Page 26 of Show Me

That’s reasonable. Annoying, but reasonable.

I straighten, stepping out from behind the desk. “Fine. Quick basics.”

His mouth curves like that’s exactly what he expected. Of course it is. We walk over to the machine. I keep a step ahead of him. The last thing I want to do is give him the impression that I’d like him to ask me out. I wouldn’t.

“Adjust the seat here.” I point to the lever. “You want your knees lined up with the pivot.”

He leans in. Way too close. Ugh. Seriously? I angle my body away as I demonstrate the movement.

“Feet flat here,” I continue. “Don’t lock your knees when you push–”

His hand brushes my arm. Light. Like it could’ve been accidental. Except it lingers a second too long. Creepy asshole.

I pull my arm back, stepping to the side like I need a better angle. “Try it.”

He does. Slow. Watching me more than the machine.

“You’re always here, right?”

There it is. Why couldn’t the trainers stagger their lunch breaks?

I keep my expression neutral. “I work here.”

“Yeah.” His gaze dips lower to my cleavage, staying a beat too long before returning to my eyes. “I’m aware.”

Another push of the machine. Controlled. Too slow to be real effort.

“You could probably show me next time.”

I shake my head. “That’s what the trainers are for.”

He smiles like I said something negotiable. “I bet you’re better at it than they are.”

“If you need that much assistance, I can schedule you with one them.” I rest a hand on my hip. “Is there someone you prefer to work with?”

Jesus. Why did I say that? He’s already made it clear that it’s me he’d like to work with.

Footsteps hit the floor behind us. Fast. Sharp. “Ruby.”

Greg. Standing outside his office, eyes locked on us. Thank God. I’ve never wanted Greg’s backup more in my life. But his eyes aren’t on Brent. They’re on me. Narrow and focused.

“What’re you doing?”

I blink. “Showing him the basics. Trainers are out–”

His jaw flexes as his neck stains with red. “You’re not a trainer.”

The words land harder than they should. It’s not my job, but I’ve helped countless clients with how to use the different pieces of equipment. Greg has witnessed and encouraged the instructions when the trainers are out or busy with other clients.

“I know.” I keep my voice even. “But you’ve told me before to walk someone through a machine if–”

“Not like this.” He strides closer, eating up the distance between us. Still not looking at Brent. Still just me. He stops next to the desk, resting his hand on the countertop. What in the fuck is he talking about? “This isn’t your job.”

“At the moment, it kind of is.”

“Then you keep it basic, and you keep it quick.” His eyebrow twitches as his irritation increases. If there’s one thing Greg doesn’t like, it’s being questioned by an employee. “You don’t leave the front desk unattended.”

I stare at him. The desk is ten feet away. Empty. No line. No one waiting.