Page 1 of The Titan and the Trainer

Chapter 1 - The Client

Tue. 7th Jan. 25

The lift made its silent, smooth ascent to the 50th floor, but Callum’s chest felt like a pressure cooker. Staring into the polished mirror, he hated the flicker of anxiety staring back at him. Nervousness was a feeling he wasn’t used to, yet the wad of overdue bills stuffed in the side pocket of his holdall was stealing his oxygen. These late-night overpriced training sessions weren't just a job; they were his absolute last lifeline. He forced a textbook grin, squaring his developed shoulders and making himself look larger. Look confident. At the end of the day, it was just some corporate asshole behind the door. It didn't matter whether he liked him or not, as long as he signed up for the series and paid the bill.

The silver elevator doors opened with a soft ding, revealing a lobby that looked more like an art gallery than a gym. Callum stepped out. His worn sneakers squeaked a frantic, rubbery protest against the polished marble floor. He checked his watch: 10:45 p.m.

“This can’t be right,” he muttered, adjusting the strap of his holdall.

The floor belonged to Vance Global. He had been booked to meet Mr Newman for a private introductory session, but the company had been tight-lipped about any further details. Usually, a private session meant a penthouse with a squat rack, not a darkened, unmanned reception desk and a silent row of glass-walled offices.

A shadow moved far across the open floor space. “Mr West?”

The voice was deep and resonant, carrying effortless authority. Callum turned to see a large man framed in the far doorway. Even in the dim light, the man was striking: dark hair perfectly styled, a bearded jawline that could cut glass, and a commanding presence that seemed to suck the air out of the room.

“That’s me, Callum,” he said, walking forward. It felt like a long way. “I think there’s been a mistake with the scheduling, though. I was told we were training?”

The man stepped into the light. He wore a fitted navy three-piece suit that probably cost more than Callum’s college tuition. His silk tie was knotted tight, and silver cufflinks glinted in the dim light. Even fully dressed, Callum could see he was muscular and defined.

“No mistake. I’m Julian Newman,” the man said. His eyes travelled over Callum’s frame, lingering on the tightness of his white compression shirt, his black shorts and the muscular line of his calves before returning to his face. “I don’t have time to do this during the day. This is the only window I have.”

Callum blinked, glancing at the offices, the plush leather chairs, and the deep-pile carpet. “Here? Now? You’re… you’re in a suit, Mr Newman.”

A faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of Julian’s mouth. “My assistant was supposed to have my training gear delivered. It seems she forgot, and I’m not losing another hour of my life to a logistical error.”

“With respect, we can’t do leg day in tight-fitting Tom Ford trousers,” Callum said, a playful grin breaking through his confusion. “You’ll split the seams before we finish the warm-up.”

Julian paused, his gaze darkening, his voice dropping an octave. “Well, I’m not working out with some stranger in my boxer shorts. We’ll just have to find something else to work on. Something… less restrictive." Callum thought silently to himself, he’d actually quite like to see Mr Newman in his boxer shorts.

He gestured for Callum to follow. As they walked, Callum caught the scent of his cologne, something fresh, sophisticated, and potentially lethal. His heart skipped a beat.

Julian led him around the corner where the floor opened onto a gym area with aerobic machines, rubber mats, benches and free weights. It was a decent setup for an office environment and unlike a normal gym, the space smelled of expensive Scandinavian wood and money.

“Alright,” Callum said, dropping his bag and eyeing the equipment while he tried to regain his professional footing. “Let’s see what we can do. First things first, please remove your jacket and waistcoat. The tie must go too. You can’t breathe properly with your throat constricted. Can we at least agree to lose the tie?”

Julian hesitated, a silent challenge in his eyes, which Callum noticed were green and piercing. But he complied. He slowly removed his jacket and waistcoat and placed them tidily over the back of a nearby chair, then returned to Callum. “Is that better?”

Callum swallowed hard. Julian’s white shirt strained tightly across a chest that was formidably built. This guy must have every item of clothing he wears custom-made, he thought to himself.

“And the tie,” Callum added jokingly.

Julian just looked at him.

Oh shit, thought Callum. Have I already stepped over the line?

Before he could say anything more, Julian said, “Then by all means, Mister Personal Trainer, please help me out of it.”

Callum’s heart gave a traitorous thump as he stepped forward into Julian’s personal space.

The air between them felt charged with static, like just before a thunderstorm.

He reached out. His calloused fingers brushed the cool silk of the tie; his knuckles grazed the warm skin of Julian’s throat. Up close, his face was even more imposing. He was handsome, manly, and exactly Callum’s type. This was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

“Standard Windsor,” Callum muttered, nervously. His fingers trembled just enough to be noticeable. “A bit tight for someone who wants to move.”

“It’s a uniform,” Julian replied, sighing as he looked deep into Callum’s eyes, his gaze unblinking.

Callum felt the heat and the danger. This was no longer just a job. It was already a high-stakes game of chicken, and he was the one most likely to blink first.