Page 18 of Playing to Win

“Indebted. Would you let me have one of your books as a thank-you?”

“Of course I w—”

She stops when I snicker.

“Right. That was a joke. Good one. What can I do, Brooks? What will it take?”

While these women drive me crazy, I can’t help but enjoy the sound of her begging in that hot accent. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a six-letter word beginning with P?”

I hear her exhale. “Please.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“Brooks. Darling, Brooks. Pretty please, with buttercream icing and a cherry on top, will you let me use your studio tomorrow?”

I feel one side of my mouth curl. Damn, I enjoy hating this woman. “I’d love to help you out here, Izzy. Really, I would. I think it was the way you bad-mouthed my gym, my sponsors, and my recipes that did it for me. But you see, I have a full schedule of classes tomorrow, so I don’t have a free studio.”

“But—”

“I enjoyed listening to you beg for me, though, darling Izzy.”

She gasps and I have to fight to keep my amusement from spilling out. “Fine. Bugger off, Brooks, you…you…meathead.”

“Meathead? Seriously?”

“Yes, meathead. And, for the record, your attempt at a British accent sucks egg. Extremely smelly, rotten egg.”

I’m still laughing when the line goes dead. For the second time, Izzy Coulthard has my ribs aching.

* * * *

Black Velvet is the kind of bar that is always busy and never seems too crowded. You might call it classy. Not somewhere you would have found me ten years ago. In fact, five years ago, when I had my gym based in Brooklyn, you still would have been more likely to catch me in an old bar with sticky floors and a kind of grungy feel.

I spot the guys right away, in the same booth we seem to have adopted ever since the bar opened. Jerome—ex–football player turned club owner—is a client of Drew’s and, like most of Drew’s exorbitantly wealthy clients, they throw him perks. Judging from the bucket of Dom Pérignon in the center of the black table, shining under the light of a waterfall crystal chandelier, I’d say tonight’s perk is a bucket of champagne.

Kit sits with his arm across Madge’s shoulder. Sarah is looking at something on Jake’s phone. Drew is laughing with Edmond, who must have snuck out of the restaurant early and brought Becky along with him. Edmond’s wife, Amelie, is putting in a rare appearance too. When I say Amelie, think the Johnny Depp movie Chocolat. Edmond’s wife looks just like Juliette Binoche playing Vianne Rocher—beautiful, sweet, high cheekbones, short dark hair.

I deal with handshakes, fist bumps, and cheek kisses, struggling to navigate around the booth, then slip onto the black velour seat next to Sarah. When I have a glass in my hand, Drew makes a toast. “To my kid brother. Heading back to London’s women and booze. It’s been good to see you.”

“Good luck with that hard life there, Jakey,” I say, tongue in cheek, when I clip his glass with my own. I swallow the fizz, appreciating the bubbles but wishing I was drinking beer.

“Yeah, to the hard life,” Kit says. “And by the way, if you ever need any help with that…”

Right on cue, Madge drives the palm of her hand into Kit’s shoulder. “Hey, jackass, I’m right here.”

Knowing this is how the two of them roll, we all enjoy the joke. Kit and Madge were Drew’s college friends but they’ve morphed into being our friends. They’re a solid couple and sometimes I think being able to joke with each other is what keeps them strong. Especially with two young kids. I know from the nights I looked after Cady alone in the early years that two young kids can’t be easy. And Cady was a good baby…so I was told. Truth be known, I envy Kit and Madge.

As I’m watching my friends, Sarah nudges her shoulder against mine. “Say, Brooks, Kristie Flemming told me there was a little, ah, altercation, at the gym this morning.”

I know exactly the altercation she means. The one and only time I’ve been unprofessional in front of guests of the gym. So, I do something that Drew taught me to do many moons ago, when he was a junior attorney. I deflect. “Kristie Flemming. I can’t place her. Anyone need a top-off?”

I reach for a bottle of bubbles and seek out a glass that looks like it could do with a top-off, which happens to be Becky’s. Drew eyes me, knowing I stole his tactic, but he doesn’t call me on it. There’s no need, since Sarah gets in there first.

“Brooks Adams, that was a blatant attempt to divert attention from you.”

I slide Becky’s full glass back to her and roll my eyes as Drew smirks, enjoying the situation. He knows I don’t like all eyes on me.

“Sarah, seriously, is there anyone in Manhattan you don’t know?”

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