Page 35 of The Titan and the Trainer

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night,” Julian added. “About people being their best when they're struggling. Well, I'm struggling today, Callum. I’m struggling not to think about you twenty-four-seven, struggling to walk away from you right now, and I’m about to struggle to go sit in a boardroom for seven hours with thirty potential Chinese partners…” He made a frustrated face.

“I’m sure you’ll cope admirably,” Callum smiled, “and when I get back to the gym and clean up, I will read my messages, check my schedule, and decide just when I’m coming to visit the Mausoleum. I might even let you know via a WhatsApp message!”

“That will be lovely. Please feel free to distract me all you want,” Julian said, checking his watch with a grimace. The Titan was on his back. “The car is waiting. I’d better go.”

“Julian.”

He turned back.

“Thanks for coming,” Callum said, smiling. “It was a great start to my week.”

Julian nodded, a small private smile of his own appearing before he slid into the back seat of the car. As the vehicle pulled off, Callum stood on the grass, smelling of sweat and mud, watching his boyfriend disappear back into the concrete jungle of Manhattan.

Chapter 17 - Boredroom Antics

Mon. 20th Jan. 25

The boardroom of Vance Global felt like a freezer. Julian was cold, which was very unusual for him, his body running warm most of the time. He made a mental note to speak to Kerry about it. There was something wrong with the air-con in this room.

Outside, the sun was shining on the skyscrapers of Midtown, but inside, the thin, recycled air seemed stale and cold. Stuck inside today: he wanted to be outside, maybe in a park somewhere, with a certain physical trainer. He was thoroughly distracted.

Julian sat at the head of the forty-foot, highly polished mahogany table, surrounded by six of his analysts, three of his CFOs, a delegation of twenty-seven visitors and the ever-watchful Kerry, his Exec. Assistant, overseeing the event.

The meeting included various presentations and discussion about portfolio selection and engagement options. This was a $10-billion deal if they could get it through, and normally something of this importance would require his 100% focus, but today, frankly, he was more interested in the water jug in front of him.

He just couldn’t stop thinking about Callum, pining for him like some starry-eyed teenager. Glad for the park stopover but frustrated he couldn’t even kiss or touch him.

Callum had looked great in his gear today. Actually, he modified that thought: Callum looks good in anything, and even better out of it. He felt a swelling start in his underwear; he was getting horny in the middle of a business meeting. Not good. He refocused and tried to immerse himself in ‘fluctuating differentials in market forces and the impact on benefits realisation’.

***

Across town, Callum had just arrived at The Iron Works. As he walked up to the entrance, any pride he should have felt about opening a gym with his business partner Jack was diminished by the dilapidated state of the building. This was a source of enormous frustration to him. “Damn you to hell, Noah Cott,” he said out loud as he entered the building.

Noah Cott was their landlord and block owner, but despite Callum and Jack’s repeated pleas for help, escalations and even threats, the asshole had done nothing to fix their ongoing issues.

“Hey, Rosie,” he said, as he walked past their receptionist. “All okay today?”

“Morning Cal, it’s dead as a dodo in here this morning. We don’t have anything in the schedule until that Fit for Life group with the tenth-grade sophomores from Victoria at 2 p.m. The place is empty apart from me. Jack went off somewhere to buy a new wrench or something. I actually need to pop out for some copy paper too. Could you mind the place while I’m gone?”

“Yes, no problem,” Callum replied. “I need to get showered. You go, lock up and I’ll bolt from inside.” There had been a spate of robberies in the area, so whenever someone was around and they weren’t open, they’d taken to bolting the door from the inside.

“Okay, I’m going right now then. I’ll be about an hour, and I’ll buzz you when I get back,” she said, grabbing her coat and bag. “See you in a bit.”

She left and Callum swung the door firmly shut behind her. He heard her lock it and he pulled the huge bolt across, just to be safe. He then headed for the showers to clean the mud and sweat off his body, hoping he had some clean kit in his locker.

***

Back in what felt like layer-five of corporate purgatory, Julian pulled out his phone. He had no new messages. He didn’t want to read his emails. When is Callum going to let me know when he can come over, he wondered? He flicked through his pictures and realised he didn’t have any of Callum, which made him sad. He had taken a picture of the framed photo Callum had given him, just so he could look at it whenever he wanted. He looked at that. His little gesture was worth more to him than any priceless gift he could have been given. He sighed. Could this day be more boring…

***

Across town, Callum stumbled into the changing rooms. His legs were still a bit wobbly from the bootcamp, and he realised he hadn’t even had breakfast, just a protein shake. He needed real food. He hoped Rosie wouldn’t be too long.

He caught his reflection in the rusty-framed mirror; he looked a fright. Mud streaks across his top, green from the damp grass, the vest clung to his chest like a second skin. He stripped quickly and soon the hot water of the shower washed away the grime.

He dried off, but when he reached into his locker for a change of gear, he realised with a groan that he’d forgotten to restock his kit. There was a clean pile at home he’d laundered and meant to bring today. Great!

He found a white compression vest; at least he had that, along with some old blue running shorts that he’d stopped wearing because the fabric was so thin it annoyed him. They were onion skins, with cutaway sides that were very high. The one thing he lacked was clean underwear. He couldn’t wear these shorts commando; the material was thin and shiny, designed for running marathons. He fished around behind some old shake bottles and magazines right at the back, and there he found the only clean thing left: an old white jockstrap.