Chapter Four -- Samantha
Invigoration Clubs, by the looks of my internet research, are the complete opposite of my fitness approach. I frown, scrolling through picture after picture of high-tech equipment and intense-looking weight training sessions. The whole thing looks like a commercial for a sports drink: flashy and vapid and lacking in any sort of community feel. The quotes from the owner, some hotshot entrepreneur about my age, are even worse. He sounds so self-satisfied and full of himself. Like a complete jerk, I think to myself.
The quotes are all about helping people find their “best selves” and get in the “shape they deserve to be in.” I feel certain that by “best” and “in shape,” he means “hot.” It all seems so shallow – like it would be a stressful and unfriendly place to work out. The personal trainers are probably the sort that judge your moral character by how many sit-ups you can do in a row. I imagine they probably think it’s been a good session if someone throws up or cries.
It’s the sort of gym culture I hate – that I try so hard not to promote here at the fitness center. So many people that come through my doors are scared to start getting healthy. So many people are worried that because they’ve never done it before, or because it’s been years, that they shouldn’t even bother. They worry they’ll just make a fool of themselves, hurt themselves, or that it will be too hard. Gyms like Invigorate make those fears worse.
And one is going in right across the street.
Everything about the waterfront redevelopment has been a struggle for the center, but this feels like the biggest blow yet. We’re already losing money. It’s nothing dramatic, and if it weren’t for the changes to the neighborhood, I’d write it off as nothing more than a slow quarter. But I know there’s more to it than that. My landlord is probably going to want to raise the rent, and I’m just not sure how I’m going to make that work.
Out of curiosity, I look up how much profit Invigoration makes. I gasp when I see the numbers. It’s several more zeros than the fitness center has made in all the years I’ve run it.
My phone rings. It’s an internal call and I pick up. My front desk manager, Cheryl, says there’s a package I need to sign for in the lobby. I shake my head. I need a break from staring at all this information on the internet, anyway. I could also probably use some water and a snack before I teach the next class.
I sign for the package, and I’m about to head to the fridge to grab some carrots when I notice a man in the lobby. He’s tall and very, very attractive. He’s got broad shoulders and a handsome, serious sort of face. He’s also wearing a blazer and khaki pants. He looks incredibly out of place dressed like that in a fitness center. I frown a little, but the reason is probably that he’s just new to the neighborhood. With all the new construction going on around here, a lot of business types are migrating south a few blocks from downtown and into the neighborhood.
“Hi there. Can I help you?” I ask, walking up to the man. He’s reading the community board, and when he turns to face me, I can see he’s holding a coffee from my favorite coffee shop in his hand.
“Hi, do you work here?” he asks. He’s got an expensive-looking watch on his wrist, I notice.
“Own the place, actually,” I say, sticking out a hand to shake his. “I’m Samantha.”
“Great. I think you can help me, then,” he says. “I’m Lucas.”
“What can I do for you, Lucas?” I ask.
“I had some questions about this place,” he says, gesturing with his hands. “If you have a minute.”
“I have exactly 12 minutes,” I say, checking my watch. “Ask away.”
“How many classes do you offer a day here, on average?” he asks.
“Between 10 and 15, depending on the time of year. We’re busier when school’s out,” I say. The question seems oddly formulated, like the sort that someone who works with numbers instead of people all day would ask. My earlier idea of him must be correct – he must be a business type who just moved into the neighborhood. Maybe he’s an accountant or a broker – something like that.
“Do you mostly do kids’ classes?” Lucas asks.
“Not really. I’d say they’re about a third of the offerings. Although we do offer a few classes for mixed ages,” I say.
Lucas frowns. “What classes are those?” he asks. I can’t help but notice the muscles of his arms, his torso, where his shirt clings to him. I’m not interested in dating anyone at the moment, least of all a random new customer at the center, but I secretly hope to myself that he’s not asking about mixed-ages classes for himself and his daughter.
“Basic Yoga and Fitness Free Dance,” I say. “We have them both three days a week if you’re interested.”
“How does that work?” Lucas asks, looking confused.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“The mixed ages – isn’t it hard to lead that?” Lucas asks. I wonder if he’s had a bad experience with some of those yoga studios that insist you need to be able to put your knee behind your head before you step in the door.
“Not at all,” I tell him. “We’re not worried about technical level. We just want to provide an environment where people can move and feel good. We want people to work up a sweat and get toned, but we welcome all ability levels.” Lucas still looks confused, so I add, “We do have some advanced sessions, but if you’d like to sign up for one of those, we recommend a one-on-one session with one of our teachers first so that we can assess the best classes for you.”
“How many people are usually in a class at a time?” he asks, pressing on with the strange questions.
I frown, not sure what to make of him. I only have a few more minutes to dedicate to this conversation, though, so I decide to stick it out. I tell myself that I’m just trying to be friendly and presentable for business’ sake, but I can’t stop staring at his handsome features as we talk.
Chapter Five - Lucas
The inside of the Lakeview Community Fitness Center is dingy. It doesn’t look dirty and nothing is broken, but it’s still got a rundown quality to it. It looks shabby and in disrepair. I wonder if there are coats of paint hiding structural issues or rugs strategically placed over stained floors. Even if there aren’t, the whole place looks like it could use a serious facelift.
I wonder if it’s one of those places from before the cleanup of the area but after the factory and most people had left. There had been a few years when it was something of a hangout for artistic types. There had been music venues and art spaces in barely-converted warehouses. Several years ago, an old girlfriend had dragged me to a performance in one of them, some band a friend of hers from college was in. It was an awful night – the floors had been sticky with alcohol and the whole place had smelled of smoke. A fitness center that looks like they’re also the kind of place that would offer meditation and pottery wheels would have been a hit with that crowd.
The owner, Samantha, is really pretty, though, and she’s humoring me by answering my questions. She’s obviously passionate about whatever it is she’s doing here, but it all sounds like a lot of nonsense to me. I keep picturing these classes she’s talking about as full of ridiculously out-of-shape people. People who come to a class once a week and move slowly to music for half an hour and delude themselves into thinking it’s helping their health. It sounds like a crowd who’d be stunned at what being in shape really means after just one session with one of my personal trainers.
“Our classes have a maximum of thirty, but we won’t cancel the class if only two or three people show up, so it varies,” Samantha says, answering my earlier question. She’s got a hand on one of her slim hips and keeps glancing at her watch a little. I assume she’s got a class starting soon.
“Is there a fee for cancellation?” I ask, trying to figure out her business model. Her clientele doesn’t sound very reliable.
“Only if you’re paying by the class. Most of our clients are members of one of our package plans,” Samantha says. She reaches over to a small table and pick
s up a flyer with package price breakdowns on it and hands it to me. “If you’re interested.”
“Thanks,” I say, scanning the information. It’s hard to believe she keeps her doors open with prices like these, and I can’t imagine she’ll be able to keep doing so once I’m in across the street. Looking around the place, I bet it will be six months, tops, after my opening, before she’s closing up shop. I’m already thinking of marketing to draw up. I’m thinking of making a complete list of every service we offer, every amenity and every benefit, something to show just how much more you get from the membership at Invigoration.
“How long have you been in the neighborhood?” I ask Samantha, looking up from the flyer.
“Me? Or the center?” Samantha asks with a laugh. I raise my eyebrow, and she presses on. “I’ve lived here my whole life. My parents moved out a few years after the factory closed down, but I came back to start the center. I thought the neighborhood could use it. That was about ten years ago.”
“You must have seen it change a lot, then,” I say, surprised by her answer. I wasn’t expecting her to be someone who’d spent her whole life here.
She shrugs. “I guess I have,” she says. “Are you new to the neighborhood?”
“Very new,” I say. She nods, then looks at her watch again. I keep noticing how pretty she is and how gracefully she moves. I know I’m also thinking of ways to put her out of business, but it’s hard not to notice her beauty. Her figure is slim and her skin has a glow to it. Her eyes are wide and intelligent and her dark hair is full and shining.
“Well, welcome,” Samantha says with a smile. “I’ve got to go, but please come back and check us out. If you sign up for our mailing list with Cheryl at the desk on your way out, we’ll email you a promo code for a discount on your first class.”
“Thanks, it was nice to meet you,” I say, reaching out my hand again. She shakes it, looking at me curiously. I don’t blame her. I know my questions and behavior have been a little bizarre.
“You too,” she says, turning around. I watch for a minute as kids come through the lobby, talking excitedly before I turn to go myself.
I don’t sign up for the mailing list, but I do spend some time researching the fitness center when I get back to the office. I pull up images of smiling children, of families working out together, and of a younger Samantha in the early days of the center. She looks almost exactly the same. If anything, she’s more attractive now than in the older images. The center seems to be popular in the community: there are quotes from clients about how much they love having it in the neighborhood. There are also articles about the center doing a lot of community outreach, collecting for charities, hosting benefit events, and offering free classes for families in need.
I run a hand through my hair, feeling frustrated and a little uneasy about it all. I still feel like this is all information my real estate agent should have told me.
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself, shoving my distraction aside. We’ll go in and the center will probably close and that’s business. It will probably be better for all of her clients to get a real workout, anyway. Still, something about it all makes me feel a little wrong-footed, somehow.
Chapter Six - Samantha
I hate to be on my phone in line for things. It feels rude, but I’m doing it this morning anyway, working before I even get into work. I think I’ve got a deal worked out with a neighborhood health clinic to provide no-cost flu shots at the center as part of a partnership that will also include hosting a blood drive for them in a few months. I’m scanning over a PDF of the agreement they sent over on my phone when a voice behind me says, “Hi there. It’s Samantha, right?”
I turn to see the man from the lobby the other day, Lucas, grinning at me.
“Hey,” I say. “It is, and you’re Lucas, yes?”
“That’s me,” Lucas says. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised: he’d been holding a coffee cup from this shop when I’d first seen him. Their coffee is good enough that most people find themselves stopping in several times a week.
He’s not wearing a blazer today, just a regular long-sleeved t-shirt that clings to his muscular frame a little. His hair is a little less styled today, too. It’s down around his face, making him look a little younger and a lot less serious. He’s still incredibly handsome.
“How are you enjoying the neighborhood so far?” I ask as we move up in the line.
“It’s great,” he says. “There’s a lot going on here.”
“There always is,” I say, nodding. The neighborhood has been through a lot of changes, but no matter what, it’s always been busy, full of life and activity.
“I think I’m already starting to feel at home,” Lucas says.
“Glad to hear it,” I say, smiling and then turning around to give my usual order to the barista.
“Have a good day,” I call as I take my coffee to go and head out the door to go open the center for the day.
“You too,” he calls, waving.
I see him three more times in the next four days. It’s like he’s everywhere. He’s at the store at the same time I am. He’s walking down the street at the same time. He’s even at the movies when I take myself out on Thursday night. He’s always friendly and charming, but I can’t figure it out. I think he might be flirting with me, that he might be interested, but that doesn’t seem quite right. He never takes it further than talking, and there is still something about him I can’t quite put my finger on. There’s something – it’s not familiar, or strange, or bad, even, it’s just... There’s something about him I can’t figure out. And now he’s everywhere I am. It seems like every time I turn around, Lucas is there, smiling at me and making pleasant small talk.
I tell myself I’m being ridiculous. He’s just exploring his new neighborhood. There are a lot of people I run into several times a week. It’s not that strange. I’m just making too much of it. I only notice it so much because we talk every time. I probably pay more attention to it because the guy is so attractive, even if I’m not interested in pursuing anything with him.
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. He can flirt with me all he wants. I’m not interested. I don’t care if it’s flirtation or if he’s just trying to make friends with his new neighbors. I don’t care and, to be honest, I have too many other things to think about. I don’t have time to think about whether a man is flirting with me or not – even if he is attractive.
There is a complex with a massive gym that could possibly destroy me going in across the street. That’s something real to worry about. I’ve scheduled a meeting with my landlord about the center’s rent for early next week. That’s something to worry about, too. I’ve got an entire center to run and staff to manage. I can’t devote too much time to thinking about whether or not this Lucas is interested in me romantically or not.
My friends have always teased me, saying that I’m married to the fitness center. That I’ve put my love life to the side for the sake of making the center a success. I suppose I have, but it’s been working so far. It’s lonely sometimes, but I don’t regret it. Even if I wanted to change that, now would be entirely the wrong time. I need to be more dedicated to the center than ever.
Whatever Lucas is after, it’s nothing to concern myself about. I decide to stop focusing on it. I’ll talk to him when I see him, but I’ll tell myself I have to stop trying to figure out what he means by it. Since it doesn’t matter, there’s no reason to think about it.
Chapter Seven - Lucas
Ever since I walked into her fitness center, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Samantha. It’s ridiculous, and I know it is, but I can’t get her off my mind. I keep seeing her around the neighborhood. I’m not doing it on purpose – not really. I admit, though, that there have been times I’ve seen her out of the corner of my eye across the street or in a shop and gone out of my way to stop in or cross the street to say hello.
She always looks a little stressed, like maybe she’s juggling a
lot of things with the center. She’s even prettier out of her workout clothes. She’s got a very put-together look to her and it’s really attractive. I find myself wanting to spend more time with her and get to know her.
It’s absurd, of course. I’m probably about to put her out of business. I can’t pursue her. I also can’t stop thinking about her. It doesn’t help that I’ve been spending a lot of time at the complex, meeting with contractors about the space and talking to suppliers about how many machines we’ll need.
I really do like the neighborhood itself. It’s charming and filled with energy. I’ve decided to buy a top floor apartment in the building over my new gym. It’ll be ready in a few months, and I can’t wait to move in. Still, being there every day – living there – will mean seeing even more of Samantha.
I tell myself I need to let it go. I don’t even really know anything about this woman, and she knows even less about me. We haven’t even had a real conversation. Sure, she’s attractive, but there are a lot of attractive women in this city. I’ve never had any trouble getting dates. There’s no reason for me to be fixated on Samantha like this.
Although, lately, I haven’t been as into the dating scene. I’ve grown tired of bars and nightlife. I’ve grown tired of being set up through friends only to find out the woman was only interested in me for my bank account. I’ve grown tired of the shallow, quick, unsatisfying cycle of that sort of lifestyle. When I’d first become successful, I’d loved it. I’d thrown money away, danced with beautiful women, enjoying that I could do just that. Now, the idea of going out like that sounds less than appealing. I’ve been spending my nights fitting in more workouts or drawing up more expansion plans.
It’s probably not healthy.
Paul and Molly worry about me. They set me up with friends of Molly’s. They invite me to dinner and to holidays at their house, worrying I’ll sit alone by myself otherwise. They invite me to children’s recitals and school plays. I’ve been going a lot more often lately. Maybe I’m looking for that in my life, a family like that. I’ve always been happy for Paul and Molly – they’re a great couple and I consider them both friends – but I’ve never been jealous of it. Lately, though, I think I might be.
Hot CEO: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 2