By: Victoria Ashley

I can’t help but to notice random girls watching with smug looks as we pass by until we’re out of sight, stopping at a door in the back.

I’m thinking he’s about to knock, until suddenly, he’s pulling out a key, sliding it into the keyhole. He pushes the door open, flips on the light, and motions for me to follow him inside.

He points at the chair in front of the big, black desk. “Take a seat, Ms. Reynolds.”

I look around me, checking out the office, before taking a seat. I guess this means that he’s a manager or something. “So you’re a manager here? Is that why you recommended this gym? Very good marketing skills.” I look at him and smile as he drops his gym bag behind the desk and takes a seat in the other chair.

He flashes me a cocky grin that has me crossing my legs behind the desk. “Of course not.” He leans back and runs a hand through his sexy, tousled hair. “I’m the owner.” He sits up straight. “I was just coming back from grabbing a bite to eat. Good timing, I guess.”

I’m silent as he starts pulling up screens on his computer.

“Do you have an idea of how many sessions you’re looking for?”

I chew the inside of my cheek in thought. My eyes widen when out of nowhere I feel his hand grab my chin as he massages a thumb over my cheek to stop me.

“There’s no need to be nervous. No one at my gym is here to judge. You’ll get to see that. Just relax.”

I look at his hand as he releases my chin and goes back to the computer. “I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it,” I admit. “What do you recommend?”

His gaze sets on mine and his jaw slightly flexes. “I think you’re already sexy as hell. I don’t think you need personal training, so don’t get me wrong when I recommend this. I’m only here to please you, Ms. Reynolds.” His eyes lower down the front of my body, him not making an effort to hide it. “I have a special going on right now.”

He glances back at the computer and changes something. “It’s originally twenty- four hundred, but I’m going to put you in for twelve hundred. That gives you forty- eight sessions and you get charged weekly, not all at once.”

“Wait. Wow.” I shake my head at his generosity, not sure if it’s polite to accept it. I barely even know him. “That’s really not necessary, Kyan. This is your business. Don’t short yourself for me.”

“I’m not shorting myself. Trust me.” His powerful gaze captures my eyes as he continues. “I don’t offer this to many people. Actually, this is the first time. Don’t turn me down, because when it comes to you, I feel the need to give and satisfy.”

I swallow hard from his words, now starting to feel flushed. I shake the top of my tank top. “It’s getting hot in here. Is the heat on or is it just me?”

Kyan laughs while standing up. “It’s just you, Calla.” He walks over to me and grabs my hand, helping me to my feet. “I’m also waiving your membership fee. It’s been a while since I’ve felt so . . . giving.” He turns behind him and reaches for a measuring tape. “Stand up straight.”

He stands directly in front of me, his body just inches from mine as he runs his hands down my arms, before lifting them. “Stay still while I take your measurements. Just relax your body.”

I nod my head, biting my bottom lip as I take notice of the goose bumps rising on my arms and legs as he carefully takes my measurements and marks them down. When finished, he hands me some kind of device to hold so that he can measure my body fat or something.

We both sit back down afterwards as he types up a bunch of information.

“You do wedding photography,” he states.”

I nod my head as I reply. “Yeah. I’ve been doing it since graduation.”

“Have you ever done any other kind of photography?” He watches me curiously, waiting for an answer.

“Well yeah. Nothing too different. A few birthday parties and one time I got asked to photograph a bachelorette party.” I lift an eyebrow at the memory. “That was pretty interesting.”

“I want you to photograph me.”

My head shoots up. “What do you mean? Are you getting married or . . . ?”

I let the question hang in the air while he stands up and walks around the desk, stopping at the front. Leaning against it, he crosses his thick arms and looks down at me. “No.” He lets out a small laugh. “One of my gym members is a local author and she asked me to be on her cover. I need someone to photograph the shoot.”

I catch myself checking out his body as I let his words sink in. The thought of us alone as I take his picture is oddly arousing. “Alright,” I say simply. “I can do that, but for free. I won’t let you pay me.”

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