But they’re here.
Looking over a few heads, I spot Quinn at the front desk. Four, I repeat four women are bent over the desk chatting with him. All in the same legging, muscle-shirt attire. Lots of colorful sports bras.
Instantly, a flash of Sulli and her baggy workout clothes fills my head, and I end up smiling. She’d look like a babe in anything, but I like that she’s never changed.
Especially not for me.
After I take a breath, I raise a hand and shout, “Quinn!”
The room deadens quiet like I just shouted Who farted?!
Quinn’s face brightens immediately, and he pushes out of his chair. “Akara!”
“Ohmygod, it’s Akara Kitsuwon!” someone near the lockers shouts. Phones are whipped out. I jab my thumb toward the back room.
“Office,” I tell Quinn.
He’s still grinning as he nods. “I’ll be there in a sec!”
Leaving the women, I enter the sanctuary of the Studio 9 office. A boardroom table lying barren and unused. No papers. No coffee stains. The whiteboard is wiped clean.
Blowing out a breath, I sink down into a leather chair. Have I neglected the gym so much that I don’t even know what’s happening here? Sure, I keep up with the P&L’s to ensure we’re not in the red—and I’ve seen we’re doing better than usual—but besides that I’ve left most of the daily operations and decisions up to Quinn.
I rub my face. This is good. More gym memberships are good. Then why do I feel so strange?
The office door slowly opens, and Quinn slips inside. He’s no longer on crutches, but he occasionally wears a boot on his leg during the day. Right now, it’s off.
He shuts the door. “Thanks for coming.”
“I’m sorry it took so long. Everything has been busy with the security firm.” And it’s not like I don’t see Quinn. We live together. And yeah, I’m around less because I crash at Sulli’s, but it’s not like I’m actively ignoring him.
“No worries, bro.” Anticipation lines his brow, and I eye the scar underneath his eye. Quinn can appear intimidating, but once you know him, he has more soft layers under the brittle, tough ones. It’s almost hard to believe he beat the crap out of people in a ring.
Before he can change the subject, I point towards the door. “What was that all about?”
He follows my finger. “What do you mean?”
I laugh. “Quinn, I haven’t seen that many women in my gym…well, ever.”
“Ohhhh right.” Quinn opens his hands. “I don’t know. I guess word got around that I was managing the place. I think Nessa might have Tweeted it.”
Nessa Nolan.
His girlfriend.
The one he met on the ski slopes when he crashed into a tree. Luna calls it a sweet “meet cute” but I just remember how attached Nessa seems to be to social media. I’m worried that part of Nessa will inevitably put a strain on Quinn. But hey, she did something good I guess, if she helped promote the gym.
“So they’re just here for the young stud?” I find that a little hard to believe. Sure, Quinn is considered the best-looking guy on the team, but he can’t pull that many people here.
“I’m also doing Ladies Night. Free classes on Wednesdays. It’s bringing in a lot of new memberships.”
That’ll do it.
I guess I never thought to do something like that. Mainly because the gym had always been geared to pro-fighters over fitness buffs. Change isn’t bad.
I know that, and it doesn’t feel like it is. The new, maybe better course for my gym isn’t what’s sinking my stomach.
“Smart,” I tell him.
He takes a seat at the board table beside me. “What can I say, I’m good at my job.” His smile falters. “But I’m ready to come back to the team. My leg’s way better, bro. I can even do some kicks on the bag. I’ll show you.” He hops up as fast as he sat down, then jabs his thumb to the door.
I shake my head. “The person you’ll need to impress isn’t me. I’m defaulting to Farrow’s advice on that one.”
Quinn’s face falls. “Akara, my brother is in his ear. Farrow will never clear me unless I’m the bionic man. Okay, he wants me to be 150%.”
“Then you should be 150%.”
His expression sours further. “Dammit.” He leans his ass on the table, staring at the floor.
I wince. “It’s not forever.”
“Yeah…yeah, whatever,” Quinn mumbles. “Have fun with New Quinn.”
“Gabe isn’t—” I don’t get out the words. He storms out of the office.
I let out a frustrated breath, and then it hits me. Why I’m feeling sick to my stomach. Quinn. He’s good at managing Studio 9. Great, actually. He might even be a better gym manager than a bodyguard. That thought twists me up because I shouldn’t want to keep him here in a position he clearly doesn’t love. It benefits me more, but it hurts him.