Monday, 5:30 am
Unable to do another pushup, I face-planted on the matted floor.
"Not bad," Tara Gellar sing-songed in that attractive Australian accent. I thought I was going to enjoy working out while a supermodel-beautiful, Olympic-level fit, Aussie goddess coached me along. Right now, I hated it, and I hated her.
"This is humiliating," I muttered, the words muted by the foam on the gym floor.
"Nah," Tara said. "This is an assessment. I've seen worse."
I rolled over on my back and looked around the gym—all the equipment was state-of-the-art and expensive, but it had Tara's approval. I had a couple of ellipticals, treadmills, stair-step machines, and cardio rowing machines. There were machines for building muscle in different areas of the body. Free weights had been stacked and racked along one wall for easy access. Two of the walls had mirrors mounted on them, and the entire floor was padded with the highest quality gym foam Erin could find. I could efficiently work any muscle in my body without leaving the comfort of my home—my body transformation journey had begun.
The problem was, having never been a consistent member of a gym or a fan of working out in general, I wanted to throw up after thirty minutes of working with Tara... and apparently this was just the assessment. I shuddered to find out what the actual fucking workout was like.
Tara offered me a tablet. "Okay. Assessment's done. This is the schedule I've built out for you."
I rolled closer to where she sat and sat up, mirroring her position on the floor by crossing my legs as I took the tablet and looked it over.
"Do we have to do this every day at five in the morning, though?" Tara asked.
"No," I said. "I hate mornings as much as you. I just wanted to get my blood pumping before the meeting today. Didn't expect to feel nauseous though."
Tara grimaced. "Wish you would have told me that's what you were going for. It'll pass once you get some food in you. I've already started working with Camille on a diet."
"Lovely," I said, anticipating being sentenced to egg whites, salads, and protein shakes for the next few months. "This workout doesn't seem like much," I said, holding up the tablet.
"You won't be saying that by the end of the week," Tara said with an amused smile. "Don't worry. It'll get harder."
"Okay," I said, eyeing the schedule skeptically, but she was the expert, so if she said this was a good start, I believed her.
"Has anyone else talked to you yet?" I asked.
"Just Chloe. She doesn't need personal training, but she asked for a regular sparring partner."
"Cool," I said. "Erin wants to set something up with you, too."
My personal trainer sat straighter when I said that, displaying a few subtle signs of interest. I couldn't blame her. Erin in a sports bra and some yoga pants working out? I imagined that was one of those natural wonders that made you reconsider your belief in God—like the Grand Canyon. To be fair, Tara was a work of art all her own. Catching both of them in here at the same time might take years off my life just from the sheer amount of arousal they would inflict on me.
"Bobbi will probably reach out to you today, too. I want you to build a schedule for her."
"Yeah," Tara said, "About Bobbi..."
"The collar?"
"Yeah," Tara said, her piercing blue-gray eyes full of questions. "Who is she?"
"That's a long story," I sighed as I set the tablet down.
"I'd like to hear it."
Tara would be working with us all pretty intimately, so I decided she might as well know the entire situation. Erin had drawn up a boilerplate NDA for her that she'd already signed, so I felt relatively comfortable filling her in on a few of the details. I left out a few of the darker elements of how we met, but told her most of our situation—Bobbi had been stealing from the company I bought, had mistreated most of the people she worked with, and was an outright bitch. I threatened to turn her in, but instead of accepting that fate, she decided to enter a deal with me that resulted in a collar and a status as a live-in plaything story had a thin coating of sugar to make the whole thing a bit more palatable, but I hadn't lied. If Bobbi told a different narrative, and Tara decided she didn't like it, well... I'd burn that bridge when I came to it.
Surprisingly, Tara didn't seem all that taken aback by the story. I guess she'd anticipated some sort of authoritarian arrangement—the collar was a bit of a giveaway. She didn't express any kind of distress over it, though. In fact, quite the opposite; the way she drew her legs tighter against herself and leaned toward me as I told the story, I suspected the concept turned her on.
I was relieved that Tara didn't seem to have any sort of hang-up with the relationship, but it reminded me that I was overdue to have a similar conversation with Emily and Natashya. Bobbi usually kept to herself, and this place was big, but there was no doubt that Emily and Natashya had seen her around the house. The fact that neither had asked about her yet had me wondering what they suspected was happening with her.
"Anyway," I finally said once I finished the story and stood up, "I need to start getting ready. Big day ahead."
"Sounds good," Tara said, hopping to her feet with what looked like a fraction of the effort. "If you don't win, do I still have a job?"
"What?" I asked.
"Your big business meeting or whatever... you aren't losing everything if you don't win, are you?"
"Uh... no. I should be fine."
"Ah," Tara said, "Well, good luck anyway. Try not to stress out too much. If it goes bad, then no worries. It's not like you're gonna be destitute or anything."
She stuck out her hand, and I shook it as I contemplated her point. She was right—I would be fine even if Chandler didn't keep his spot on the board. In fact, I would be more than fine... I'd be just as wealthy tomorrow as I was now. That thought eased a little of the tension out of my shoulders. "Thanks, Tara."
Thirty minutes and a shower later, I was down in the dining room eating breakfast with Chloe and Erin. Breakfast was surprisingly good, despite having been warned by Tara that it would be healthy. I guess eating food that was good for you and delicious was a privilege that only the wealthy enjoyed.
As usual, Chloe barely said two words while Erin was her usual, chatty self, going over interesting points about the upcoming meeting today and asking me to fill her in on how things went with Charity.
I'd made a day trip to Vegas on Sunday to visit the influencer at her home, bringing breakfast with me. She had been released on Saturday but was still confined to her bed. The last time we'd seen each other, she'd been blowing me at a rooftop party when we were rudely interrupted by gunfire. She had been shot, and I had been kidnapped.
I told Erin about offering her a job as my PR manager, with the caveat that she would move to New York, return to school, and have an experienced advisor for at least a year until she felt comfortable enough to take on the responsibilities herself. I also mentioned that I generously gave the poor, bedridden girl oral.
Erin had several questions, and I simply told her that the moment Charity accepted the job offer, I would hand the entire thing over for her to set up. Around that time, Emily joined us at the dining room table.
"How was the rest of your weekend?" Emily asked us while she filled her plate.
"Not much of a weekend," Erin said. "Your brother had me working."
"Marcus!" Emily said accusingly.
"No. It's okay," Erin said, giving me a wink. "I'm a workaholic."
