Page 14 of Mr. Wilde

4

CASSIDY

Holt walks beside me with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, scanning the private grounds checking for any sign of danger like he’s still on shift.

“How’s the firehouse?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Same chaos, different day. One of the rookies brought his girlfriend by for a tour of the place, and she tried to pole dance on the fire pole.”

I snort. “Please tell me you recorded that.”

“I’m a professional now. I only record when there’s profit potential.” He chuckles.

I glance at him. “And how’s the other job? The one that turned you into a millionaire fitness cult leader?”

He sports a proud toothy grin. “Hey, I prefer elite personal training empire.” He laughs. “But yeah. Still wild.” Holt shakes his head. Despite his usual cockiness, deep down, I know he’s still completely blown away at his windfall.

We reach the edge of the path where the gym comes into view, lights dimmed behind the glass. He looks at me more carefully now. “And you? How’s the job really?”

I hesitate, then sigh. “Fine. Mostly. There was this arrogant older guy last night though. Thought it was appropriate to—” I make a squeezing motion with my fingers. “Get handsy.”

Holt goes still.

I throw my hands up, hoping to unruffle his feathers. “It’s okay. Gianni was there in two seconds. Him and his security. The guy didn’t get anywhere near me after that.”

Holt exhales through his nose. “Good. Because if he had⁠—”

“I know,” I interrupt. “You’d be burying a body in the Potomac.”

He smirks, but the tension doesn’t fully leave his shoulders. “You know me so well. Still. That’s why we keep training.”

I frown. “You flying in every week to beat me up might be a bit excessive.”

He laughs. “Sis, I built a seven-figure business out of beating people up. You’re not exactly derailing my career.”

I glance at him. “You really did that, you know. After everything.”

He nods, quieter now. “I needed something to do with all that anger. Turns out rich people pay a lot to feel safe.”

“Or to look hot.” I laugh.

He bumps my shoulder with his. “Facts.”

As we approach the gym, Anthony is waiting near the front desk. “Hey, Fire,” he greets, clapping Holt on the shoulder. “Gym’s all yours. You’ve got a solid forty-five before anyone else comes in.”

“Appreciate it, man.”

Once we’re alone, Holt helps me set up the punching bag, adjusting the straps on my gloves like he’s prepping me for a fight instead of a workout. He steps behind me, nudging my elbow up with two fingers.

“Don’t lock your joints. You’ll shatter your knuckles before you ever land a real hit.”

I snicker, wiping my brow. “I’m aiming for maximum damage so I can make a run for it.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, you need your hands. Angle your wrist like this or you’ll end up with a Boxer’s fracture.”

I tilt my head.

Holt points to the base of my fifth finger. “This bone is easily broken if you don’t use the proper technique.” His hands guide mine, adjusting my stance.