Your Trainer Says Hi!: Vengeful Vixens Book 2 by Indie Sparks

Author:Indie Sparks [Sparks, Indie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Twice Shy Publishing
Published: 2023-03-13T18:30:00+00:00

I ignored Wick’s text inviting me to come in to the gym this morning. It’s Saturday and I have laundry to do and reports to file and groceries to buy. I ignored his call last night, too.

But the email I just got from Marlise is harder to ignore. She sent me a text to be sure I knew it was in my inbox. The number staring back at me when I open it is in the ballpark of the amount I anticipated, but it still stings to look at in in black and white.

That’s the price to be free of Heath but keep the store. The sole owner. Is it worth it? It’s what I want. Can I accomplish it? Not via any responsible choices, but there is always someone willing to lend money. Will the terms be predatory? Probably. Am I considering it anyway? Oh, look, there’s a text from Paula. My CPA is working through the weekend, too.

And there goes the buzzer on the dryer. I better go fold those towels. These women need to learn to take a day off. Monday will be here soon enough.

By the time the sun goes down, my house smells as clean as Wick’s. I need to stop thinking about him and his house and his hot tub, but the only other thing I can think about is a large scary number. He probably already has a date. I’ve ignored him twice. Reaching out now will require an apology and an excuse, and I don’t exactly excel at either of those things. But he excels at some things . . .

Me: Hey, sorry I’ve been hard to reach. This week was crazy.

Wick: Oh, sure. Reach out after you’ve exhausted all your other options.

Me: It’s down to you or bleaching the grout in my shower. Any chance I can interest you in a late dinner?

Wick: Did you just offer to cook me dinner?

Wait, what? Shit.

Me: I can open a jar of spaghetti sauce like nobody else.

Wick: On my way.

That was easy. It’d be easier if I had a jar of spaghetti sauce in the pantry. I take inventory of what I have that could go on pasta: olive oil, garlic, tomatoes, onions . . . okay, so I guess I am cooking.

The onions are soft and the tomatoes are ready to go into the pan when Wick shows up. I dump them in and smile at the sizzle when they hit the oil, wipe my hands, and run to the door.

“Wow,” he says. “You make jarred spaghetti sauce smell really good.”

“What you smell is fresh onions, garlic, and tomatoes. And you’re welcome.”

“No fresh herbs?” He lifts the bottle of wine he’s holding. “Do you at least have a cork screw?”

“I have three.”

“Just in case the first two break.”

“Precisely.” I lead him into the kitchen.

“How’d you find this place?” he asks.

Definitely not about to tell him I was dating the landlord back then and didn’t have to search it out. Everyone assumes I got some special deal but I didn’t.

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