Page 7 of Craving the Edge

His head snapped up, a flicker of annoyance, maybe surprise, shone in his eyes.

“Second,” I went on, my gaze holding his. “I’m your only point of contact. If you need anything, you come through me. Don’t go bossing around members and don’t interrupt anyone else’s training. The doors reopen at twelve.”

Rhys looked at Billie. “And who is she?”

Trusting Billie not to say anything, I didn’t look away from Galloway as I said, “She’s my assistant, Billie Cook.”

Declan stepped forward, moving past his manager until he was leaning a hand on the desk. The space felt a lot smaller with him in it. A flirty smile spread across his face and I bristled. Weaponised charm he probably deployed on every female that crossed his path.

I met his intense green eyes with an unblinking stare.

“Pleasure to meet you, Charlotte,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Billie.”

His gaze slid past me to Billie. She gave him a professional nod that made me want to give her a raise for a job she didn’t have…but I didn’t like the way his gaze lingered on her. Billie was confident, beautiful, athletic, and deserved a hot guy trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

For once, why can’t it be me? The thought was so abrupt and stupid, I almost faltered. Aloud, I stated, “The gym has been cleared for you.” I gestured vaguely towards the archway leading to the main floor. “The space is set up according to the preferences you gave us.”

For a flicker of a second, the polished confidence in Declan’s eyes faltered. His smile tightened at the edges, losing all his flirty superpowers when he failed to get a reaction. A small victory.

He straightened up, dropping his hand from the desk. “Appreciate it.”

Rhys gave a dismissive nod and steered the fighters toward the archway. The unnamed trainer and physio shuffled past, and Declan followed, his broad shoulders filling the space. He didn’t look back.

Tomas Fontes was the last to move. He paused, catching my eye as he passed the end of the desk. An amused grin spread across his face, like he knew exactly what was going on, even if the manager hadn’t. Flirty Declan Walsh had been shot down, probably in record time by the gap-toothed smile the Aussie-Brazilian flashed at me.

My gaze lowered to the paperwork on the desk. I shuffled papers, pretending to read the schedule I knew like the back of my own hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him dip his head before turning to trail after the others, disappearing into the gym.

It clicked then. Declan Walsh might be the face of the operation, the big-name star with the inconvenient eyes, but Fontes was the one reading the room. He saw everything.

Billie’s gaze lingered on the archway long after they were gone, a thoughtful look on her face before she turned back to me.

The energy they’d brought in with them hadn’t left. It pulsed in the room, pressing in on me from all sides. I already felt suffocated.

Bille snorted. “He’s smaller than he looks on tellie.”

I kept my eyes on the paperwork, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

“Less teeth, too.”

A bubble of laughter rose in my throat. I pressed my lips together so hard my jaw ached.

I glanced up. A smirk played on Billie’s lips, her eyes full of mischief. She knew exactly what she’d done. She pushed off the desk, grabbing her bag from the floor where she’d dropped it.

“Don’t let them get you too riled up,” she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “You get paid either way, Cookie.”

My nose screwed up at the nickname, but the glare I shot her had no heat. “Piss off.”

She just laughed and gave a little wave as she pushed the door open, vanishing into the grey morning.

The silence that fell in her wake was heavier than usual. The gym was usually pumping by this time of the morning, full of shouts, music, and fists pounding leather. Now, the whole place felt strange. Charged. Uncertain.

I didn’t like it.

The low thud of weights and the muffled sounds of training drifted from the back. Inconvenient green eyes.

I shook my head and dragged the laptop closer. If I was going to be stuck here playing receptionist for a celebrity fight camp, I might as well get something useful done. The screen flickered to life, showing the gym’s accounts spreadsheet. A catastrophe of unpaid invoices and questionable expenses Gary had labelled ‘sundries’. Untangling his financial vomit was a job that never ended.

Check the last power bill. Cross-reference the supplier payment. Chase the overdue direct debits. The familiar rhythm of the work should’ve distracted me, but it didn’t. Not even one little bit.