by Lexy Timms
That was true enough. Personally, Parker wasn’t all that fond of the press. They rarely told anything straight. It seemed to him that, for the most part, ratings concerned them more than facts did. At least Rich & Single was up front about their spin. It was why he’d chosen to give them an interview in the first place. “Okay. I’ll look at her stuff. I’m sure it’s nothing. She’ll bust in like a wild flame then fade away within the next month. They always do.”
“I don’t know about that, Parker; not when you’re this big. She looks quite capable of holding her own. Any challenger on the scene is going to be the underdog. The media, and America, loves a good underdog story. It’s going to be all over the place faster than you think.”
“Great.”
“We’ll get through it. Check her out, and we’ll discuss strategy at our next face-to-face.”
Jackson hung up, and Parker set his phone back down on the desk. As much as he hated to admit it, his partner was right. America loved an underdog story. It was part of why his own had gotten so popular, and why he’d made sure to mention his humble origins in his last interview. Personally, he wasn’t much for playing the fame game, but he understood the importance of exposure.
He pulled his laptop closer and flicked it open, typing the name Jackson had given him into Google, then clicked on the first site it brought up.
Jennifer Leandra, personal trainer. A banner across the top was emblazoned with the name of her company and, underneath, before and after pictures scrolled past. Parker glanced at them, but his real interest was in Jennifer herself, and there didn’t seem to be a picture of—Oh. There was a picture after all.
The thing was, Parker wasn’t really picky about the women he picked up. Oh, sure, he liked them on the fitter side. Curvy. Beyond that, pretty much anything could catch his eye. But Jennifer Leandra was like something he’d imagined into being. He felt his heart beat a little faster in his chest.
She was smiling out of the screen at him, her hair pulled back into a tail that nearly hit her waistline. And she was fit. Of course she was fit. The woman was a personal trainer. You couldn’t work in this profession and not be built. His eyes traced the smooth curves under her tight workout clothes, and he wondered if she’d be open to a little one-on-one negotiation.
Right. Competition. He was supposed to be sizing her up in case she took a run at his client base, not ogling her and daydreaming about getting her into his bed. Business. Parker took a deep breath and hit the tab for the About section.
Looking for a trainer who can whip your butt into shape in no time? Look no further than Jennifer Leandra. She’s got the experience and know-how to turn flab into fab, and make sure you have fun doing it.
Other trainers might be able to give you results. We’ve all seen the commercials for the big gyms and fitness empires, pushing their product. Some will even give you what they promise. But none of them will give it to you the way Jennifer does!
Under the blurb there was a video clip, and Parker clicked the play button.
It opened on Jennifer, just racking a set of weights, her skin gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, and Parker had to swallow around a suddenly tight throat. This was not going to be good for his ‘keep it professional’ goal.
“Lioness Home Fitness,” Jennifer said, her voice all silky and smooth, “is all about results. We work you hard, but we work you for a reason: making sure that you reach your goals. Our dedicated team is all about giving you the best of everything. The best workouts. The best meal plan. We set you up for success.” She wiped a towel over her skin and dropped it in a hamper as she left the workout room, and headed into a kitchen that was all gleaming wood and stainless steel. A glass of water was already on the counter, and she picked it up to take a sip before speaking again.
“Other companies make promises they can’t keep. Some are too big to really dedicate themselves to the client. Others just don’t have what it takes. But Lioness Home Fitness is the real deal. I’m confident in myself and my staff, and our ability to keep you moving in the direction you want to go.”
Jennifer set the glass back on the counter and looked directly into the camera, blue eyes steady and intent.
“So confident, in fact, that I’m willing to challenge the head of any other fitness company to a direct competition. So confident that I’m willing to call out Parker, of Fitness and Health Sports Club, by name. He thinks he’s the best in the business. But he’s not as good as I am. And I’m willing to prove it.”
Her smile was full of teeth.
“Call me, Parker.”
The video ended, and Parker sat back in his chair, staring at the screen. What the hell had that been? Why call him out instead of someone else? His company was high on the list of famous fitness clubs, sure, but he wasn’t exactly a coast to coast corporation with no soul. They were still small enough that he knew all of his trainers by name, and had at least interacted with each of their clients long enough that they would remember him doing it. Did he make profits? Sure. But not at the cost of the humans in his business.
Maybe she just thought he would be more on her level.
Mostly, Parker just wanted to chase that wicked little grin off her face. Preferably in bed. He shook his head at himself and stood up. There was a 10am class to take care of. He could worry about Jennifer Leandra and her competition later.
Chapter 3
Call her. Sitting on his couch with the TV flickering in the background of his awareness, Parker contemplated the cell phone he was holding in his hand. Was he really going to play into her game? She didn’t have any leverage on him. Not really. No matter how much she called him out, his clients were loyal. But that didn’t mean that if he refused to answer the challenge it wouldn’t be all over the tabloids that he’d been too afraid to go up against another trainer. And a woman, at that. Parker knew plenty of women in fitness – employed a good number of them, in fact. He knew just how hard they could push it. But not everyone felt that way.
Was he willing to let everyone think he was a coward? Could he pass it off as if he didn’t care about her challenge? Like he was so secure in his own ability that he didn’t have to answer her?
Would that actually do him any good, or would it just make people think he was arrogant?
She’d actually managed to back him into a corner he wasn’t sure how to get out of. Parker was almost impressed.
He ran a hand through his hair and set the phone down on the coffee table. Whatever he decided, he wasn't going to do it tonight. Jackson would want to have input. Anyway, it was too late to make a business call. Likely Jennifer was at home relaxing, too.
Maybe he would go out.
Parker glanced down at the time. Eight. Early enough that if he headed out now he could probably spend a couple enjoyable hours at one of the local clubs before he had to head home for bed. Might even find someone to spend a little of that time with, if he was lucky. And, man, did he need someone to spend a little time with.
So that settled it. He stood up from the couch and headed into his bedroom to go through the clothes in his closet, deciding what to wear. It was an easy decision. He pulled on a shirt, and fastened his pants, and then he headed out into the living room to scoop up his phone and tuck it into his pocket.
The club was a few miles farther into the city. Parker took the vehicle that didn't have the business logo on it, because he didn't really feel like being swarmed. He wasn't big enough that the paparazzi came after him when he went out without identifying logos, and the club wasn't big enough that there were likely to be any there just out of principle, but taking the truck was asking for attention he didn't really feel like getting. He wanted all the attention to be for him, not for his brand.
Parker pulled into one of the street-side parking spots and turned off the engine, then stepped out of the car, making sure to hit the button that would lock it before he headed inside.
It was a Wednesday night, and the line for the club wasn't long. T
he bouncer greeted him at the door with a nod and grin.
“Back so soon, Parker?”
Parker lifted one shoulder in a shrug and let it drop again, grinning back at Frank. “Hey, a man's got to do what a man's got to do.”
“True enough. Enjoy your night.”
With a nod, Parker stepped past him and into the club.
It was dark inside, colored lights flashing over the crowd on the dancefloor. The space wasn't packed, but there were enough people to make a respectable crowd. Parker made his way over to the bar and leaned against it on both elbows while he waited for the bartender to finish with the group of giggling woman he was currently serving.
“Parker,” the tall man said when he'd moved down from the other end of the bar. “What can I get you tonight?”
“You know me. Just whatever's on tap.”
A moment later he was being handed a glass. He dropped a twenty on the bar and took a long drink from the heavy mug. Then he moved out into the big main room, claiming a small table for himself at the edge of the dancefloor. Usually he'd jump out there right off, but some nights he felt a little more like watching first.
There was a handful of single girls. Others danced with big groups of friends, and Parker usually didn't bother approaching them. They were out for a night with the girls; he wasn't going to try to insert himself into that. Instead, he scanned for the women who were dancing alone. As he watched, he drank the beer. It wasn't enough to have him drunk by a long shot, but he wasn't looking to get drunk. He was looking for a better time than that.
Glass empty, Parker finally stood, weaving through the people on the dancefloor to get out close to the middle of it. Eyes lifted as he passed, and he saw more than one woman turn to whisper to her friends. The one he'd chosen looked up at him when he got closer, and he saw one of her eyebrows arch up toward her hairline in the shifting light. Her lips curled into a smile.
“Hey, there,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the music. “Coming this way?”
Parker stepped past the last person in his way and stopped just short of too close to her. “That was the plan.”
The slinky little brunette in front of him looked like the cat who'd gotten the cream, and he knew he'd made the right choice. He grinned, and held out a hand in offer. She laid her own in it, letting him pull her in and wrap an arm around her waist. Her own slid up to curl around his neck, and she danced up against him like she'd been waiting for him to show up all night.
“Name?” he said, bending down a little closer so he didn't have to shout over the music quite so loudly.
“Melissa.”
“Parker,” he offered in return. He heard her laughter through the driving beat, and felt her press a little closer, hips rolling.
“I know,” she said.
Parker almost stopped moving. “You know?”
“Oh, come on. It's not like you're not recognizable. I have access to the internet.”
That wasn't necessarily a red flag. Parker looked down at her.
“And what's your opinion of me, then?”
“That you're hot as hell,” she shot back, grinning. One of her hands slid down from his neck and over his bicep, fingertips tracing the ink of his tattoos. She watched it for a moment, then looked up at him, smiling. “So, you going to run for the hills yet? Or are you the kind of famous guy who gets off on knowing that your groupies want to fuck you?”
“You calling yourself a groupie?”
More laughter, and Parker found himself grinning despite his brief misgivings. Even knowing who he was, she obviously had no problem talking to him like he was just some guy off the street, and he appreciated that. Groupies were fine. Well, groupies were sometimes fine. The obsessed and worshipful stalker sort were totally not. He didn’t get too many of those, but the ones he did get had been more than enough to turn him off them for life.
“I'm calling myself a fan, I guess.” She ran her nails down his back with just enough pressure that he could feel them through the fabric of his shirt, and he reached down to palm her hips, dragging her closer. He was sure that she could feel him getting hard between them. She didn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, she arched closer against his body.
“Groupies are usually a bit too obsessed for my personal taste,” he admitted. “But a fan I think I can handle.”
Her hand strayed down to stroke over the curve of his buttock, then his thigh, like she was exploring the muscle there. She slid it back up, and squeezed. “You think you can handle me, then?”
It was his turn to laugh at that. “I know I can, sweetheart.”
She looked up at him with sparks in her eyes. “You're going to have to prove that, hot stuff.”
Well, no one could say that he didn't have a type.
Chapter 4
Parker growled, leaning down for a kiss she enthusiastically returned, his hands tightening on her hips. One of hers was sliding up his back again, the other tangled in his hair and pulling just enough to make him feel the pressure. Her body rolled against his.
When they broke apart, he was panting for air, and so was she, her breath washing warm against his shoulder. She abruptly pulled out of his hands and spun so that her back was to his chest, pressing herself against him again. Parker leaned down to rest his head against her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her waist the way they had when he had first started dancing with her, and they moved together to the bass beat rocking through the club. When she tipped her head so that the long line of her throat was on display, Parker slid his hands down her thighs and back up again, rucking her dress up toward her hips, though he didn't take it any farther than was appropriate in a public space. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, and she turned her head enough to meet his eyes.
The song ended.
Parker straightened up, pulling back. “Want to get out of here?”
Melissa nodded, and threaded her fingers through his so that she didn't get left behind as they worked their way back through the milling bodies and out to the edge of the room.
“Anything you need to pick up?”
“My purse is in one of the lockers.”
He leaned back against the edge of the bar while she went to get it, arms crossed over his chest, and watched the sway of her hips.
“You ever dance more than one dance with anyone?” the bartender asked behind him. “Or are you just that good?”
Parker laughed. “I dance more than one dance, sometimes. Most nights, though, the second dance is private.”
That got a chuckle out of the bartender.
They didn't have time to converse any further. Melissa was back, her purse slung over her shoulder, and she let Parker lead her out of the club and into the warm night.
“You drive here?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Took a cab. I didn't want to have to worry about getting too drunk to drive back home. You?”
“I've got my car. I'll give you a ride home in the morning.” Parker hit the button to unlock the vehicle, and watched her eyes widen a little as she realized which car the sound of the locks opening had come from. The sleek silver convertible wasn’t exactly practical, but even he occasionally bought something that wasn’t. It had looked like too much fun to turn down, and his instincts had definitely been right.
“Can we take the top down?”
He laughed, and opened her door for her. “Anything for you, babe.”
In the car, he hit the button that would retract the top while she reached into her purse for something that proved to be a hair tie. She wound her long curls into a tight braid, and then grinned across the seat at him. “Not quite as sexy as hair blowing back all loose in the wind,” she said, “But trust me when I say you don't want to deal with the result of that.”
“I don't think you need an allure-boost,” Parker answered, and she laughed. He pulled out into the street, and started back toward the apartment.
“So,” she said over the noise of the engine and t
he wind, “Parker. What’s a famous person like you doing slumming it in a club like that?”
“I actually live pretty close to here,” he said, because she would find out anyway as soon as they pulled into his apartment complex. “I like it a little quieter. Midtown was too busy for me.”
“I saw your interview in Rich & Single. Country boy.” Her tone was teasing.
“Then you know what I'm doing slumming it,” he said in the same tone. “What about you? Are you slumming it?”
“I'm a brand new editorial assistant at one of the smaller publishing companies. I was splurging.”
He turned onto his street and turned his head enough to look at her for an instant before he turned his gaze back to the road.
“What is it you do there?”
“Pretty much exactly what it sounds like, to be honest. Eventually, if I don’t turn out to be too terrible at my job, I’ll be an actual editor. But for now I'm mostly the assistant to the people doing the job I really want. I fill out a lot of paperwork. And fetch a lot of coffee.”
Parker chuckled. “That's the problem with those high-end jobs. You start so low on the totem pole. At least in blue collar work everyone is pretty much equal. You actually get to do what you took the job to do.”
“Blue collar? That's not exactly what I would call a job as a personal trainer to the rich and sort of famous.”
“I started in construction work. The gym is something else.”
He slowed the vehicle, and turned into the lot for his apartment complex, taking his usual space. When they were parked, he rolled the roof back up, then went around the car to open Melissa's door for her. She gave him a smile and took the hand he offered, stepping out of the car carefully on her high, spiked heels.
“You know,” he said, holding out an arm for her to put her hand on, “I don't know how you wear those things.”
