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My phone beeps an alarm, and I swear, pulling on a hooded sweatshirt and workout shorts, lacing my trainers, and jogging out of the room. Mike’s damn Bootcamp classes. He can’t get back to Seattle soon enough.
I’m realizing that while I enjoy one-on-one training sessions, Bootcamps are not my favorite thing to teach. That’s the thing about being the boss. You generally get to choose which classes you take.
As I walk into the large studio classroom, I’m greeted with the two reasons I didn’t postpone these classes until Mike was back.
Holly and Artie Rampwood smile at me, calling out their greetings along with the rest of the class. They stand in the middle of the group, as they usually do, laughing and generally enjoying themselves together.
I’ve reviewed Mike’s old lesson plans, implemented more bodyweight activities, and put boxing aside. Hell, boxing got me a third Rampwood as a client. It was worth it.
Smiling and correcting the posture of one of the attendees, I make my way around the room, making sure to stop and offer encouragement to every client. I need to get Thelma Rampwood out of my head. She’s threatening to completely consume my life – which isn't what I’m looking for right now.
“Great class, everyone!” I call as they finish their stretches and start moving out of the room, chatting about dinner plans.
As I pick up the mats, footsteps approach, and I look up, locking eyes with Artie Rampwood as he beelines for me, holding both his and Holly’s bags.
My eyes roam his face. I guess I can see the resemblance between him and his sister. Where Thelma has flowing strawberry-blonde hair, Artie is more mousy brown, with a definite red tinge to his short, neatly-trimmed beard. He has a similar amber color to his eyes, though they are nowhere near as striking as Thelma’s.
Honestly, the first time I met Holly and Artie, I was surprised. She is a gorgeous, confident, outgoing woman, and he is…kind of weedy. But after watching them do the Bootcamp classes together. I get it. They’re perfect for each other.
Artie stops in front of me, dropping both bags at his feet. Shit. I swallow. Thelma is his sister. He might think I'm overstepping a mark if she even hinted about what happens during our boxing sessions. Am I about to be punched by a Rampwood? That would go down in history at this gym.
“Good session tonight,” Artie says easily, grinning at me. “I don’t think I’ve sweated so much in ages.”
“Mm-hmm,” Holly harrumps. “We’ll see about that.”
There is a twinkle in her eye, and Artie grins, slinging his arm around her waist. He whispers something in her ear, and she giggles. They may have agreed to bang each other’s brains out when they leave. Good for them.
Rolling her eyes, Holly flashes me a smile. “The Rampwood Family Foundation has a charity fundraising dinner this weekend in Denny Blaine. We were wondering if Dynamo Fitness would like to provide an auction package. You will be invited to the dinner. Saturday night.”
I start in surprise. We get similar requests a lot, and we accept most of them. But this is the first time I’ve been approached for something as large as the Rampwood Family Foundation. I’m a little curious about what charities they would decide to support. Maybe homelessness?
“What’s the charity being supported?"
"The Foundation for Wrongful Convictions. It’s Thelma’s pet project,” Artie says, with an air of carelessness about him. Like he can’t think why Thelma would be interested in such a charity, but the family is indulging her.
I blink in surprise. I’m with Artie. Why the fuck would Thelma Rampwood care about that shit?
There’s only one response I can give. “I’m interested.”
I need to know why Thelma picked that charity in particular.
Holly beams at me. “Great, I’ll have someone be in touch.”
They leave as I continue to pack up the studio on autopilot. I have no idea what to wear to a charity dinner that fancy. My hand digs my phone out of my pocket, pulling up Alfie’s contact details.
“What’s up, man?” he answers, sounding like he’s at a bar.
“I need something to wear to a charity fundraising dinner in Denny Blaine.”
Alfie whistles, the music and party noises dying down, like he’s just stepped outside.
“Fancy. You’re moving up in the world.”
He has no idea. “It’s for the Rampwood Family Foundation.”
After a pause, another whistle rings through the phone. “I’ll text you an address. Meet me there in thirty minutes. I’ve got you, bro.”
Thank fuck for that.
