Irritating prick.
He thought I was a stripper. Maybe things are different in Vegas, but where I come from, assuming a woman dances naked for money is not a compliment. And the way he smiled—like he could see right through to my soul, and found it hilarious. Who does that?
After wandering around and asking for directions, I’m finally in the right place. I walk down a hallway lined with empty executive offices. At the end of the hallway there’s a reception area with an empty desk and a closed door with a gold plaque.
Mr. Taylor Gibbs, CEO
I smooth my dress and straighten my shoulders. The morning threw me a few speed bumps in the form of Blake Daniels, but all is not lost. Pushing past my most recent upset, I focus on my original plan.
Confidence. Even if it’s fake.
Eyes closed, I take a deep breath.
New year. New career. New life—what is that? The sound of an angry voice filters out from behind the door.
I step back, afraid to knock and interrupt, or worse, have the anger turned on me. The words are garbled, but the voices are definitely male. I contemplate going back down to the lobby and waiting, but my morning detour has made me late, and that’s a horrible first impression. I decide to sit at the desk, which I’m sure is mine, and wait it out there so I can pop in as soon as they’re done.
Aggressive murmurs continue for a few more minutes until finally the door swings open. I jump up from my chair and smile.
Two men come out of the office. They don’t see me at first, so I take quick inventory. They’re both average height, but whereas one of them is nicely dressed in a collared shirt and slacks, the other looks scruffy. His wiry salt and pepper hair is disheveled and a little too long, and his Hawaiian shirt and cargo pants look like they could use an ironing.
The cleaner of the two must catch sight of me from the corner of his eye. He jerks his head to face me, and I see a tinge of anger in his expression before he wipes it away. “Oh, hey.” His eyes dart to the clock on the wall.
Damn, he’s going to know I’m late.
“You must be Mrs. Moore—”
“Miss.” I hold out my hand. “Layla’s fine. It’s nice to meet you. Mr. Gibbs, right?”
He shakes my hand and smiles. “Yes, and thanks for being on time. I apologize for not meeting you in the lobby.” Shifting on his feet, he clears his throat. “Last minute meeting.”
A moment of uncomfortable silence passes between us as I wait to be introduced to the man in the Hawaiian shirt.
“Hi, I’m Michael Xavier,” the man says. He slicks back his hair with one hand while offering his other.
“Yes, Z is our new doctor on staff. He’ll be treating the athletes and working with the trainers.” Mr. Gibbs explains how the last doctor left to practice family medicine in Arizona and how Doc Z is taking his place.
This guy is a doctor? Well that’s probably what the fight was about. He clearly needs a more professional look, or at least a cleaner one.
“The two of you will be working together from time to time. If I’m not available, he’s instructed to report to you.”
To me? The cool air from the room burns my eyes. I’m not blinking. “I’m not qualified to—”
“Don’t sweat it.” He claps the doctor on the back. “He’ll do all the work. You just sign the dotted line.”
“I uh—”
“It was nice to meet you Miss—”
My eyes return to the greasy doctor. “Layla.”
“Layla. See you around.” Doc Z turns and walks away.
“All right.” Mr. Gibbs claps his hands. “I don’t have anyone to train you, so I’m afraid this will be a-learn-as-you-go situation.” His bright blue eyes sparkle against his tan skin. Judging by the gray hair in his sideburns, I’d guess he’s in his fifties, and although he’s a little short, I’d think most women would consider him attractive.
“That’d be great.”
“Come on. I’ll show you the main training space.” He motions for me to follow him into the warehouse-style room that I walked through earlier.
The sound of rap music and men’s voices fill the air. Now that I’m not on a frantic search, I notice the smell of sweat and spice. Not a bad sweat smell, just one that reminds me I’m surrounded by men. Padded bags, equipment, and mats line the large space, and in the middle, sitting like a crown jewel, is an enormous octagon.
“Left is the men’s locker room and medical facilities, right is the ladies locker room.” He points down a hallway. “Random offices and meeting rooms.”
Motioning for me to follow, he heads toward a set of double doors. “And in here we have a state-of-the-art weight training facility.”