The Titan's After-Hours Trainer

Chapter 1 - The Client

“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.

As Callum worked the knot, he took in Julian’s face.

His skin was smooth, his beard neatly trimmed and his dark brown hair styled.

In this close proximity, Callum felt a stirring in his shorts.

This guy must have an entire entourage to look this damn hot, he thought to himself.

Makes a change to be working with a fit guy who clearly pays attention to his body and his looks. I just hope I don’t go falling in love…

Once the tie was off, Julian undid the first three buttons of his crisp white shirt.

Callum spied a hairy chest and had to distract himself, stepping back and clearing his throat. Be professional, be professional. “Okay. Your assistant gave me some details about your goals; it’s a magazine cover shoot you’re prepping for I believe. Key areas of focus: chest, abs, and core, right?”

“Right,” Julian replied, his voice low.

“Since we’re somewhat limited by wardrobe, we’ll skip the heavy cardio and the squats. We’ll focus on mobility and core, and if you ruin those expensive shoes, please don’t bill me.”

“I can take the shoes off no problem,” growled the client. He bent, loosened, and removed them, now standing in black socks on the rubber mat.

They started with some basic core movements. It was a strange sight, this Greek god trying to perform a plank in suit trousers.

“Keep your hips down, Mr Newman,” Callum coached, pacing around him.

“It’s Julian,” he grunted, his face flushed red with effort. The fabric of his shirt was stretched dangerously tight across his broad shoulders as he held his weight on his forearms. “If you’re going to make me suffer, we may at least be on a first-name basis.”

“Focus on your breathing, Julian. You’re holding tension in your jaw.”

Callum watched him, impressed despite the circumstances.

Most men in his position would have called it off, but he observed a streak of stubbornness in the CEO that Callum found attractive.

Every time he moved, the scent of his cologne mixed with the growing musk of physical exertion became stronger.

For Callum, it was an intoxicating and enticingly sexy combination.

Callum’s phone started ringing. He apologised and instructed Julian to do another set of twelve leg raises.

He walked towards the vast office windows and fished his phone from his holdall.

It was Rosie from the gym. “Hey Cal, I know it’s late, just checking in.

Did everything go okay with that late training session, S.C.A. ?”

S.C.A. was their secret code for some corporate asshole, their gym shorthand for suits who hired trainers, usually as a status symbol rather than actually wanting to achieve any real goals or put any actual effort in. She was sweet and looked out for Callum.

“Yes, Rosie, S.C.A. mighty fine. I’m still training, but all OK. Have a good night. See you tomorrow.” She said goodnight and hung up.

When Callum turned back, Julian had finished his reps and was standing, looking quizzically at him. “S.C.A.?” he asked.

“Oh, a gym term, nothing important,” Callum said quickly, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Hey, no slacking, c’mon let’s get this shit done!” Back into training mode, he clapped his hands and walked back over.

They worked through a series of modified lunges, careful not to test the seams of the trousers too far, followed by some standing core work, including side bends and torso twists.

No matter what Callum gave him to do, Julian did it and did it well.

He was clearly in peak physical fitness, which made Callum question why he was really here, but hey, the pay was good and he desperately needed the money.

Their rapport grew easier as the session progressed and began to shift from professional distance to a shared, slightly breathless amusement when Callum demonstrated some of the techniques.

“I must look ridiculous,” Julian said, straightening up and wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve.

He looked dishevelled in a way that felt private, almost illicit.

His hair was no longer perfect; a few dark strands fell over his eyes, and his shirt was soaked with sweat, making it see-through and revealing a set of pecs covered in deep brown fuzz.

Callum let his gaze wander a second too long.

“It’s the most interesting workout I’ve coached all year.

Many of my past corporate clients have more gear than sense.

In fact, there are two separate hobbies: first, being obsessed with buying workout ‘gear’,” Callum said, making air quotes, “and then barely using it; the second being actually working out, gear or not. You’ve just done a 45-minute session in tight suit trousers and a formal shirt. Kudos to you, Julian; you’ve got grit.”

Julian paused, his eyes locking onto Callum’s.

For a moment, the CEO persona appeared to vanish, replaced by a raw, hungry curiosity.

“Is that what you call it?” He didn’t laugh, but he half-smiled, revealing the hint of a perfect set of teeth.

Of course they would be perfect too, thought Callum. This is dangerous with a capital D.

“I call it a start,” Callum said softly.

He reached out, intending only to nudge Julian’s shoulder to correct his posture for the final stretch, but the moment his palm hit the damp cotton of Julian’s shirt, an electric charge snapped between them.

Callum pulled his hand back quickly, skin tingling.

“That’s… that’s probably enough for tonight, given your wardrobe constraints. ”

Julian didn’t look away, and he looked almost sad that their time was over.

He looked as if he were about to say something but stopped himself.

“Next time,” he said, his voice regaining its corporate steel, although slightly rougher than before, “I’ll ensure I’m appropriately dressed, in a selection of my ‘gear’,” mimicking Callum’s air quotes, “or if, for some reason I don’t have it, I promise you I will exercise in just my underwear, whether you like it or not!

” He smiled fully, revealing all his perfect white teeth.

A rush of heat hit Callum at the thought of Julian working out in just his underwear.

He turned quickly away as sudden warmth rushed to his groin.

He let out a nervous laugh. “I’m happy either way, Mr Newman - sorry, Julian,” slightly flustered.

He stuffed his water bottle back into his holdall, lifting it quickly in front of him to cover the growing lump in his shorts.

Julian now turned away towards his office. The silhouette of his damp shirt and muscular back cut a powerful V-shape in the moonlight, the reflective windows behind him catching the light as he walked away.

“Same time Thursday, Callum. Don’t be late.”

He was dismissed.

***

Callum looked past Julian’s frame as he walked away from him, his reflection caught in the dark glass. He could see his white shirt clearly, and above it, his face. Was he smiling? He couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn he was grinning.