A Fresh Start

Chapter 1

Chelsea Cartwright crawled out of bed trying not to wake the young couple she'd spent the night with. Gustavo and Gabriella were a Brazilian couple who, unlike Chelsea, had normal jobs with working normal hours. They both woke up of course. Gustavo made an appreciative noise as he admired Chelsea dressing. Gabriella giggled, her dark skin contrasting against the white sheets.

"Thank you for letting me stay over," Chelsea said when she'd finished dressing. She kissed them each in turn. "I'll call you," she added then left.

Retrieving her trusty ten-speed racer from the hallway, Chelsea wheeled it out into the sunlight and closed the apartment door behind her. She'd had to sell the car a year ago and now she cycled everywhere or used public transport. Some admired her eco-friendly credentials and she let them believe that, but in truth she was broke. Life in San Francisco was just too expensive for a lowly gym instructor.

As she cycled she recounted the events of the previous night. It had been fun. The muscular Gustavo had pumped both girls vigorously while she and Gabriella had made out. If she was honest though, Chelsea had gone for the free food as much as anything. The Brazilians certainly knew how to cook.

It took half an hour to cycle to the upmarket gym where Chelsea worked as an instructor. Located beneath the Four Seasons hotel in the heart of the city it occupied a prime location that was reflected in the price it charged for membership. Only the hotel's more important guests and the wealthiest of the city's individuals got to use its facilities.

Chelsea showered and changed into her skin-tight shorts and sports top, ready to take the six o'clock pre-work HIIT class. One of the few perks of the job was a sportswear allowance. The gym liked their instructors to look good. But, other than that, it was a sweatshop, literally. Competition for jobs was high and wages weren't great. It wasn't much reward for three years at college studying sports science back in Ohio but Chelsea liked her life in California.

She did her hair, put on just a touch of lipstick and mascara then took a final look at herself in the mirror. She was a picture of health, with her blonde hair, trim figure, pert little butt and breasts. Her sports top showed off a set of hard ab's that most women would die for.

Unlike many of the other group classes Chelsea facilitated, the split of men to women in HIIT was always around 50/50. The men tended to be a mix of ages and abilities but it seemed to Chelsea that it was always the aggressive thirty something women who signed up for it. They were usually lawyers or the high flyers from the tech companies that inhabited the city. Chelsea could never be like them. They seemed to have so much anger.

Almost all of the class of twenty were regulars but, as everyone took their positions, Chelsea noticed one guy who wasn't. He was taller than average, sported rather unkempt hair and a shaggy beard and wore shorts and a tee shirt that had been faded by the sun. He looked very out of place amongst the designer clad women and men. But under his shirt you could see he was both tanned and toned, as if he'd spent a long time doing manual labour outdoors. He seemed perfectly pleasant though and a hard worker during the session. The sort of person you wanted in your class.

At the end of the session, after the cool down, Chelsea thanked the group, telling them she hoped to see them again next week. Class attendance was important for her continued employment. When they'd all gone she quickly tidied the studio then went to get a juice from the bar. They were free for her. The gym liked to have its instructors on display.

It was peak time however and there was a queue, so she took her place at the end of it. As she waited, the guy with the shaggy hair joined behind her. The rule was that members had priority and so politely Chelsea stepped aside.

"Please, you go first," she told him.

"No, you were here before me," he replied.

"You're a member. I'm kind of obliged to let you go first."

"Actually, I'm not a member."

"Well you still have to go first."

"Ok. Erm, let me buy you breakfast then."

"Well, since you're paying, I'll have a raspberry smoothie and a ham and cheese panini," Chelsea replied cheekily. The she added, "Thank you."

Although the drinks at the juice bar were free to the instructors, the exorbitantly priced food wasn't. Chelsea couldn't have afforded to eat there herself but often members would treat her. Most days somebody would offer, usually one of her regular, 'one to one' clients. They were the ones who understood the economics of being a lowly gym instructor. They were all women of a certain age and usually terrible gossips, which Chelsea found hilarious.

"Any chance you've got a minute, I'd love some company?" shaggy guy asked.

Chelsea couldn't say no but, in any case, she was slightly curious.

"Of course," she said "but I've only got fifteen minutes. Then I've got my first client."

The two of them walked over to an empty table and sat down.

"So. What do you think of the gym?" she asked.

I've only done one class so far and the instructor was a real ball buster," he joked.

Chelsea laughed. "You seemed to cope just fine. How do you usually keep fit?"

"Sailing mainly. I've been doing a lot lately," he said wistfully. "But I'm relocating here, so I'm trying to sort stuff out, like finding a gym."

"Relocating from where?"

"Well, from my boat really. I've been living on it for the last eighteen months, travelling."

"That sounds very adventurous. And it explains the hair," Chelsea laughed.

"You don't think it suits me?" he said, slightly offended.

"Oh no. I didn't mean anything by it," Chelsea said trying to back-pedal quickly.

"It's alright," he laughed. "I was joking."

Chelsea checked the time on her I-phone 5x with its cracked screen.

"I must be going. I've got a one to one session with a client," she said. Then she added, "I'm Chelsea by the way."

"Connor," he replied. "Listen Chelsea, I could be way out of line here but I don't suppose you fancy going for something to eat tomorrow night?"

Chelsea thought for a moment and weighed up the pros and cons in her head. On the negative side he was a little bit old for her. But on the positive side he had a vulnerability to him and an honest quality which she warmed to. And of course he had a fit bod too.

"What have I got to lose?" she thought to herself.

"I'm free on Friday," she told him. Then, needing to clarify things she added, "How about the Hard Rock Cafe on Pier 39? But I warn you I'm not a cheap date. I want a main course and a dessert. Just so you know."

Connor laughed, "I'll bear that in mind. What time?

'Seven thirty?"

"Sounds good to me."

"You've made me late," she giggled. "What's your number. I'll text you mine."

"Erm, I don't have a phone. It's something I need to sort out. Tell me your number."

Chelsea told him and he thanked her.

"Don't you need to write it down?" she asked.

"Identic memory," he joked

"Oh right. Well I'll see you tomorrow then. Seven-thirty outside the Hard Rock Café."

And with that she left, her heart racing just a little.

Chapter 2

When Chelsea got home from the gym she knew the moment she opened the door that someone was in the apartment.

"Is that you?" she shouted.

"I'm in the kitchen," a girl's voice replied.

Presley was Chelsea's flatmate, the two of them having lived together for over a year now. Presley worked as cabin crew for one of the major Asian Airlines. She was a pretty girl with light brown hair, a devilish smile and large breasts that sent Asian businessmen wild. For want of a better description Presley was an unashamed 'good-time girl' and the life of an air hostess suited her down to the ground. Flying long haul meant that she was away for a few days at a time and Chelsea was never sure exactly when she would be back in the apartment.

Walking into the kitchen, Chelsea was greeted by the sight of Presley in her bra and panties pouring herself a glass of wine. When Presley saw Chelsea she put the wine down and the two girls embraced then kissed passionately.

"I wasn't sure when you'd be back," Chelsea said when they came up for air.

"Shut up, take me to bed," Presley replied bluntly...

Half an hour later the two girls cuddled in bed, both with a glass of wine in their hand.

"So did you fuck Captain 'Big dick' again?" Chelsea asked Presley, laughing.

"His name's Bill," Presley replied, pretending to be hurt by the comment. Then giggling, she added "and yes, I might have."

"You know he's never going to leave his wife," Chelsea told him.

"God that's the last thing I want," Presley exclaimed. Then she asked "How about you. What have you been up to?"

"I spent last night with Gustavo and Gabriella."

"God he's a prime hunk of Brazilian beef isn't he? He can shove his meat in me any time," Presley said lecherously. "And speaking of food I guess they fed you?"

"Aha," Chelsea replied laughing at the crudeness of Presley's comments.

"You really need to get a better job Chelsea. Something that pays you a living wage. I could probably get you one with the airline. God knows you're pretty enough."

"I like what I do."

Presley seemed unconvinced by Chelsea's reasoning but let it be.

"So what are we going to do this weekend?" Presley asked.

"Ah. I actually have a date Friday night," Chelsea replied.

"Spill the beans!"

"He's someone at the gym."

"Hunky?"

"Yes."

"Rich?"

"I don't know."

"How old?"

Chelsea hesitated before admitting, "Mid-thirties."

"Hmmmm," Presley mused. "Divorced then."

"I don't know. He's a bit quirky. He lives on his boat."

"Definitely divorced. Sounds like the wife took him for everything including the house. God knows you can pick 'em Chelsea."

"We're just going out for some food," Chelsea responded. "I'm not going to marry him."

Presley sensed she'd hit a bit of a nerve and backed off. "But we're hitting the town on Saturday night aren't we. Just the two of us?"

"We certainly are," Chelsea confirmed...

Chapter 3

Connor Patterson had woken up early on Thursday morning, after a restless night's sleep. After spending so long on board his sailboat, the comfortable hotel bed had seemed alien to him. His body missed the reassurance of the boat's hull rocking beneath him.

He'd arrived in San Francisco the previous afternoon. Moored up at the yacht club, filled up a waterproof stuff sack with some clothes and caught a taxi to the 'Four Seasons'. The receptionist had eyed him sceptically as he checked in to his premier suite but it had been paid for in advance and it appeared from his credit card that Connor was indeed who he said he was.

In the absence of sleep, Connor resolved to get up and burn off some energy in the gym. He hadn't been to a gym in over eighteen months but crewing the sailboat had kept him fit. The petite little gym instructor had caught his eye during the HiiT class and purely by chance he'd found himself in the queue for a juice next to her. He'd been surprised when she'd agreed to sit with him for a moment and even more surprised when he'd asked her on a date and she'd said yes. It was a good start he thought. Even if it came to nothing then at least Connor could say that he was back in the game.

Later that morning Connor found himself in the reception area of Stutter, Simpson and Bailey. They were one of the big law firms, with offices on both the east and west coasts. Connor asked for Mike Frankle at the reception desk. The receptionist looked at him pretty much the same way the receptionist at the four seasons had the day before, but she called up and to her surprise was told that someone would be down to pick Connor up straight away.

An attractive young secretary came down to collect Connor but, not recognising him, she had to ask the receptionist who he was.

"Would you like to come this way, Mr Patterson," she said trying to disguise her surprise at how shabby he looked. "Mr. Frankle is waiting for you."

They caught a lift up to the eleventh floor where Mike Frankle was waiting for him.

"Connor. It's so good to see you," Mike said, getting up and shaking Connor's hand vigorously.

"When did you get in?"

"Yesterday afternoon, and you?"

"I flew in on Tuesday. To make sure everything's ready."

Mike Frankle was in his late fifties and, like Connor, a native New Yorker. He'd been Connor's personal attorney for fifteen years. Ever since Connor had taken his first start-up venture public. He'd handled Connor's divorce and, when Connor had decided he needed to get away, he'd handled Connor's business interests, putting them into trust until he was ready to return.

The assistant poured coffee for the two men then left them alone.

"How are you?" was Mike's first question.

"I'm good Mike, really. I think I'm ready to become a responsible member of society again."

"I'm glad to hear that. Just don't take on too much at once. Ease yourself back in. And remember, if you need anything at all, ask," the older man said in a fatherly manner.

"Thank you Mike and I really mean that. If it wasn't for you, I'm not sure where I would have ended up."

"Ok. First things first," Mike began. "Phone, laptop, i-pad. The codes are all in here," he said holding up a USB stick.

"Now I've done everything you specified. The apartment is ready. It's fully furnished, fully serviced and ready to go. I've checked it myself and I think you're going to like it. The cars you requested are in the basement. They wouldn't be my choice but they are in the basement all the same."

Mike handed over a folio full of keys and paperwork to Connor who accepted them, taking an interest in the car keys especially.

"The beach house is ready too It is beautiful. You are really going to love it. And you've a permanent mooring for the boat in the marina there when you're ready."

"You know you and Marcie are welcome to use the house any time," Connor offered. "Just let me know and I'll roll out the red carpet."

"We might just take you up on that," Mike chuckled.

Mike handed over another set of keys and another folio.

"And finally, all of your interests are ready to be taken out of trust and handed back."

"How's Sophie," Connor asked.

"She's fine." Mike sighed at the mention of Connor's ex-wife's name. "She's got a new film coming out and she's seeing a guy called Jack Daniels from some Indie band I've never heard of."

"Sounds like Sophie," Connor laughed.

"You've got to move on," Mike told him.

"I know," Connor replied. "Actually, I've got a date tomorrow night."

"Good for you. Just watch out. There's a lot of gold diggers out there."

"I know."

"And can I suggest a shave and a change of clothes perhaps?"

Connor laughed at the suggestion as Mike prepared a sheaf of documents for signature.

"Now, there's a mountain of paperwork to sign when you're ready then you can get back to being a regular, run of the mill, billionaire again. Once that's out of the way I'll drive you over to your new apartment."

The apartment was as billed, a penthouse with an unobstructed view of the bay. It had been bought off plan and fitted out at considerable expense. In the basement the cars Connor had specified were waiting for him. There was a Range Rover, a Ferrari, an Aston Martin and a VW Golf. Completing the stable was a Harley Davidson CVO Roadglide motorcycle.

Connor and Mike had some lunch in a nearby restaurant and then Mike needed to head back to the airport. Connor went in search of a barber then he tried to do some shopping but his heart wasn't in it. He knew he would need some clothes for his date though, so he bought some casual jeans, tee shirts, shirts, underwear and shoes at Neiman Marcus and had them delivered to the concierge at the apartment. As he passed the Apple store he thought about Chelsea's cracked i-phone 5x. Would she think it was creepy if he offered to replace it?

It was late afternoon when Mike found a bar close to the harbour. He had a few beers then thought about going back to the apartment but he knew he couldn't face it. So he caught a taxi to the marina and spent the night on his boat with a pizza and a bottle of whisky.

Chapter 4

Chelsea had been busy all day Friday and a couple of late afternoon classes at the gym meant she hadn't time to go home and change before her date. So she'd brought two outfits to work with her that day. Jeans and a tee shirt and a flattering little summer dress. She wasn't sure which to choose but went for the summer dress in the end as it was a warm evening. After she'd showered and changed she put on some make-up and then went to catch the metro to the Hard Rock Café. She knew she would be late. She invariably was.

Connor, in contrast, had time on his hands. He'd woken up on the boat that morning with a hangover and had decided the walk back to his new apartment would do him good. The concierge greeted him and handed him the bags of clothes that had been delivered to his apartment the day before.

"If there's anything I can help you with Mr Patterson then just ask. The name's Carlton sir," the friendly coloured man told him.

"You don't have a cure for a hangover do you?"

"Sir, I'm just a concierge. Not a magician," the man laughed.

Connor thought about going to the gym and perhaps bumping in to Chelsea. But then he thought that sounded a bit like stalking. So he opened his laptop and worked through some of the data that Mike had left him regarding his investments. There was a lot of information but the indications were positive in spite of all the things that were going on in the world.

After a while he couldn't stop himself from googling his ex-wife however. He'd managed to avoid her completely for eighteen months so there was a lot to catch up on but from what he read it seemed that she'd had no difficulty moving on without him.

Later in the afternoon he took a shower and began to get ready. Fortunately the people Michael had employed to furnish the house seemed to have thought of everything. Right down to soap and toothpaste. After showering, he cut the tags off his new clothes then put them on and was ready to go out. He thought about taking the Ferrari but then he realised he had no idea where he was going or where to park. It also occurred to him that he hadn't driven in a year and a half. So he called down for a taxi instead.

When Chelsea saw Connor standing outside the restaurant waiting for her, there was a small part of her that wasn't sure if it was him. The beard had gone and his haircut and casual jeans and tee shirt outfit made him look a bit like Chris Hemsworth. She was glad she'd worn the summer dress now.

I'm so sorry, I'm late," she told him apologetically. I had to wait at the metro station.

"No worries," Connor replied. "You look great by the way."

"Thank you, so do you," Chelsea said, almost but not quite blushing. "I almost didn't recognise you without your beard."

"It feels a bit odd, but I'm getting used to it," he admitted.

"Well it suits you."

"Thanks."

Chelsea grabbed Connor by the arm.

"Shall we go in?" she asked. "I'm starving..."

A waitress took them to a table, handed them menus and took their drinks orders. Both of them ordered light beer. When the waitress left there was a momentary silence between them and Connor felt the need to fill it

"So, do you come here often?" he asked. Then realising what he'd said he added, "God, did I really just say that. I'm sorry. I'm so out of practise."

Chelsea laughed at him making a joke of it