Page 27 of Playing to Win

Chapter 10

brooks

He had the audacity to say I couldn’t possibly follow my own advice because he likes my arse. Yep, he has been ogling my bum. As a side point, I’m sure that’s some kind of harassment. Ladies, you should be careful when in Brooks Adams’s gym. Maybe the gents should be wary too, you never know!

Let me tell you something, I could whip that protein-loving ape into shape. Two weeks following my recipes and my classes and he would feel much healthier. He might stop saying vile things to women and, as a consequence, he might find a home for his pent-up rage (read: testosterone).

Harassment? Ape? Pent-up testosterone?

Drew and Kit are standing over my shoulder as we read Izzy’s latest blog from my office desktop.

“You really pissed her off,” Drew says, stating the obvious.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, man? I can’t have this shit out in public. Look at the comments.” I scroll down to the comments beneath the blog post—all two hundred plus of them.

Kit whistles through his teeth. “Ouch! Samantha Garfield from Boston says women are already insecure about going to the gym without their trainers gawking at their bodies.”

I push out from my desk and start pacing as Kit slips into my seat.

“Oh, here’s one from Simon Etching. I think I know who this guy is. He says he’s trained with you for years and your advice has been tailored and exceptional.”

I exhale heavily. “It’s good, in theory. But it means my clients are reading this shit.”

“Good point,” Kit admits. “Yikes, there’s a woman here slamming Izzy for trying to use you to leverage her own interests.”

“Whoever she is, I like her!”

“Whoa, whoa, back up there.” I look over to see Drew taking control of the mouse and scrolling the screen. “Anna Coulthard is saying you guys should train together. You and Izzy, she means. She’s saying she challenges you to follow Izzy’s advice and Izzy to follow yours.”

“Coulthard?” I move over to the screen and start reading. “It’s her sister. She wants to write about it in some British newspaper. No way. Not ever. Izzy Coulthard is not training in my gym.”

I stand upright and find two sets of eyes on me. Drew speaks first. “It might not be a terrible idea, Brooks. It would mean publicity for the gym. A chance to set the record straight.”

“Clearly, you haven’t been in the same room as Izzy and me. We’d kill each other. Throw a diet of greens and pent-up frustration into the mix and I really will be the Hulk.”

“Or Popeye,” Kit says, mimicking Popeye swallowing down cans of spinach.

“No. Not happening.”

“Jokes aside, you could speak to Madge and get her advice. She looks after the kids now but you know she was a publicist, right?”

I rub my chin. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll give her a call.”

* * * *

Whatever you do, take the moral high ground. Be nice. Be the bigger person.

Madge’s words play over and over in my mind as I sit on my sofa with my laptop on my knee, trying to watch baseball on my flat-screen and ignore the ever-growing number of comments on Izzy’s blog post.

It’s like they’re taunting me, forcing me to read them. I set the laptop to one side and grab my guitar. I strum a Tim McGraw track in an attempt to distract myself. This is not what I need on a Saturday night.

It’s no good. I pick the laptop back up and start reading the latest comments.

Green Pixie: You tell him, Izzy. We’re proud of you, girl. We don’t think you’re fame hungry. Love, your London Salsa Ladies.

Alvin Dawson: Brooks is dead on. You can’t build core strength and muscle if you eat like a bird.

Melissa Z: I love the idea of Izzy and Brooks trying out each other’s advice. That would be hilarious.

---