“Great. Great. Come in.” He steps aside and hold the door for me. “We can sit over here.” He leads the way into the living room.
“Nice view.” I cross the patterned rug and sit on one of the two big couches. He takes a seat opposite me. The view is all blue—blue sky, blue river, even the skyscrapers on the other side of the Hudson River appear blue.
“Thanks. I like living here. I’m going to miss it.”
I don’t try to reassure him that he may not have to leave, because we both know that he likely will have to. “We’ll find you a great place to live, wherever you end up,” I say calmly.
He nods.
I spread out some papers on the table and go through them with Hunter. He seems uninterested and I sit back. “You should be paying more attention to these.”
He blinks. “You said I could trust you.” Our eyes meet and heat fills my chest. “I do trust you, Kate.”
“Well, that’s good, but even so, it’s your career. You shouldn’t trust anyone but yourself.”
We resume reviewing the contract, then Hunter signs and we’re done. Yay.
He sits back. “Thank you. This is a big load off my mind.”
I hate it that this situation has been messing with his mind. And even though it’s a business decision that’s beneficial for my bottom line, it makes me feel good that I’m helping him. I gather up the papers, slip them into a folder and slide it back into my bag. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”
“Did you really bail Beaven out of jail?”
I blink, keeping my face neutral. “Did he tell you that?”
“Yeah.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “You won’t have to do that for me, I promise.”
I try to stop my smile. “Good to know. I’ve gotten some strange requests, though, so don’t get too cocky.”
“Okay. Here’s a request. Come downstairs and have a drink with me in the bar. It’s happy hour.”
Hunter’s request makes me freeze.
Have a drink with him? Jeez, I still haven’t recovered from yesterday’s lunch with him.
I stuff papers into my big purse, pretending to rearrange them and taking my time. I stand. I need an excuse. I don’t have one. I don’t know what to say. It would be ridiculous to say we should keep things professional; I have dinner and drinks with clients all the time. But Hunter’s different than all my other clients. He’s seen me naked.
And more.
I resist the urge to wipe my brow as sweat breaks out on it.
He’s waiting for an answer.
“I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” I finally say.
His eyes flicker, but his expression doesn’t change. He lifts his chin. “We’re friends, Kate.”
“I-I know.” I clutch my purse with both hands.
“Let’s have a drink. We have years of catching up to do.”
A small, sharp knife twists in my heart. We wouldn’t have to catch up if he’d felt the same about me as I felt for him. “I don’t have time today.” I rush the words out. “I’m sorry. Things are so busy right now. But I’ll take a rain check on that!” I smile brightly and head to the door. “I’ll touch base with you in the next few days about how things are going.” I beeline toward the door.
He follows me, nodding. “Sure. Okay.”
“Talk soon!” I wave a hand, and bolt.
As I wait for the elevator, I tip my head back. Oh my God. What an idiot I am. I should have been prepared for that.
The doors slide open and I step in.
He wants to be friends.
I thought I got my head wrapped around the fact that he would be my client. I thought I convinced myself that I could do this without my feelings getting mixed up in it. I wanted another client, one who’s going to make me big money and boost my reputation as an agent. I convinced myself I could do this.
And I just lost it.
Fuck!
I let out a long, slow breath as the elevator descends. Okay. We don’t need to be best buddies like we were in college. But we do need to be friends. It’s a business relationship, for sure, but I’m pretty involved in my clients’ lives and I’ll have to be involved in Hunter’s.
Out on the street, I pause. I need to get myself together. Which way am I going?
I start down the street, thinking I’m heading toward Hoboken Station, the way I came. It’s a bit of a walk, but that’s okay, I need to move. And think.
At the first corner, I realize I turned the wrong way. Dammit! I do an about face and retrace my steps.
I have to be able to handle this. I just have to. I’ve been able to handle a lot of things in my short career—sexism, discrimination, harassment. Being broke. Being laughed at. This is nothing.
By the time I’m on the train zipping along under the Hudson River, I’m calmer. More confident. This will be fine. I’ll have a drink with Hunter when I have things to discuss with him, and it’ll be fine.
I hadn’t planned on going to the gym today, but a workout would probably be a good idea. Then I’m going to go home and drink a six pack of Easy Street Wheat Beer.
I spend the next week doing research and making a lot of phone calls.
On Thursday, I make myself head to the gym. I’m not as active right now as I am when I’m coaching hockey, and staying in shape is important to me. I joined Steam Gym when I moved to New York. I didn’t want some fancy place with weird classes; I wanted old school weights and machines. Steam Gym fits the bill—concrete block walls, cement pillars, basic lighting. I have to admit I’ve gotten hooked on their HIIT classes, though.
This is where I met my friend Soledad. We’re both single, close in age, we love working out, and we’ve gotten to be friends.
I push inside the gym and greet Kaley, the receptionist/trainer, then hike into the women’s change room. Doesn’t look like Soledad is here yet, but I’ll ride a bike until she shows up and class starts. I change into shorts and sports bra, and lace up my shoes.
I pause in front of a mirror to slip a headband on. My hair’s not long enough to put in a ponytail anymore, barely brushing my shoulders, but this keeps it out of my face.
I swing my arms and hop as I make my way through the gym to the row of bikes. Muscled guys are pumping iron and doing pullups. I’m used to working out with guys, so I barely notice them.
I’ve been pedaling for about ten minutes when someone taps my shoulder. I turn to see Soledad. “Hiiii!”
“Hi!”
I slide off the bike and we hug and exchange some chat as we stroll toward the classroom. We enter to find our instructor Elbis is preparing for class. “Hey, ladies.” His smile flashes in his dark brown face. “You ready to sweat?”
“Be gentle with us,” Soledad says with a laugh.
Soon we’re warming up, moving side to side, then skating, then squatting.
“Squeeze those glutes!” Elbis yells. “Shoulders back!”
I focus on my form, concentrating on the moves, knowing that physical activity will help me deal mentally. It always has. I love the heat in my muscles that becomes a burn, the moisture that gathers on my skin, the feeling of strength I get.