk—ahem, observe—the session.
“Okay, the gym’s officially spotless,” I say, dusting off my hands. “But if you have a power washer lying around, I’ll give it another go.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Fair enough.” I nod toward the small pink dumbbells I know aren’t his. “But since we already started spring cleaning… anything else you want me to bin for you?”
That throws him for a second. But I’d rather not guess what else isn’t his and chuck everything that was Blake’s out at once. Rip-the-bandage technique.
He scans the space, and I can tell by the tightness in his jaw what still lingers from her. But he tells me anyway.
Forget pressure washers. I’m bringing sage next time.
It’s not much, so I’ll manage everything in one trip. Halfway up the stairs, he hits me with what I’m now convinced is his favorite line. “You don’t have to do this, you know?”
“I’m here to doexactlythis, Dr. Preston.” I suck in a breath. “Please, get this through that thick skull of yours: I’m here to help your family heal and move forward.”
I pause because I’m lugging about fifteen kilos of emotional baggage in gym gear, and arguing with a stubborn man mid-stairs is not on my cardio plan.
“My jobis to make your life easier. So that’s what I’m doing.” I lift the weights in my arms with a little bump. “This?” I add, with a flourish. “This is just the beginning.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
preston
The sessionwith the personal trainer ends, and I have to admit it—working with a professional makes a difference. I’m wrung out and wired all at once.
I pushed past my limit more times than I can count. Apparently, nothing motivates a man more than a very distracting, Kindle-reading audience, who spent the entire hour ‘observing’ from a beanbag in the corner.
I might need her stationed nearby for every session from now on. Strictly for performance enhancement, obviously.
John and I exchange a quick handshake and say our goodbyes, but instead of heading for the stairs, he veers toward Mia. I follow, suspicion already threading up my shoulders.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mia,” he says.
What happened to using last names like a professional? Showing the woman some goddamn respect?
“If you ever want to hop in on a session, just say the word. No charge.”
The fuck? I’m paying him. This is my house. I invite people. Not the other way around.
Mia’s brow rise, but she gives the man no answer. I can’t tell if she didn’t appreciate him being so forward or if she’s playing hard to get. Is she enjoying the show this peacock asshole is putting on? Too bad, because I’m about to shut it down.
Her eyes flick to mine, so I stop drilling holes in John’s skull and force a smile at her.
“She’ll think about it,” I answer on her behalf, clapping a firm hand on John’s shoulder and steering him toward the exit. “You know your way out, yeah?”
He stammers out a yes, and I clap his shoulder one last time. Definitely not as hard as I want to.
When I turn back, Mia’s chin hangs low. She mouths my name in mock horror.
“That wasn’t very polite,” she says.
I shrug. “Don’t cancel tomorrow’s guy. You’re right. Let’s see which one is a better fit.”
Her gaze flicks between the floor and me, lips twitching. “Do you think he was calling me fat? Telling me to exercise?”
“What?” I ask, astounded. “Are you crazy? That asshole was hitting on you. How come you didn’t see that?”
