Chapter Thirteen
Ruby
The gym is quieter than usual. Not empty. Just fewer clients than usual.
A handful of regulars moving through their routines, music low enough that I hear the steady rhythm of machines cycling and weights setting down. The kind of lull that usually means the trainers are all gone at once.
It’s lunch break time. For them anyway.
Front desk. Alone. And of course, my stomach decides to make itself known by growling. Perfect. The door opens, the bell chiming overhead.
I don’t look up. “Hey, welcome to Iron–”
“Hey.” Male voice. Brent Lawson. Sleeveless shirt. Again. Because apparently, we’re committed to that.
He leans on the counter like we’ve done this before. We haven’t. “So, we meet again.”
“Looks like it.” I click on the personal trainers’ scheduling screen while trying not to roll my eyes. This is his pickup line? No wonder he doesn’t have a girlfriend.
He doesn’t swipe his card. Just stands there. Watching me. “You think you could show me how to use one of the machines?”
“We’ve got trainers for that.”
“Yeah, I know.” He glances over his shoulder like he hadn’t already noticed the empty floor. “Don’t see any of them now.”
“They’ll be back in a bit.”
“I won’t.”
Of course he won’t. I press my lips together, glancing toward the floor. No trainers. No backup. He moves closer to the desk, enough to close the space a little more than I’d like.
“It’s just the leg press,” he adds. “I don’t want to mess something up.”
That’s reasonable. Annoying, but reasonable.
I straighten, stepping out from behind the desk. “Fine. Quick basics.”
His mouth curves like that’s exactly what he expected. Of course it is. We walk over to the machine. I keep a step ahead of him. The last thing I want to do is give him the impression that I’d like him to ask me out. I wouldn’t.
“Adjust the seat here.” I point to the lever. “You want your knees lined up with the pivot.”
He leans in. Way too close. Ugh. Seriously? I angle my body away as I demonstrate the movement.
“Feet flat here,” I continue. “Don’t lock your knees when you push–”
His hand brushes my arm. Light. Like it could’ve been accidental. Except it lingers a second too long. Creepy asshole.
I pull my arm back, stepping to the side like I need a better angle. “Try it.”
He does. Slow. Watching me more than the machine.
“You’re always here, right?”
There it is. Why couldn’t the trainers stagger their lunch breaks?
I keep my expression neutral. “I work here.”
“Yeah.” His gaze dips lower to my cleavage, staying a beat too long before returning to my eyes. “I’m aware.”
Another push of the machine. Controlled. Too slow to be real effort.
“You could probably show me next time.”
I shake my head. “That’s what the trainers are for.”
He smiles like I said something negotiable. “I bet you’re better at it than they are.”
“If you need that much assistance, I can schedule you with one them.” I rest a hand on my hip. “Is there someone you prefer to work with?”
Jesus. Why did I say that? He’s already made it clear that it’s me he’d like to work with.
Footsteps hit the floor behind us. Fast. Sharp. “Ruby.”
Greg. Standing outside his office, eyes locked on us. Thank God. I’ve never wanted Greg’s backup more in my life. But his eyes aren’t on Brent. They’re on me. Narrow and focused.
“What’re you doing?”
I blink. “Showing him the basics. Trainers are out–”
His jaw flexes as his neck stains with red. “You’re not a trainer.”
The words land harder than they should. It’s not my job, but I’ve helped countless clients with how to use the different pieces of equipment. Greg has witnessed and encouraged the instructions when the trainers are out or busy with other clients.
“I know.” I keep my voice even. “But you’ve told me before to walk someone through a machine if–”
“Not like this.” He strides closer, eating up the distance between us. Still not looking at Brent. Still just me. He stops next to the desk, resting his hand on the countertop. What in the fuck is he talking about? “This isn’t your job.”
“At the moment, it kind of is.”
“Then you keep it basic, and you keep it quick.” His eyebrow twitches as his irritation increases. If there’s one thing Greg doesn’t like, it’s being questioned by an employee. “You don’t leave the front desk unattended.”
I stare at him. The desk is ten feet away. Empty. No line. No one waiting.
“I didn’t.” The words come out with more clip than I intended.
“You did,” he snaps as he adjusts a brochure that’s already straight in the hanging rack. “You’re over here.”
Behind me, Brent shifts, unconcerned even though it was his encouragement that caused me to come over here in the first place, against my better judgment. But for some reason, I have a feeling that if I’d refused to assist Brent, Greg would’ve read me the riot act over that as well.
I inhale and exhale the frustration out of my body. “Got it.”
Because arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere; it never does. Greg raps his knuckles on the desk. “Back to work.”
As Greg retreats toward his office, Brent follows me. Of course he does.
“Thanks.” He leans on the counter again as if nothing happened. “That helped.”
“That’s great.” I don’t look at him this time. Just pull up the next screen, clicking through menus I don’t need.
“You’ll be here tomorrow?”
God, he’s obtuse. I got into trouble for helping him, and he wants to do this song-and-dance again tomorrow. “Depends on my schedule.”
“See you around.” He's pushing off the counter with a smile playing at his lips. I don’t bother replying.
Through the reflection in my monitor, I notice Greg is back in his office. Door half-closed. Seated behind his desk. Like he didn’t rewrite the rules and chastise me in the process.
I stare at the screen longer than necessary. Then straighten the stack of papers beside me, aligning the edges even though they’re already straight.
Front desk. Schedules. Membership updates. Invoices. Check-ins. Simple. Except it’s not. Because now…. There’s a guy who doesn’t understand no. And a boss who changes the rules depending on who’s watching.
And me. Standing in the middle of it, doing everything right…. And still getting in trouble.