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As predicted, the walls of Brandon’s office were covered in posters with ripped, half-naked fitness models.
I was hesitant to sit down in the chair opposite his desk, sure he’d jerked off there every night. A corner of my mouth turned up, remembering Abby’s similar disgust over my old couch the first time she’d visited the apartment. I’d come a long, long way since that night.
Tiffany brought in two cold plastic bottles, and then nodded when I thanked her. She kept her eye on Brandon as she turned around, as if he didn’t already know she was dying to be bent over his desk. Again.
“Married,” Brandon said, shaking his head, staring at Tiffany’s ass until she closed the door behind her.
I sat down and placed the application on his desk, clicking one end of the pen with my thumb and filling out the information as quickly as possible.
“What made you do that?” he asked. “Can’t just be that she’s hot. You used to get two on a slow weekend, am I right?”
“No. How long have you owned this place now?” I asked without looking up. I didn’t want to punch Brandon in the mouth for talking about my wife, so I chose to change the subject.
“Four years,” he said. “Three of that was with Joan.” His chair creaked as he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “She signed it over to me in the divorce. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know, am I right?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. You inherited it.”
“Kids inherit things from their parents, Maddox. Joan opened this place with her ex-husband, but then I fucked her brains out and she gave me everything I wanted. This place was a shit hole, for old bags and fatties. I married that geriatric, made this place into what it is. Now, it’s mine. I bring in triple what Joan ever did.”
I scribbled down the little legitimate prior work history I had beside The Circle—landscaping in high school for my dad’s old partner—and then signed my name, sliding the paper toward him.
Brandon looked it over. “You’re missing something, aren’t ya?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you make banks in those campus fights?”
“No clue what you mean,” I said, straight-faced.
Brandon laughed. “Right. That fight ring was all about secrecy. I get it. No worries, I happen to know for a fact you KO’d everyone you’ve ever come across. Except that last dude. I guess the fire KO’d him.”
I frowned, unable to maintain the indifference I was going for.
Brandon laughed it off, and then rambled on forever about the history of the gym, still having to deal with Joan, and how pissed she was that he’d gotten one of his girlfriends pregnant. Now, Becca was his wife, and Brandon made her—just two or so months away from delivering a baby—deal with Joan so he didn’t have to.
He was an all-around piece of shit, and he was now my boss.
I gripped the arms of my chair and listened, trying to think of Abby, the wedding, our new life together, anything that reminded me that having to be in the same room with Brandon every day would be worth it. I glanced at my watch, feeling exhausted just by resisting the urge to snatch his tongue out of his bitch ass mouth.
Brandon had been describing how awesome he was for nearly two hours.
Tiffany knocked on the door and peeked in. “I’ve closed out. I’m going to head home.”
Brandon waved her off. “I’m going to take Travis out for a drink.”
“That sounds fun,” Tiffany said with a hopeful smile.
I stood. “I hate to cut you off, man, but I’ve gotta get home.”
“Oh right,” Brandon said, his voice thick with condescension. “Married life. You know, you need to set boundaries and intentions from the beginning. If you let them stop you from carrying on business-as-usual, they’ll always expect it.”
“Isn’t that the point of being married? To stop acting like you’re single? There’s nothing I’d rather do than hang out with her, anyway.”
“Consider yourself lucky, then. Becca is boring as fuck.”
“Pregnancy has a tendency to wear them out I hear.”
“I guess,” he said, his lip curling up in disgust. “They’re literally built for that, though. No reason for my life to stop. When can you start? It won’t take you long to build a clientele.”
