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“Then I find out she’s working with Jen—self-defense, personal training.”
“Jen the Destroyer?”
Miles grinned at that, shrugged again. “I stopped into the bar that night. She was feeling it. Anyway, she bought a decent car.”
“Make, model, year, color? We want to keep an eye.”
When Miles told him, Jake filed it away. Watching Miles, he crunched into a chip. “Sounds like you’re keeping an eye.”
“Security’s on it,” Miles began.
“No doubt there. I meant you. Personally.”
“She works for us.”
“So does a good portion of Westridge. I know when you’re getting a thing.”
“I’m not getting a thing. And she’s got enough to deal with.”
“Can’t argue with the last part. Want another beer?”
“No, thanks. I brought home some work, and I’ve got to get there and feed the dog.” But he sat another moment, nursing the rest of his beer. “Things are complicated.”
“Tell me about it.”
The gym didn’t make Morgan happy, but she stuck with it. Maybe, she admitted as she ground her way through triceps kickbacks, because Jen intimidated her. And maybe, a little, because she felt a tiny bit stronger.
And a lot, she knew, because the three hours a week provided something to do, something active and productive.
Plus, sweaty.
Now, the self-defense portion did make her happy. It made her feel stronger and smarter and more self-aware. She had to admit she’d thoroughly enjoyed busting on Richie the bellman in the padded suit.
But she didnotenjoy the lifting, the lunging, the mean machines, or any of the tortures Jen outlined for her. Still, knowing Jen’s hawk gaze could zero in on her at any moment, Morgan squatted down into what her formidable instructor called the goddess position—screw that!—and began the biceps-burning series of curls.
“I’ve been texting you.”
Morgan didn’t quite defeat the snarl as she glanced up and saw Nell. Nell with her perfect sweep of glossy hair and makeup. Nell in her non-sweat-stained spring dress and pretty pink slingbacks.
“I’m working out. My hands are busy.”
“So I see. Tracie said she saw you in here.” As smoothly as a catcher behind the plate, Nell squatted down. “I need a favor.”
“You need a favor?” Determined to see it through, Morgan shifted the weight to her other hand and began the second half. “If I say yes, will you do the core work I’ve got coming after this?”
“That wouldn’t do you any good. I had Loren from the Lodge and Tricia from Après working the Janson wedding tonight.”
“I know this. Can thighs split open?” Morgan panted out. “I think mine are going to split open. Why does Jen want to kill me?”
“Loren dislocated his finger.”
“Working out?”
“Playing basketball. Right hand, ring finger. It’s not broken, but it’s in a splint, and will be for a while.”
“I’m sorry. That had to hurt. Maybe as much as thighs splitting open. Maybe even more. Obviously, he can’t tend bar at the Janson wedding tonight. You need another of my team?”
“I need you.”
