Chapter Twenty-One
preston
The session with 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?”
“No, he wasn’t,” she says, almost angry.
“Mia, that creep was after a chance to get closer to you. Probably to cop a feel.” Fuck my life, what am I saying?
“And where did ‘fat’ come from?” I step closer and struggle to keep my hand from reaching for her.
But there’s nothing I can do to stop my eyes from scanning every lush curve I’m not allowed to touch.
“Your body is…” Again, my hand reaches for her and I bring it back, rubbing my face with it this time, giving it something else to do.
It’s no help. It gives me neither pause nor clarity.
I keep saying things I have no business telling my nanny.
“Your body is every sane man’s dream. It fills hands.
Even better, it spills from them.” I let out a measured breath—but my words come out unleashed.
“I bet it’s so soft. I wonder how it would ripple from… contact.”
When did she get closer? And when did my fingers start tracing her hip? “I don’t want to feel bone. I want to feel flesh. I want to hold, grab, leave marks.” And Jesus fuck, when did I steer the conversation from “every man” to “I”?
Her breathing gets heavier, and I lick my lips, hoping to taste it. Taste something, anything of her. I find her eyes and end this madness before I close the small distance between us.
“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.” I lift her chin with one finger, and what I find in her eyes makes the little control I have left nearly snap.
“You’re fucking perfect, Mia.” The softest sound slips out of her, and I make myself step back—hands at my sides, curling into fists—because I’m too close to a bad decision.
One I want. One I don’t get to take. Not like this.
“And now if you’ll excuse me, I need a shower. A fucking cold one.”
Upstairs, I strip, letting my damp clothes fall into a heap on the floor. I crank the water to scalding and step into the steam, trying to let the heat erase the tension she creates. I let the pressure pound into my shoulders until the sting numbs.
Eventually, it stops helping, so I sniff her damn shampoo and jerk off.
I brace a hand against the wall and drift into another dimension.
One where she’s kneeling in front of me, lips parted, so close I feel her hot breath against my skin.
Then she takes me in—slow, lips wet, and so fucking perfect.
Her hair spills over her shoulders, dark curls I fist in one hand, pulling her closer until she gags and swallows around me.
My hand works faster. A few more strokes and I’m groaning her name through gritted teeth, picturing her playing with her full tits while I come down her throat.
I’m painting the tiles in her honor again.
I come twice more before I deem it safe enough to be in the same room as Mia without jumping her.
Afterward, I scrub the tiles, rinse my conscience, then towel off. After changing into fresh joggers and a tee, I run my hands through my damp hair and pad downstairs barefoot.
My skin still feels too tight. Maybe it’s remembering the hot water, maybe it’s aching for her.
When I come down, she’s perched on the counter, one knee bouncing, hair twisted up with a pen, Kindle down and laptop open.
Her fingers fly across the keys, fast and purposeful, eyes locked on the screen. I’m walking into the eye of the storm. Voluntarily.
“Well, someone’s looking refreshed,” Mia declares as she looks up from her laptop when she spots me.
Oh, Mia. If you only knew.
“You done with your book?” I swerve to a different topic.
She nibbles her lip. “Oh, I stopped reading a while ago. Found something more useful to do. Started a new project for you.”
The smile she gives me is bright enough to glow. It does something to my chest. I think I’ve started a new project too. Deciphering Mia.
She looks happiest when she’s helping, fixing. And I think it isn’t just about the task. It’s who she is. She doesn’t just want to serve—she wants it to matter. To leave something better than she found it.
And, fuck, that’s humbling. And terrifying.
What happens when she’s done? Will she pack and leave? When this house, my kid and my chaos are no longer hers to straighten out? I know the answer, but box that one for later anyway.
“Do you ever rest? Take a moment for yourself?”
“Dr. Jett, I’m on the clock.”
“Lily’s at school. You’re off. She’ll be there until six. She has two after-school clubs this afternoon.”
She tilts her head, eyes teasing. “Tell me something. Have you had memory issues for a long time, or is this a new thing?”
“What?”
She leans in, full of mischief. “I’ve told you—multiple times—that I’m here for the whole family, not just Lily. So either you’re forgetful, or you’re actually as ancient as you act, and your hearing’s going too.”
I roll my eyes, and she laughs. “I’m not sure I’ve recovered from your first project for me and already you have another one.”
“Ha! Another one? That’s cute. But on that note, I was just talking to Callie,” she says, pointing to her laptop. “She sends her love.”
My ears twitch with dread. “Really?”
“Said you’re lucky to have me.”
“Mm.”
If by lucky, she means permanently flustered and edging toward a sexual crisis, then yes, very lucky.
“She’s so gorgeous, isn’t she?” Mia adds casually, sipping from her mug.
My face twists in confusion. That’s… random. And so far from where my mind was. “Calista?”
“Mm-hmm,” she confirms matter-of-factly.
Never once have I looked at my friend that way.
Callie’s beautiful, sure. The way all sisters are.
She could be dragged across hot asphalt, and I’d still think that.
Her beauty is definitely not the first thing I think of when someone mentions her.
Calista is April’s chaos twin, all fire and inappropriate commentary.
I say nothing. Probably because the only woman I have eyes for lately is right in front of me. She is gorgeous.
From the pink cheeks and flicker in Mia’s eyes, I don’t have to.
“Anyway…” She spins the laptop back to face me. “I want to show you something. Keep an open mind, yeah?”
There’s a full presentation there. Swatches. Mood boards. Pictures of my bombsite bathroom—its floor plan.
“Was breaking it part of getting rid of Blake too?”
I shake my head. “No. I just needed to break something. And it was the farthest space from Lily’s room. Less risk of her walking in or being bothered by the noise and mess.”
Her eyes soften. “And the renovation?”
“I foolishly thought I could handle it myself.”
That earns me her laughter. It’s loud and genuine. It hits me square in the chest.
“Sorry,” she says, still grinning. “But maybe… now's the time to do it properly. A full reset.”
I can admit defeat. It’s obvious I’m in way over my head.
“Not the worst idea,” is what the caveman in me says instead.
“Callie called in a favor with her interior designer. She has time to come by this week if you’re interested.” Mia taps a key that opens the lady’s website and shows me her portfolio. “Say the word, and I’ll send her the pictures and measurements of your bathroom today.”
I watch Mia’s face as she speaks, lit up with purpose. I don’t think this is just about making the house nicer. It’s about making it livable. Making it new and mine.
I lean my waist back against the counter, arms crossed, the buzz of the green tea and endorphins mellowing into something softer.
“Go ahead, and send me her number,” I say. “Thank you. For all of this.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies. “There’s more, though.”
Of course there is.
“You ready?” Her shoulder lifts, tentative.
I look at Mia for a long moment. She sees the cracks I’ve ignored and wants to mend them. For me. For Lily. So I might not be exactly ready, but I’m listening.
I nod slowly, less afraid than I should be. “Hit me.”
“I want to send the interior designer the floor plan of your bedroom too. If you’re okay with that.”
It should feel intrusive. But all I feel is seen.
“I am.”
“Okay. Truth is we already talked after I hung up with Callie—you take really long showers—and she said she needs references of furniture and overall styles you like.” Mia braces for impact, but since I remain silent, she carries on, “If you send some over this afternoon, she can come tomorrow with sketches.”
“So everyone you work with moves at your pace?”
“Not always. But I make sure my clients are top priority.”
Clients. Right. There's my reality check. I’m just another project.
“Thank you. You’re right. That’s a good idea.” She rolls her lips, clearly containing a massive victory grin. “You always get goosebumps when a man admits he’s wrong?” I ask.
She fucking beams at me. “Every single time.”
I nudge her playfully.
“I like seeing you smile,” Mia says, voice soft.
“Didn’t do it much before you moved in. So, thanks for that too, Trouble.”
She gasps. “You did not ruin the sweetest compliment ever by calling me Trouble.”
“Trouble is a compliment. Trust me.”
I don’t explain it. Don’t think I ever will.
“Okay, one more thing before you start your dream-room board.”
Dream-room board. I chuckle at how her brain works. “What?”
“I’ve been flat, excuse my British, apartment hunting for Liam and April, and a realtor came back with a private opening to see a penthouse I know Liam will love, and I’m hoping April will too. Liam asked me to visit the place with them. That’d mean I’d miss Lily’s drop-off tomorrow. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “Let’s make you a set of keys before we pick Lily up today.”
She nods, but there’s a flicker of surprise like she didn’t expect it to be that easy.
Maybe that’s on me. Maybe I’ve been too rigid. Too closed off. Too focused on surviving the day-to-day to realize how much smoother everything’s become since she got here. How much difference it makes when you let someone in.
No. Not someone. Her.
Mia leans back slightly in her seat, spinning her pen between her fingers. Her eyes dart back to the screen—I’m sure already thinking about what’s next, what else needs fixing.
I watch her. Watch her be this steady, beautiful storm that’s taken over my house in a matter of days. Client. That word still stings. She said it so easily, reminding me that this is temporary.
Soon she’ll take on another project. Another job. More suited to her impressive skills. I watch her work. And wonder how long I’ve got before she leaves everything better than she found it—and walks away.