Page 11 of Trainer

He just about jumped out of his skin and I realized I’d spoken a lot louder than I’d intended to.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m—”

“Ahhhh,” he smiled, waving a finger at me. “I know who you are.”

My heart sank even lower than it already was. The guard thought I was one of the girls from upstairs. And why wouldn’t he? There had to have been at least twenty of them up there and he must have seen all of them go up.

Just another set of surgically enhanced tits for New York City’s most eligible bachelor.

“No, you don’t,” I corrected him. “I’m not here for that. I’m on my way out, so can you just open the door for me—?”

“Cady!” Chase called out from behind me.

“Open the door!” I shouted at the security guard. He jumped again but pressed a button and the garage door started to open. I spun around and walked as quickly as I could away from Chase, but he rushed ahead of me and blocked my path.

“Get out of my way!” I all but screamed.

“Cady, just let me explain—”

“I don’t need you to explain!” I shouted back. “I’m just another one of those girls to you, aren’t I?”

“No!”

“Just another floozy who wants to party at Chase Brenton’s place!”

“I would never think that of you!”

“Do you know how that guard looked at me!?” I hissed.

“I’m sorry…”

“Like I was just some…some skank!” I blurted out. “I’ve never been so humiliated…”

I tried to brush past him as I felt more tears begin to well up in my eyes, but Chase stepped in front of me like a cowboy trying to calm a skittish horse.

“Move,” I whispered.

“Let me explain, Cady!”

“Move!” I shouted.

I couldn’t stop them now. More tears flowed from my eyes as I hung my head. I watched them spill from my cheeks, making tiny dark drops on the concrete floor where they landed.

“Cady,” Chase said softly. “This is all a big misunderstanding.”

He reached for my hand but I recoiled at his touch. I knew I should just race past him and get out of there, but part of me wanted to hear his explanation…

…part of me still believed it wouldn’t be complete bullshit.

“I doubt it,” I replied.

“It wasn’t my idea,” he protested. “It was Melinda, my COO.”

“What’s a COO?” I snapped.

“Chief Operations Officer,” he replied. “She helps me run the company—it doesn’t really matter—but all that upstairs? That was her idea and she didn’t tell me about it.”

---