Chapter 2 NATHAN

Nathan's POV

If hell had a gym, it would probably look a lot like mine.

Floor-to-ceiling mirrors I didn't ask for, matte black weights I barely touched anymore, and a personal trainer who looked like he was built in a lab to piss me off.

Jake smirked like a man who knew he'd be the reason I limped all week. "Alright, Grandpa. Warm-up's over. Time to show me those 'dominant' muscles."

I rolled my eyes and adjusted my grip on the barbell. "I will strangle you with a resistance band, I swear."

"You'd have to catch me first. And we both know your knees haven't been the same since 2015."

"Because you made me do squats with half a car on my shoulders."

He shrugged. "You said you liked pain."

"I said I like inflicting pain."

Jake snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Big bad Dom with the soft tissue damage. Let's go-five reps, and if you grunt like an old man, I'm doubling it."

I pushed through the reps, gritting my teeth, sweat dripping down my spine.

"Three," Jake counted, "four... ooh, look at that vein pop. Five. Not bad for someone whose last serious cardio session was chasing a sub around his kitchen."

I dropped the barbell with a clang and glared at him. "Remind me why I pay you."

"Because I know all your secrets and I'm not above leaking them. Plus, I've seen your dick. That alone should come with hazard pay."

I grabbed a towel and threw it at his head. "It's not my fault your fragile masculinity couldn't handle a proper power dynamic."

"Oh no, sir. My masculinity's fine. Your problem is thinking your dick still gets the same Yelp reviews it did at twenty-five."

I grabbed my water bottle and took a long sip. "Funny. Last I checked, I was still getting five stars and repeat customers."

Jake gave me a once-over. "You're still hot. I'll give you that. But eventually, even the best steakhouse gets replaced by a vegan food truck."

"You really have a gift," I muttered. "An absolute gift for saying the dumbest shit in the most creative ways."

"And yet you still call me three times a week to scream into the void. Admit it, I'm the highlight of your tragic, sex-fueled existence."

I didn't dignify that with an answer.

Instead, I walked to the wall, tapped a button, and the blinds lowered over the windows. Privacy mode. "Session's done. I've got emails to ignore and money to make."

"Aw, no post-workout sauna and soul-baring?" Jake asked, wiping his neck with a towel.

"Out," I said.

He grabbed his gym bag, still smirking. "One day, your icy shell's gonna crack. And when it does, I'll be there. Laughing."

"Keep dreaming."

"And moisturize up , old man. You're almost thirty-eight. Wrinkles are coming."

"Thirty-seven," I snapped.

He winked. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

As the door shut behind him, I let out a breath and rolled my shoulders. Muscles aching. Ego slightly bruised. The usual.

After Jake's weekly assault on my joints and pride, I retreated to the master bathroom like a man returning from war.

The water steamed before I even stepped in, and as I sank into the tub, I let out something between a groan and a death rattle. Eucalyptus and lavender swirled from the diffuser. I closed my eyes. Let my head fall back.

Silence. Finally.

I lasted three whole minutes before my phone buzzed from the edge of the sink.

Ana.

Of course.

I snatched the phone with a sigh. "If this is about the espresso machine, I swear to God-"

"Please. You think I'd bother you with coffee problems?" Ana's voice was crisp, like she was simultaneously filing a lawsuit and making a grocery list.

"Depends. Have you poisoned anyone today?"

"Not yet. But the day's young."

I smirked as I shifted in the tub, letting my arm hang over the side. "What's the crisis?"

"Client in New York. The Kendrick project."

I winced. "Let me guess-he's threatening to pull out again?"

"Like a frat boy at prom. Yes."

"Christ." I rubbed my temples, water sloshing gently with the motion.

"And you'll need to fly out there. Probably for the week. Unless you want me to go alone and set the man's eyebrows on fire."

"Tempting."

"I'm a single mom, Nathan. I can't go torching clients unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I pay you enough to afford bail."

"True, but only one of us looks good in orange."

I let out a short laugh and leaned my head back again. "Alright. I'll go. I was due for a business meeting anyway".

Ana made a noise like she was rolling her eyes so hard her skull hurt. I could practically hear it through the phone. "I've already moved some meetings. I'll brief Alex in the morning."

Alex-my in-house secretary and the kind of man who alphabetized his snack drawer-was the only other person in the building besides Ana who could read my handwriting and tolerate my attitude without crying. He stuck to the office, left the field work to Ana, and kept the files running smoother than any software I ever paid for.

"Good," I murmured, relaxing again under the heat of the water.

"Oh, and one more thing," Ana added, a note of warning in her voice. "Don't go pretending this business trip means you can slack off. I want those review in my inbox before you board that flight."

I groaned dramatically. "You wound me."

"Not yet. But if you try to get out of it, I'll be waiting with a stapler and a list of your screwups since 2012."

"You're a ray of sunshine."

"And you love it."

She hung up before I could throw another witty jab. Classic Ana.

I dropped the phone back on the counter and closed my eyes again, letting the steam soak into my skin. Kendrick. Meetings. Hotel sheets that smelled too sterile and not enough like home.

And no, I wasn't thinking about what Ana said-about room service and loneliness.

Because I was too busy. Too focused. Too in control.

Love? Relationships? That was a mess I'd left behind in my twenties.

I dragged my hand through the water, the surface shifting like thoughts I didn't want to name.

Just another week, another city, another hotel. Then it'd be back to the grind, back to order.

Exactly how I liked it.

The phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a text.

Mark: "Scene at the club tonight. You in?"

I stared at it for a second. Saturday night. I hadn't planned on going anywhere, let alone to The BLACK VELVET-our not-so-secret BDSM club tucked away like an unmarked treasure.

But Mark never texted unless something special was lined up. And the man knew how to pick his scenes.

I didn't reply right away. Just watched the screen. My reflection in the black glass stared back, all tired eyes and faint frown lines.

Thirty-seven next month. Still looked good. Still felt good. Still wanted good.

Mark, one of my oldest friends and the owner of the club, always had a flair for knowing when I needed a distraction. Ever since he found Philip-his latest sub and probably his last-the man had been glowing like some Disney prince in leather.

I won't lie. I admired what they had. Hell, I envied it. The way Mark looked at Philip like he was both fragile glass and a loaded weapon. The quiet, intuitive rhythm they had. It was more than lust-it was a bond.

And me? I'd been living off one-night stands and short-term contracts. Temporary pleasures. Predictable scenes. No mess, no intimacy.

But lately... it wasn't enough.

Not when I saw Mark so damn happy. Not when I remembered what it felt like to have something real. Or the closest I ever got to it.

I sighed, setting the phone down again.

I Didn't answer.

Yet.