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Session One
Tanya
The sound of my alarm clock pulls me from my dreams, and I groggily hit the snooze button. Today’s the day. The first day I train Brian Russo. My nerves tingle with anticipation as I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom. A quick glance in the mirror shows the jet-black hair that frames my face, but all I see is that chubby little girl I used to be. Even after all this time, it still haunts me.
“Okay, Tanya, you got this,” I mutter to myself, trying to shake off the doubts. Today isn’t about my past, it’s about helping someone get their life back on track. Besides, he’s Diane’s dad. I’ve known him for years, even if he doesn’t remember me.
I walk over to my closet and carefully select my outfit for the day: a black sports bra and matching leggings. I wonder if I should just wear a top, but it’s a hot day out here in Florida, and I decide that the sports bra works just fine. It’s not too revealing, and perfectly functional for our workout session. As I dress, my mind races with thoughts of how to break the news to him that I’m his daughter’s friend without crossing any boundaries.
“Deep breaths, Tanya,” I remind myself before grabbing my gym bag and heading out the door.
As I drive up to Brian’s mansion, located right on Nelsons Walk, on a quaint byway in Naples, my stomach churns with both excitement and nerves. The house looms large in front of me, a symbol of the man’s success and power. I can’t help but gape at how beautiful it is. Walking up to the front door for a moment, I stop to take in the grandeur of the house. Never in my life have I seen anything like it. There’s even a fountain befitting of a royal palace in the courtyard in front. The winding driveway leading up to the place was an adventure in itself. Shaking my head to snap out of it, I ring the doorbell. I wait, but no one comes.
I take a deep breath as my knuckles now rap against the heavy oak doors of the Russo estate. My heart pounds. It feels awkward standing here. I hope I haven’t overextended my welcome by ringing the bell and knocking on the door. A minute goes by and I’m just about to knock again, my hand in mid-air, when the door opens. There he is, Brian Russo, in the flesh. As I look at him, I have to stifle a gasp. He’s dressed only in a pair of shorts and a snug t-shirt, showcasing a physique that men half his age would envy—all sculpted muscle and tanned skin.
Desire flickers through me, as unwanted as it is undeniable. This is going to be an interesting assignment. His thick, dark hair is casually tousled, and his deep brown eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles in welcome.
“Whoa, easy there, tiger,” he says, giving me a playful grin.
I think the same thing. I need to calm down. But how can I? I’m standing here in front of the billionaire, Brian Russo. I’m still shocked he hired me. Me, of all people. If only he knew the truth…
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s a pain to stand at someone’s door, waiting. In my defense, the staff is on holiday today since it’s a Sunday and I was in the shower. Sorry to keep you. Now, tell me, how are you?” His voice is a rich baritone, velvety and macho—heat pools low in my belly at the sound.
I swallow, hoping my cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. “Mr. Russo. I’m well. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
“Please, call me Brian.” He steps aside, a gentlemanly gesture. “Come in.”
I stride through the entrance and fail to contain my gasp this time. His foyer alone is larger than my apartment. It has a vaulted ceiling and marble floors veined with gold. An enormous chandelier glimmers above.
“The place is beautiful,” I say.
“Thank you. My wife designed most of the interior.” A fleeting sadness crosses his face before he smiles again. “Shall we head to the home gym?”
I nod, struck by the intimacy of that tiny glimpse into his grief. It makes him seem more human, more accessible. I’m in dangerous territory.
We walk down a long hallway. My fingers itch to get started, to see what he can really do, but there’s something important to do beforehand. “How about a coffee first?” I ask. “It’s great for metabolism and energy.”
“An excellent idea,” he says, smiling softly. “I have an espresso machine. Will that do?”
“Perfect.”
We make our way to an industrial kitchen, and he busies himself with the machine. The scent of freshly brewed espresso soon fills the air.
“So, how do you take it?” he asks. “Black? Cream and sugar?”
“Black is fine, thanks.”
He passes me a tiny cup of inky liquid. Our fingers brush and a spark ignites inside me at the contact. I meet his gaze, wondering if he felt it too, but his expression remains friendly and open, giving nothing away.
“Time to get started?” Brian asks. His lips quirk, giving me a sense that he felt something in that moment of contact. I clear my throat, hoping he attributes my blush to enthusiasm instead of attraction.
“Lead the way.”
We make our way down a long hallway to an enormous set of oak doors. Brian throws them open with a flourish. “Welcome to my playground.”
My jaw drops as I take in the sprawling gym. Everything here is top-of-the-line, all gleaming chrome and leather. There are treadmills, an elliptical machine, weight benches, free weights, kettlebells, exercise mats; anything you could need. My mind whirs with possibilities. It’s a trainer’s dream.
