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‘Would you please put on a shirt?’
I force my eyes shut, killing the link, murdering the moment. Murderous. Yes, murderous, that was how I was feeling before her perfume. I put a hand on her shoulder and take a step back from her.
I grab a clean shirt and pull it over my head, telling her, ‘You’re better than this. You must be. Look what you’ve managed to do already. Your name is out there. You have a book deal. Don’t let yourself fall into the trap of having to put others down to succeed.’
Her tongue slides along her bottom lip. Thankfully, she drops her head so I can’t see any more. All the same, I can feel blood rushing to my crotch.
Christ.
‘Don’t crave fame and fortune so much, you forget how to be a decent person.’
Her head snaps up and her hands come to her hips. ‘I am notcravingfame and fortune. I want to put my work out there. I want to help people get fit. Unlike you, I want people to do it in a healthy, sustainable way.’
I scoff. ‘We’re back to this. Right. You don’t even know the people I train, how they feel, or the advice I tailor to them. You run around professing that kale and cucumber work for everyone. Let me tell you, if you advise people to eat like pigeons, they will lose weight. But they won’t feel good, it isn’t sustainable, and they won’t tone up.’
‘How dare you!’
‘How dare I? At least I’m saying it to your face and not on some pathetic blog.’
‘My blog is not pathetic.’
She’s all but screaming at me. Her cheeks are flaming red. It starts to tickle me.
‘Please, you don’t even follow your own advice. There’s no way you eat lettuce leaves and have an ass like that.’
She spins around on the spot like a dog chasing its tail. It’s hilarious. I bite my lip and cover my mouth with my hand to keep in my amusement.
‘What’s wrong with my bum? And why have you been looking at it, anyway?’
I can’t help the short chuckle that escapes me. ‘You have a fine ass, Izzy Coulthard, but you didn’t get that from eating kale. Admit it or not, you like protein. As for why I’ve been looking at your ass, ibid.’
‘Huh!’ She straightens her already straight dress then points her damn finger in my face again. I contemplate taking it between my teeth. ‘You just wait, Brooks Adams. You thought the first post about you was bad. You just wait!’
She stomps her foot like Thumper, making my laughter bubble out of me.
Ah, Jesus. I can’t decide whether this woman is the best or worst thing that’s happened to me in a long time.
10
BROOKS
He had the audacity to say I couldn’t possibly follow my own advice because he likes my arse. Yep, he has been ogling my bum. As a side point, I’m sure that’s some kind of harassment. Ladies, you should be careful when in Brooks Adams’s gym. Maybe the gents should be wary too, you never know!
Let me tell you something. I could whip that protein-loving ape into shape. Two weeks following my recipes and my classes and he would feel much healthier. He might stop saying vile things to women and, as a consequence, he might find a home for his pent-up rage (read: testosterone).
Harassment? Ape? Pent-up testosterone?
Drew and Kit are standing over my shoulder as we read Izzy’s latest blog from my office desktop.
‘You really pissed her off,’ Drew says, stating the obvious.
‘What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t have this shit out in public. Look at what people are saying.’ I scroll down to the comments beneath the blog post – all two hundred plus of them.
Kit whistles through his teeth. ‘Ouch! Samantha Garfield from Boston says women are already insecure about going to the gym without their trainers gawking at their bodies.’
I push out from my desk and start pacing as Kit slips into my seat. ‘Oh, here’s one from Simon Etching. I think I know who this guy is. He says he’s trained with you for years and your advice has been tailored and exceptional.’
I exhale heavily. ‘It’s good, in theory. But it means my clients are reading this garbage.’
