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“You’re not what?” Felik asked as he ambled over.

Attracted our event planner. Because I wasn’t. She was a pain in the ass. I mean, demanding I clear my entire schedule on Monday afternoon to go and look at some venues with her? That wasn’t very professional. I was an extremely busy guy.

Casually, I reached for my mouse and refreshed my inbox again.

Still nothing.

“Benching less,” I told Felik absently, refreshing again.

“You seem distracted, bro.” He lounged back and rested an ankle on the opposite knee, last season’s Scarafaggio Oxford bobbing. I considered putting my feet up on my desk so he’d see my new Blattleders. “When was the last time you got laid?”

I rolled my eyes, already knowing where this was going. Maybe I should just ask him about Bavia now so he could get it out of his system. “I dunno. A month?”

“A month?” His foot thudded to the floor as he sat forward. “Dude. We’re going out tonight.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?” He looked personally offended. “Bavia’s seeing her sister tonight, so I’m free. Besides…” His mouth curved into a smirk. “I could do with a night off to recharge my batteries. She can’t get enough of me, bro.”

“Congratulations,” I deadpanned, clicking over to a new contract before switching back to my emails.

“It’s just been non-stop fucking for—”

“I get it, bro.”

He let out an infuriating chuckle. “Damn, var Rorik. Look at you—you’re tense, my guy. Come on, let’s go out tonight. I’m sure you’ll find someone within an hour and can still be tucked up in bed by eleven to get your beauty sleep.”

I scowled at him. “I don’t wanna go out, dude.”

I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want to. I was a big fan of getting laid, and I was feeling tense for some reason. But I kind of just wanted to go home. Maybe do some pilates. Maybe treat myself to a face mask. Snack on a handful of almonds if I was feeling really indulgent and sorry for myself.

It was Laki’s fault. I’d only called them for a catch-up, and instead they’d started talking nonsense about me being attracted to Anita. Which was laughable. Not because she was human, but because she was just… I didn’t even know. Annoying and competitive and wouldn’t let the flaming shots thing go.

I succumbed to the urge to check my inbox one more time, clenching my jaw when five new emails came through but none of them were from her.

Rude. Was she actually not going to respond? To me? I was her client. I should be her number one priority until this event was over. And then, I don’t know, maybe we’d decide to hold another event and she’d have to work on that, assuming the anniversary party was a success. It was in her best interest to keep me happy.

Not that I wanted to spend more time with her than necessary. I was just saying, we were a big firm with lots of important clients. There’d be plenty of opportunities for more events. I’d probably have to deal with Anita Chaudhary many more times in the future.

Ugh, that sounded terrible. She was the worst.

And really fucking bad at replying to emails.

Chapter Seven

Nuni

I was getting used to Dunmore Gym after half a week of going there. It was nowhere near as high-end as Terres Gym—the

equipment was older, there wasn’t any complimentary alkaline ionised water on the front counter, and they didn’t offer free post-workout deep tissue massages.

Not that I was bothered by the lack of massages. I already had a guy for that—a huge demiurgus dude called Svyn who worked at the upscale Redmud Spa and liked to dig his giant fists into my quads and hamstrings until I pounded on the massage table and cried uncle. I always gave him big tips.

Still, a gym was a gym, and at least Dunmore had all the machines I needed for my workouts. It was busier than Terres, but I didn’t mind that. I’d already offered helpful advice to a guy whose form had been a little off while he was doing deadlifts. He hadn’t asked, but I wasn’t going to stand by and let a fellow bro fuck up his lower back. I’d ended up nudging him out of the way to demonstrate the proper technique, and also let him know that Romanian deadlifts were superior so he should really be doing those.

It was a little after 7 a.m. on Saturday morning, and I was finishing up my hour-long leg day workout with some front-loaded squats. I was pretty drained—I’d struggled to get to sleep again last night—but I knew that after I got home, ate my breakfast and took a shower, I’d feel rejuvenated. If you didn’t feel drained immediately after a workout, you weren’t trying hard enough. I always got deep in the zone while at the gym—calls, texts and emails silenced so I didn’t get distracted, and my earphones in so I didn’t have to listen to the crappy dance music being pumped through the gym’s speakers.

After pushing myself to do one more squat and finish off my set, I carefully loaded the barbell back onto the rack and stepped out of the way so someone else could use the space in front of the mirror. Gulping down water, I tugged out my earphones and allowed myself a few moments to decompress, gazing absently out at the gym floor.