Page 4 of Easy To Lose

“You know if you didn’t own this place, I could fire you, right?” I give him the finger as I check my email, quickly making sure there are no cancelations for today’s schedule.

Just as I’m about to log off, a new email pops up from one of my regulars. I open it and read:

Owen, sorry to do this to you last minute, but I have to cancel my session for this morning. Tommy was throwing up all night, and his fever has yet to go down, so I’m taking him to see the doctor. Sorry again. I’ll still pay for the session, and I’ll see you next week. –Amber

“Well, there goes my morning plans,” I mutter to myself just as Matt comes over and leans against the desk.

“Amber cancel?” I nod, not surprised that Matt memorized my schedule. It’s why I had no issues with going into business with him. He’s organized, loyal, and has a memory that could rival Sheldon Cooper’s. “You really gonna make her pay for the session?” he asks, giving me a look I know well.

“Of course, not. I’m not that big of an ass. Plus, her kid is sick. Ever since Ken left her, she’s had a lot on her plate.” When Amber started training with me, I knew she was motivated by her husband’s infidelity, something she was very vocal about. I believe she said she wanted him to wish he never stuck his dick in another woman. I told her I would be happy to get her that revenge, even though she already looked amazing for a forty-year-old single mom.

“So, what are you gonna do now?” Matt asks, taking one of the mints from the bowl to my right and popping it into his mouth.

“I don’t know. Might work out for a bit.” He nods just as my phone goes off, A second later, it goes off again, then again. I sigh, knowing exactly who’s blowing up my cell.

“You haven’t cut her loose yet?” Matt asks with a knowing smirk that makes me feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. “Calm down, man. If it was me, I would probably keep her around, too. She must be one hell of a lay.”

“Shut the fuck up and mind your own business,” I grunt as he shrugs and goes back to cleaning the equipment. I pick up my mobile and see one missed call and four unread texts.

Bailey: Morning, handsome, what are you up to today?

Bailey: Why aren’t you answering my texts?

Bailey: Hello???

Bailey: Call me NOW.

I sigh, pulling up her contact and pressing the phone to my ear. She picks up after the first ring.

“Where have you been?” she accuses as I tilt my head towards the ceiling, praying I can get through this conversation without blowing my top.

“Bails, you know I open the gym every day. I was busy talking to Matt about my schedule.” She sighs, groaning into the phone, and for the millionth time this week, I wonder why I’m with her. In the beginning, it was amazing—she was hot, funny, and we had a great time together. Then, over time, she wanted more. More of my time, more of my attention, and more of my business. Bailey is an Instagram influencer and very proud of it. She should be, she’s worked really hard to get where she is today, but it’s become all-consuming. And she’s using my brand, something that I built from the ground up, to gain more and more of a following for herself. And it’s grating on my nerves.

It’s become clearer as time goes on that she’s with me for the clout and not for me, and I know I need to end it. For both of our sanities.

“You never have time for me anymore,” she whines as I take a deep breath, needing strength to get through this conversation. There’s a huge crash from the store next door, and I jump up from my seat.

“What was that?” Bailey asks as I motion to Matt that I’m going over to take a look. He nods as I head to the front door.

“Bails, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” I don’t wait for her reply as I jerk open the front door and jog next door. The sign above the door says Head Over Heels, and the door and windows are covered in brown paper, letting me know that it’s under construction. I try the front door, and when it swings open, I walk inside.

“Hello? Is everyone okay?” I ask, hearing my voice echo through the small space. I don’t see anyone around, but I do see a very large metal rack lying toppled on the floor and dust everywhere. The shop itself is pretty small, but from the looks of it, it’s cute. The walls are plain white with paint chips taped to every available surface. The colors range from grey to bright pink and everything in between. I have no idea what this space will become, but right now, it’s a mess.

“Hello! I just wanted to make sure no one’s hurt after that thing fell,” I call again, making my way farther into the space, stepping over the broken shelf and heading towards the back of the store.

“Sorry, yes, everything’s fine. The stupid thing doesn’t want to stay attached to the wall,” a woman says from behind the counter. Her long, blond hair and curvy figure send a jolt through my body, but the minute she turns around, my whole world stops moving.

“Morgan?” I croak as I open my mouth to say something, anything…but nothing comes out. Morgan Lawson, the girl I spent most of my adolescence obsessing over is standing right in front of me. Given the color draining from her face, I would say she remembers exactly who I am, too. And from the fire I see in her eyes, she recalls precisely how much I ruined everything.

Chapter 4

Morgan

This can’t be happening right now. Who did I piss off in the universe for Owen Peters to be standing in front of me, looking like a tall drink of water, when I likely look like a hot mess? I mean, it’s not fair that the man looks as if he could take off his shirt and be ready for a photoshoot at GQ, and I probably look like the Crypt Keeper.

“What are you doing here, Owen?” I ignore the fact that he already told me he was making sure no one got hurt when the shelf fell, choosing instead to ask the question and hoping to get a different answer.

“I could ask you the same thing.” His smirk sends unwanted heat down my spine, tingling the edges of my mind and conjuring up memories I wish I could forget. He stalks over to the shelving unit, picks it up as if it doesn’t weigh a million pounds, and leans it against the wall. “The last I heard, you were some bigwig in New York City and were getting married.” I swear I hear a growl at the last part of that sentence, but again, I choose to ignore it.

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