Mia wakes, the sheets tangled around her like chains. The morning light feels bright, almost accusing. She pulls the sheets over her head, trying to hide from the day, from the memories.
Ethan's soft touch as he covered her breasts, her stark arousal at being seen and wanted.
Last night, alone with her thoughts, Mia allowed herself to relive the scene that Jace had cut short. In her fantasy, Tai and Treyvon had removed her thong, their hands and mouths expertly caressing and kissing as they brought her to a peak of intense pleasure. Only after her release, when the pleasure faded, did the embarrassment settle in, heavy and unshakable.
Mia's phone buzzes on her night stand. She reaches for it, tapping against the brightness of the screen.
Ryan: New uniform coming in later today. Hoping you can come in early for a talk.
Mia's arms stiffen, the implications washing over her in a wave of shame.
NO! Just NO!
Not at her work..
She burrows deeper under the covers, her mind racing. Maybe she could face Ryan again. He hadn't been there to see her stretched and teased by two football players. She could explain Ethan's encounter, maybe maintain some semblance of professionalism.
But Jace? The thought of facing him sends a shiver of dread through her.
She considers the gym's struggles and the looming presence of Verafit across the street. Ryan has poured everything into
Pinnacle.
He must be looking for a way out, a reset. Perhaps her leaving could somehow ease that transition. He has been so good to her. The least she could do is save him the cost of her salary while his business fails.
And yet... leaving Ryan wasn't easy. He wasn't just her boss; he was the one steady thing in her life, a connection built through years of trust, through the kind of understanding that didn't need words. When her marriage fell apart, he had been there--not to fix, not to pry, just there. It had never been complicated because it had never been an option. She had been married. Their relationship was professional. But that never stopped her from feeling.
The thought solidifies her resolve. It's the only way. She can't be the reason
Pinnacle
falls deeper into jeopardy.
From her closet, she searches for the right outfit. She passes over skimpy dresses, lace teddies, even the harness lingerie she had bought to get a rise out of him. Reminders of how she once dressed for a man who never wanted her. How she tried, again and again, to be seen by Michael.
Not this time.
This time, she needs to be strong, untempting, professional.
She retrieves her stiffest button-up, its high collar and thick fabric unyielding against her skin. Beneath it, her strapless structured minimizer bra flattens her shape. Over her panties, high-waisted compression tights smooth everything into place. Finally, she dons a long, structured pencil skirt, cinched at the waist, tightening past her knees, locking her in.
She eyes herself in the mirror. Serious. Concealed. In control. A uniform of withdrawal.
Staring at her reflection, she practices the words she'll say to Ryan. No more blurred boundaries. No more enticements. Today, she'll resign.
Mia steps into
Pinnacle Fitness
, rehearsed and ready. She's played the conversation over in her head, every word, every justification.
She finds Ryan in his office, standing over the marketing plan on his desk, looking bright. Happy. He hasn't looked this good in months.
But before she can even clear her throat, Ryan looks up--his face lighting up the second he sees her, like she's the best thing he's seen all week.
"You killed it, Mia." His grin is wide, his energy electric.
She blinks. "What?"
Ryan gestures toward the desk, beaming. "Here, sit."
Mia hesitates. She's not here to get comfortable. Avoiding the chestnut leather club chairs for guests, she steps in, leaning her butt against the edge of his desk instead.
Ryan doesn't seem to notice the difference--or if he does, he doesn't care. He's already moving on, already reaching for something on his desk. From his desk drawer, he retrieves a piece of paper, placing it in her hand.
Mia looks down. A check in her name. A commission.
He lets the moment hang before adding, "Treyvon and Tai signed up for the VIP membership this morning." He's beaming. "Jace said you were very convincing."
Mia swallows. How much does he know?
The check sits in her hand, undeniable. Company policy. Standard commission. But it doesn't feel standard. Ryan's approval lingers in the unspoken space between them. A reward for being unforgettable. Not just to them--to him. Why does that stir something in her?
Ryan watches her carefully, amusement flickering behind his eyes.
"Apparently, you made quite the impression."
The way his praise lingers, just ambiguous enough, sends a wave of heat through her. She shifts, suddenly aware of herself, of yesterday, of how much she gave to the gym and how good it felt. Maybe too good.
Her mouth is dry. She needs to move forward. "Ryan, I need to talk to you."
He exhales, shaking his head, like he already knows what's coming. "Mia--"
"I can't stay." She steels herself. "I crossed a line."
Ryan snorts. "Because Ethan caught a look? Mia, it was a wardrobe malfunction." His tone is breezy, dismissive.
She stiffens. "It wasn't just Ethan."
Ryan's gaze sharpens.
Mia swears his eyes flick just slightly downward--too quick to be sure.
And then, he sighs. "This is on me." He rubs a hand over his jaw. "You should've had your uniform. That shouldn't have happened."
A beat. His expression is unreadable. Then, he smirks. "I'm just confused--when you left, it was like you were glowing."
The air stutters in her throat. He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. Mia's face burns. Did he know?
Ryan pushes forward. "Your marketing plan was brilliant." He claps his hands together, "And we're moving on it."
Mia straightens. "What?"
"I've brought in a designer--friend of Kyle's--to create new uniforms and outfit you for the photoshoot you've suggested."
Yesterday's flutter returns to her stomach.
