Page 9 of Giovanni
“Now that I understand your busy lifestyle and where you want to be, we need to do the fitness assessment.”
She immediately looks worried, her gaze leaving mine to circulate the busy gym again. I lean forward, touching her arm resting on the edge of the desk to draw her attention back to me.
“It’s nothing to worry about, just a few simple tests to set a benchmark of where we need to start, and with consistency, you’ll have a place to look back to showing your growth.”
She looks unconvinced as I say it but nods all the same. I clutch the clipboard as I stand, intending to get her started with measurements before she bolts out the door. If that were to happen, I’d feel terrible.
“Tell you what, we have a room with most of the equipment we’ll need for the assessment. Would you like to do it there? It’s more private,” I offer while she slowly stands, her hands still curled around her purse strap. Seeing how she’s dressed in conservative leggings and a baggy T-shirt, I think the private room would be best.
“Please.”
I flash her a reassuring smile and then guide her across the gym to the cluster of group fitness classes underway while explaining the place’s layout. She remains silent, her keen eyes taking it all in as if listening to the facts of a case.
Quiet observance seems to be her modus operandi. I swing open the door to an assessment room, the shock of cold air causing her to shiver. That won’t last long once she warms up by the movements.
“Alrighty, it’s just me and you in here. Like Vegas, what happens here stays here.”
She chuckles. Her smile is bright and a stunning contrast to her darker skin. It catches me off guard in the best way. I’mattracted to all races of women. It’s quality over quantity for me. Having been in the gym for several years, I see all shapes, sizes, and skin tones. But that laugh and smile are hard to come by, and now that I got it, I want to hear more of it.
“I’ve never been to Vegas, so I’ll take your word for it,” she says quietly, lowering her purse to a box step and facing me.
I think back to my birthday last year when Seb flew a bunch of us to Vegas and had strippers waiting in the penthouse suite for us. It was shocking and not something I wanted to partake in. Even though it was my twenty-first birthday, and everyone was getting shit-faced, partying with the girls, I left to go gamble.
“You’re not missing much, trust me.” The sour taste from Sin City is still fresh in my mind. “Alright, let’s start with the basics—your weight and measurements.”
I lead the way to the scale, but when I glance back, she’s rooted to the same spot, her body language screaming her uncomfortableness.
“Kacie.” I soften my voice and extend a hand as an invitation. “This is just our starting line. Where we begin doesn’t matter. It’s where we’re going that counts, okay?”
She nods, taking a deep breath that seems to steel her insides as she walks toward me. This is the first uncomfortable step of many more to come. She steps onto the scale with a determined readiness on her face. The digital figures flicker into place, but I keep my expression neutral and professional.
“Got it,” I say, clicking my pen and scribbling on the clipboard without showing any sign of judgment. “This is just a number, Kacie. It’s not the full story. Not by a long shot.”
She exhales, her shoulders dropping when she sees the scale’s display.
“Okay, what’s next?”
“We’ll take some basic measurements,” I explain, pulling out the measuring tape. “It helps to track your progress. Andremember, progress isn’t always about the numbers. It’s about how you feel, how much stronger and healthier you become, your energy level, and what your bloodwork says.”
As I guide her through the process, I keep the conversation light, tossing in a joke here and there, anything to keep her smile in place. And it works. Her laughter comes easier, and her nervous edge fades. I take her through five exercises to assess her general health. When we’re done, she collapses on the floor, her back plastered to the mat as labored breaths pour out of her.
I plop down beside her with my trusty clipboard to detail what is happening now. I can’t help glancing at her heaving chest, the shirt compressing, to get an idea as to the size of her breasts. Usually, I’m an ass man, but with how large they are, I could easily switch.
I shake my head, scolding myself for reducing this intelligent and accomplished woman to body parts. Thankfully, she doesn’t notice when she sits up, mentions her schedule, and asks how to integrate a fitness routine.
“Fitness can be a great stress reliever. A way to clear your head after a day of . . . well, doing all the kick-ass stuff lawyers like you do.”
She laughs, and it’s music to my ears.
“I could use some stress relief. Between the trials and the paperwork, it’s non-stop.”
“That’s what I’m here for. To relieve stress.”
I didn’t mean for it to sound as suggestive as it does, and my cheeks heat up. She doesn’t flinch or pull back. Instead, she leans forward, a curious tilt to her head, and her light green eyes seem to flicker with interest.
There’s a pause, an inhalation, and her gaze momentarily flickers to my lips. It’s a heartbeat, maybe two, but it’s enough to send a charge through me that no amount of weightlifting could match. I clear my throat, suddenly conscious of the space closingaround us, the gym walls receding until it feels like we’re in a tiny box.
“I mean, fitness to combat the stress of work,” I clarify, my voice a touch more gravelly than intended. Her smile widens, and she sits back, breaking the momentary tension.
