Page 25 of Show Me

I shove the thought aside and slide behind the receptionist desk.

She has a job. A life. A gym full of idiots asking her out between sets. A bunch of fucking losers. Why am I thinking about this? She’s not my business, and this isn’t her problem.

Dad rubs his forehead again, glaring at the payroll screen. “We need someone who won’t quit after a week.”

“You need someone who can survive you,” Travis says with a lopsided grin.

“Out.” Dad points toward the door.

Luis laughs and claps Travis on the shoulder. “Come on. Let the man finish before we all starve.”

They file out, boots echoing across the concrete floor, the door slamming behind them and letting the quiet settle back in.

The phone doesn’t ring. The computer hums. Dad stares at the screen. I stare at the stack of invoices.

For a moment, the office feels too big. Too quiet. Like it’s holding its breath.

“You ever think about retiring?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

He doesn’t look at me. “You ever think about minding your own business?”

I deserved that. I lean back in the chair, crossing my arms. Outside, the early fall light is already fading, shadows stretching across the yard as if winter is preparing to strike.

The phone stays silent, and I think about a front desk that isn’t chaos. About someone who makes things run smoothly. I think about Ruby, and then I pick up the next invoice and get back to work.

Chapter Thirteen

Ruby

The gym is quieter than usual. Not empty. Just fewer clients than usual.

A handful of regulars moving through their routines, music low enough that I hear the steady rhythm of machines cycling and weights setting down. The kind of lull that usually means the trainers are all gone at once.

It’s lunch break time. For them anyway.

Front desk. Alone. And of course, my stomach decides to make itself known by growling. Perfect. The door opens, the bell chiming overhead.

I don’t look up. “Hey, welcome to Iron–”

“Hey.” Male voice. Brent Lawson. Sleeveless shirt. Again. Because apparently, we’re committed to that.

He leans on the counter like we’ve done this before. We haven’t. “So, we meet again.”

“Looks like it.” I click on the personal trainers’ scheduling screen while trying not to roll my eyes. This is his pickup line? No wonder he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

He doesn’t swipe his card. Just stands there. Watching me. “You think you could show me how to use one of the machines?”

“We’ve got trainers for that.”

“Yeah, I know.” He glances over his shoulder like he hadn’t already noticed the empty floor. “Don’t see any of them now.”

“They’ll be back in a bit.”

“I won’t.”

Of course he won’t. I press my lips together, glancing toward the floor. No trainers. No backup. He moves closer to the desk, enough to close the space a little more than I’d like.

“It’s just the leg press,” he adds. “I don’t want to mess something up.”