Page 24

It wasn’t that she was a better runner than me, it was just because it was leg day and I’d already done an hour of intense exercise. My hamstrings were seizing up. I didn’t think I’d be able to walk tomorrow.

But I couldn’t stop before her. This was a competition, and I was going to win.

Sweat was pouring from me, rendering my moisture-wicking shirt completely fucking useless. I blinked it out of my stinging eyes, not willing to even wipe my forehead and show weakness.

I nearly stumbled as I glanced over at Anita to see how she was faring. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead and collarbone, and a tiny drip meandering down her temple from her hairline. My mouth went even drier than it already was.

My right hamstring chose that moment to cramp up.

I felt the muscles bunching, sending agony stabbing up to my glutes. Barely holding back a squeal of pain, I resisted the urge to clutch my ass as I limped pathetically for a few seconds before finally admitting defeat and grabbing onto the bars as I frantically jabbed at the treadmill’s power button.

The belt lowered and slowed to a sudden stop, almost sending me flying forward. Gasping for breath, I reached for my water bottle with a trembling hand.

“Good job,” Anita panted without breaking her stride.

I scowled at her as I gulped down water. Pulling the bottle away with a gasp, I took a few seconds to try and catch my breath before snarking, “Yeah, well, I could’ve kept going but I’ve got a meeting at eight-thirty.”

“A meeting,” she echoed. “You don’t take the weekends off?”

“I meant a date,” I said quickly. “Not a work thing. A date.”

Her jaw clenched, before she glanced over at the big neon clock on the gym wall. “A date at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning. Sounds fun.”

“I meant the—I meant the flight’s at eight-thirty,” I bullshitted, digging myself deeper. “I’m just… taking a lady friend to Paris for the weekend. Just a little getaway.”

I fought back the cringe that threatened to wrack my entire body. Lady friend, Nuni? Come on. You’re smoother than this. What is WRONG with you?

Anita nodded. She was still running. “Well, that sounds wonderful. You better leave if you have to pick your lady friend up and get all the way to the airport by eight-thirty.”

“I know,” I shot back. “I’m going.”

But I hovered there for a few more seconds, mainly because I was pretty sure I’d be walking bow-legged when I left and I didn’t particularly want her to witness my humiliation. My butt muscles kept twitching from the stabbing, cramping pain down my leg. Thank fuck I didn’t actually have a date this weekend. There was no way I’d be able to have any kind of sex without crying in agony.

“Will you be able to make the viewings on Monday?” Anita asked when I didn’t move. “Or will you still be in Paris with your lady friend?”

“I’ll be back by then,” I snapped, fresh sweat dripping from my hairline as I fought the urge to clutch my leg. “I don’t flake out on appointments. I’ll see you at two on Monday.”

She nodded, gaze still fixed ahead. “See you then.”

After snatching up my towel, I turned and hobbled away, a tear coming to my eye as I forced myself not to limp. My legs were trembling wildly by the time I made it to the locker room, and I immediately collapsed onto a bench, ignoring all the half-naked dudes around me.

“Tough workout?” one of them chuckled as he opened his locker a couple feet away and dropped his towel.

I struggled upright so his dick wasn’t swinging around in my immediate eyeline and scrubbed a hand down my sweaty face. Then I shrugged, forcing myself to stand instead of crawling over to my locker like I really wanted to. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Chapter Eight

Anita

A t one-thirty on Monday afternoon, I was still seething over the rookie mistake I’d made last week.

The frustrating thing was, I was pretty sure I had known that Rorik + Stimis did commercial projects as well as

residential. I’d just been tired when I got that abrupt email from var Rorik, and I’d wanted to get one over on him because I hadn’t liked his imperious tone, so I’d been too hasty.

In my defence, when I’d gone on their website to prepare for our first meeting with them, the Blackgrass building’s award-winning nesthouse had been plastered all over the homepage. And when I’d clicked to find out more information, it had taken me to the section of their website covering residential projects.

But I was still kicking myself. Mainly because I’d had to admit to being wrong to Nuni var Rorik, who’d probably lapped it up like a smug, vindictive hound. I knew it was ridiculous to care about something so minor, to still be annoyed over it, but I hated being wrong.