“Knock it off, guys,” I yelled. I couldn’t spend the evening eating. No. I’d be productive—take advantage of the gym in the basement. That would take my mind off the asshole who was my boss. He’d strode past me in the corridor earlier in the day and totally ignored me. Okay, maybe my report could have been better, but giving me the silent treatment didn’t seem like the professional thing to do. I had to keep reminding myself he wasn’t the man I’d thought he would be and that still didn’t mean I couldn’t get a lot out of working for King & Associates.
I changed into my workout gear, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed downstairs. A gym in the building was more than I could have hoped for when I started looking for somewhere in Manhattan, and I’d not had a chance to visit yet. Work might not be good, but home was a cocoon from anything bad. I could relax—focus on the big picture.
Thirty minutes on the elliptical would clear my head and stop me trying to think up ways to physically hurt Max King.
As I entered the gym, I noticed there were three men already there—one using the free weights, one on a bike, the other on a rower. And apart from the muted sounds of CNN coming from a TV fixed on the wall in the corner, it was quiet. I checked out the rest of the space. No mirrors, so I didn’t have to look at any part of me wobbling while I moved. Perfect. It was as if I’d invented the place myself.
Moving toward an empty elliptical, I avoided the blatant stare of the guy using the weights. I dropped my water bottle into the holder on the machine just behind the man on the bike—he had an amazing ass—hopped on, and tried to find a program that wouldn’t kill me. Just what I needed to stop me from thinking about the office—a hard workout and a nice view.
I found a program on the machine that I knew would be tough, but I wanted to be focused on something other than what a disappointment King & Associates was turning out to be. I needed to be able to tune out when I wasn’t in the office or I’d send myself crazy. My first day on the job, my jaw ached from smiling so much. I’d finally achieved my dream, and I’d done it all on my own. It felt as though I’d arrived on the first step of a bright future—where the beginning of all my plans converged. I’d been beside myself with excitement. But the sheen had worn off pretty quickly, sometime in the first week when I was introduced to Max and he’d barely looked up from his desk to say hello.
The guy on the bike gasped and sat up, circling his shoulders, then tilting his head one way and the other as he continued to peddle. He had a nice broad back, and jet-black hair drenched in sweat. He was going to need a serious shower. If he was the guy I’d heard having sex in the penthouse, I’d be happy to keep him company.
“You live in the building?”
I jumped when the guy who’d been using the free weights draped his arm over my machine. I hadn’t seen him head over. He was short, overbuilt, and so tan I wanted to ask him whether or not he’d lost a bet. He looked as if he belonged on the Jersey shore rather than downtown Manhattan. I nodded, hoping the fact I didn’t speak would put him off.
“You have a nice ass, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Really? He held up his hands when I shot him a look to kill. “No need to be snotty. I just like a nice ass.”
I fixed my stare to my machine’s panel, wanting to punch the guy.
“I think you better move on,” a man said from behind Jersey Shore.
“Hey,” Jersey Shore replied. “I was giving the girl a compliment.”
I kept my head down, not wanting to attract any more attention.
“Her loss, right?” my rescuer replied. I recognized that voice. My brain tried to work out if it was a famous person.
Jersey Shore moved away, and I glanced up with a smile. “Thank—”
It was like someone was trying to take a dump over my entire life.
Max-fucking-King stood right in front of me.
Kill. Me. Now.
The guy I’d come down here to escape was standing right in the middle of my gym in my apartment building. I glanced around. Jersey Shore had left, and the rower was still going. Max King was Nice Ass Guy. Life was just not fair.
My limbs stopped working and I half tripped, half stepped off the elliptical, stumbling into the wall behind the machines. Really? The hits just kept on coming.
“Are you okay?”
I peeled myself off the drywall as he moved toward me.
I nodded, unsure what I’d say if I actually managed to form words. How was this possible? My apartment was supposed to be my sanctuary from this man’s assholey behavior in the office. Now I had to worry about running into him in the corridors of my apartment building while I was drunk or not wearing makeup. Not that it mattered if he saw me without makeup or in my sweats; it would just be another reason for him to think less of me.