Page 28 of Fit for Love

Without waiting for a reply, I chug the rest of my sangria, and as soon as the waiter comes back, I sign the check, mumble a rushed farewell to Emma and Marcus, and hurry out as fast as my Manolo Blahniks can carry me.

The first thingI do when I get home is pack my shoes in a plastic bag and seal it thoroughly to lock in the odor.The second thing I do is brainstorm something I should’ve figured out as soon as I finished my MFA: a dress design that is completely my own.That lasts about thirty seconds before I give in to temptation and look up Ashton Vancroft.

Holy fuck.

He’s got a whole fitness empire now.His ThriveFit app is at the top of all the app stores’ charts, with ravingly great reviews, and his clients include every celebrity I can think of.

And there are interviews with the asshole.Tons of them.

How did I manage to miss his rapid ascent?Normally, I know everyone and everything.

The only explanation I can think of is that after that night, I’ve pathologically avoided anything to do with gyms and fitness, my morning runs excluded.

In a moment of weakness, I click on a video of an interview with him and hear in his own words how the techie side of his business began when he wanted to help his clients remotely but couldn’t find an app that did everything he needed—so he had one created.

Stopping the video, I snort.

Help his clients remotely.What is that a euphemism for—phone sex or sexting?

Resuming the video, I listen to the rest and cringe as Ashton pretends that he cares nothing about the financial aspect of his achievements.

“Ultimately, I’m in the business of bringing happiness,” he says.“And that’s all I care about.”

Somehow, that just makes me angrier—because in a fucked-up way, it’s probably true.“Bringing happiness” one orgasm at a time was what he was doing when I met him.Catherine sure seemed happy with his services.

Maybe I should’ve been too?

No, fuck that.I didn’t know he was simply rendering services.He made me feel special, like what happened between us was unique—until I learned there was a conveyor belt of other women who felt exactly the same.

Well, whatever.Clearly, his strategy worked, and he’s insanely rich now.If not a billionaire like Marcus, then well on his way.No wonder he was dressed so nicely at that brunch—it’s all chump change to him now.

I must be a masochist because I pull up more articles about him and learn that he actually comes from old money.Which explains his air of commanding arrogance.Come to think of it, he even had it when we met three years ago, when he was still just a trainer who was working through theKama Sutrawith his clients on the side.

Ugh.I need to stop thinking about him.Delete him from my mind the way I did from my phone.

So that’s exactly what I try to do for the next few days: I refuse to talk about him no matter how hard Emma pries.I even manage to resist Emma’s most enhanced interrogation technique—a shopping trip for Manolo Blahniks.

Chapter12

Ashton

Marcusand I are covered in sweat as we circle each other in the octagon.

Today is different from our usual in that Marcus seems to want to cause real damage to me.The only reason he doesn’t succeed is because we’ve been sparring together for years, and I know all his moves.

“Listen,” I say as I dodge a lightning-fast jab.“Is this about my stupid joke about the wedding?”

His reply is a low kick, which I dodge.

“I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position.”Or if I did, only a little.

He swings at me again.

Fuck this.My next argument is a roundhouse kick.

And so it goes, until Marcus’s phone timer informs us that the session is over.

“So… we good?”I ask as we regain our breath in the locker room.

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