Page 84 of Own the Eights
His head understood that it had to be this way. Unfortunately, his heart felt like it had been run through a meat grinder.
“Go ahead and take off, Sara. I can close up.”
“Thanks, Jordan. If I hurry, I can catch the end of the game,” the woman said, with a grateful expression as she picked up her gym bag and hurried out the door.
Jordan scanned the empty gym then headed back to his office. Jesus! It was a real dick move to call in Sara. What was Deacon thinking? He turned the handle and opened the door and saw precisely what Deacon was not only thinking but doing.
Namely, Shelly.
“Christ, Deac!” he exclaimed, turning away from Shelly, bent over his desk, with Deacon nailing her from behind.
He slammed the door, anger prickling through his body, and waited for the office fuck fest to end.
It didn’t take long. Barely a minute had passed before Shelly opened the door, fully dressed—thank God—and exited his office with a cotton-candy-brained giggle.
“Oops! Sorry, Jordan,” she said, blond ponytail bobbing from side to side as she grabbed her purse and left through the front door.
His anger had gone from a low simmer to a full boil when Deacon called him into the office. He entered to find the man sitting on the edge of the same desk where he was screwing their receptionist.
“Twenty-two years old, and she likes to fuck in public places. Restrooms, elevators. She’s waiting for me in the bathroom at that little bistro down the street so I can screw her brains out in one of the stalls. Do you know how much Viagra I have to take to keep up with her?” Deacon said, chuckling to himself as if he hadn’t just broken a shit ton of employment laws.
Jordan schooled his features, swallowing his revulsion. “Yeah, Deac, we need to discuss Shelly. An error came up in the payroll. Somehow, her salary tripled.”
His mentor crossed his arms. “It’s not an error.”
“She makes more than our best trainers,” Jordan threw back.
A greedy little smirk pulled at the corners of Deacon’s lips. “Well, none of those trainers can give a blow job like they were born to do it.”
Jordan took a step back. “You gave Shelly a raise because she’s good at giving head?”
Deacon narrowed his gaze. “She’s twenty-two, Jordan. She’s good at giving everything.”
Jordan looked away as disgust washed over him. What the hell had happened to the man he’d looked up to? The man he’d idolized for a decade.
He lowered his voice. “We need to talk about her salary. You can’t make a change like that and not tell me. I’m in charge of the books.”
“And it’s my goddamn gym, Jordan.DeaconCrossFit. When you get your ass in gear and start your own business, you can screw all the twenty-two-year-old receptionists you want. By the way, have you won that contest yet?”
The muscles in his chest tightened as contempt for his longtime mentor set in. But before he could answer, Deacon’s phone pinged.
Jordan crossed his arms. “Is it Shelly? Is she ready to screw you in the toilet?”
Deacon’s cocksure expression gave way to panic. “Shit! No, it’s Maureen. She’s got the girls with her. I forgot I had them today.” The man set down his phone. “I need you to do me a favor, Jordan. Go up front and tell them I’m not here. Tell them…Shit! Tell them I’m on a long run with a client.”
“You haven’t trained anyone in years,” Jordan threw back.
“Just get rid of them, and I’ll add a little extra onto your salary, too,” Deac pleaded, his words as slimy as a fucking snake.
“This is bullshit,” he said, leaving the office just as Deacon’s daughters bounded through the front door, followed by their mother.
“Jordan,” the twin girls exclaimed.
They’d gotten so big. He’d started working with Deacon when they were just babies, back when his mentor worked hard at building his business and also at being a father and a husband.
When did everything change?
He smiled down at the girls. “Tell me if I get it right. You’re Mia, and you’re Mya,” he said, purposefully mixing up their names, a little game they’d been playing for years.
