AllFreeNovel
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“You don’t want to know.” I shake my head. “You’ll hate it.”
“Tell me.” His expression is implacable.
“I was just thinking that your workout outfit is totally what Satan would wear if he went to the gym.”
His eyes widen in surprise before he barks a laugh. “Satan at the gym, huh?”
I smile tentatively. “Totally. My readers would eat it up.”
“So take a picture.” He raises a brow, still smiling faintly. Danger, Will Robinson.
“What? No.” I scowl. “You’re just looking for an excuse to fire me.”
The elevator dings and he gestures for me to step out. Ahead of him. Weird.
“I behaved poorly last week.” He looks a little ill. He’s uncomfortable. This is probably the first time he’s ever apologized for anything.
“So to make it up to me, you’ll let me print a photo of you?”
He nods shortly. “One photo. Shirt on.”
“You saw that?” I redden.
“Saw it? Thompson, my sister had it printed on a card, along with the choice comments.”
I wince. “That was inappropriate. I turned the comments off after a few hours. Sorry about that.”
He nods and leans against the wall. His hood is up, his brows are lowered. I pull out my phone. Not the best camera, but it will do.
“Do you want me to smile?” He asks, like he’d rather cut off his own arm than smile in a photo.
“No, I want it to be true to life. Put one leg up on the wall and tip your head back. He complies and my stomach turns itself over. The strong column of his throat is bared, stubbled and bronzed. His lips are parted slightly, like he just got done fucking the viewer and he’s out of breath. Those eyes are still arrogant though, and his body betrays no hint of softness. His arms are crossed impatiently. Prickly, broody, breathtakingly handsome. I shiver and snap the shot.
He immediately comes off the wall. “We done?”
“Yep.” My legs feel a little weak, and I sigh when he disappears through the unmarked door. What does he do in there? I creep closer to the door, but I can’t hear anything, even when I press my ear against it. No music. No movement. Must be soundproofed. Weird.
I tap out the beginnings of an article about his workout routine, which is ironic, considering I have no actual idea what he’s doing. Readers are going to eat the photo up though, and that’s what matters.
He bangs out of the door not thirty minutes later, sweaty and breathless. Without skipping a beat, he says, “Back and arms today. Let’s go Thompson.”
“Got your towel right here.” I wave it in the air. I’m ready for you, Jonah. Hit me with your worst.
His brows go up, but he stalks to the weight benches. He selects dumbbells that look heavy enough to break a foot if they’re dropped.
“So should I just stand here then?” I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he wants. He prefers for me to be as uncomfortable as possible.
He flicks me a glance as I shift from foot to foot. “You could work out if you wanted to. I won’t yell at you if you touch the weights.” He sounds utterly disinterested in what I do, but I’m surprised he’s even offering.
I don’t work out. I walk a lot, especially while working, but I’ve never lifted a weight.
“My sister finds lifting weights pretty empowering.” He shrugs and settles back on the bench. “Says it clears her head. But suit yourself.”
I could use that. Especially after Eric. Being empowered sounds amazing. I look down at my outfit. A black dress and stockings. Not exactly workout attire.
“Maybe tomorrow. I’ll bring a change of clothes.”
He nods and starts bench pressing the dumbbells.
