“That was unnecessarily specific.”
“It was based on available evidence.”
Before I could respond, Blake called my name from the front desk. I turned. They waved a folder over their head.
“New client assignment.”
“Save me,” I told Rose.
“No.”
“Friendship means nothing anymore.”
Rose opened her office. “Tell me when you decide to stop treating fear like a scheduling conflict.”
The door closed in my face.
Blake handed me the folder as soon as I reached the front desk.
“We had a marathon intake come through last night,” they said. “She requested a woman coach who had experience with beginners and knew the Lake City course.”
My fingers tightened on the folder.
“You could give her to Miguel.”
“She specifically requested a woman, and Leah is fully booked.”
“I could recommend an outside coach.”
Blake’s expression sharpened. “You are qualified to build a beginner program.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”
“You know the course.”
“I do.”
“You’ve trained for it.”
Behind them, morning light moved through the tall front windows and across the gym floor. Treadmills hummed on the mezzanine. Someone dropped a barbell, the impact traveling through the concrete.
“I’m not sure I’m the best fit,” I said.
Blake studied me. They knew I had raced. Most people at Iron & Ivy knew that. They also knew I had stopped. Only Rose knew the rest.
“This client needs someone patient,” Blake said. “Someone who won’t shame her for being new.”
“I don’t shame clients.”
“I understand.”
Their confidence landed somewhere I had not armored. Blake held out the folder again. I took it.
“Amy Price,” they said. “Twenty-six. Financial analyst. No significant injury history. Low current activity level.”
“How low?”
“She left the weekly mileage section blank and wrote, ‘To be assessed.’”
