Page 15 of Mr. Wilde

“Power comes from here,” he says, tapping my side. “Not from flailing like you’re swatting a mosquito.”

I throw a punch. The bag barely moves.

He winces. “Wow. Terrifying.”

“Oh, my god, you’re trying to kill me,” I mutter as he makes me reset again.

“Please. This is the same routine I give Sebastian Lee.”

I pause mid-punch. “The hand surgeon you’ve been training? The one who had to retire because of his health?”

“Yep. And he hits harder than you.”

I scowl. “Jeez. Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t feel bad. He’s probably the most disciplined man I’ve ever trained. If mindset were medicine, he’d be cured by now. He’s the one who gave me Gianni’s number. He knew he would keep you safe.”

I nod. “Well, thank him for me. I can safely say, working here was never on my bingo card.” I giggle. “But I feel it’s the safest place for me right now.”

Holt reaches out and tugs gently on a strand of my pink hair. “Not that anyone would figure out it’s you like this.” He laughs. “You were so straight-laced before. And your hair was darker than mine. Hell, I don’t even think Dad would recognize you.”

The air leaves my lungs at the reference to my father. Hot tears quickly fill my lids. When will this get easier?

Holt notices immediately. “Hey. Hey.” He steps closer, his strong hand warm on my shoulder. “You have to stop blaming yourself. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

I press my fingers to my sternum, where the ache never really goes away. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, they called it. Broken heart syndrome.

His doctors had diagnosed him with a stress-induced cardiac event. A heart already weakened under pressure that finally gave in. He had no blocked arteries. No immediate warning signs we could’ve seen coming. Just a body that couldn’t carry the weight of seeing his daughter fighting for her life.

We primarily work in silence after that. Just muscle movement, repeating the same exercises I’ve done with him numerous times over the last two years. Heck, you’d think I’d be better at this by now. But I zone out when I’m here. My mind going to dark places it shouldn’t. The fear causes the focus on my technique to slip, and my strength and endurance also take a hit. Holt occasionally interrupts to give direction, his voice keeping me anchored as he talks me through each drill.

Eventually, he stops me again. “He’d be so proud of you.”

“I’m working in a sex club, Holt,” I scoff, my expression deadpan.

He smirks. “No. You’re getting stronger every day. Despite the odds, you’re building a future. You survived something that would’ve destroyed most people.”

Holt spreads his arms wide. “And look what it did for me.” He winks. He doesn’t even pretend to be humble about how he turned his stress over my situation into a wildly successful business.

I roll my eyes, but my throat burns.

“You’re meant for great things, sis,” he says gently. “You just had to walk through hell to get there.”

5

CASSIDY

Oh, jeez. I’m late. Really late. Which is ridiculous, because I have nowhere else to be and no one waiting on me. My pulse still spikes as I jog down the hall in leggings and a loose sweater. My ankle boots clack against the hard wood floor, mocking me like a ticking clock. Glancing down at my attire, I wince.

What does one wear to an exclusive gentleman’s club staff meeting? What if Gianni is there? This thought alone makes me tug at the hem of my sweater, suddenly hyper-aware that I look more like I’m headed to a college study group than a business-related assembly of private club employees.

By the time I reach the lounge doors, I can already see them through the glass. Lala stands near the counter, tablet in hand, looking effortlessly polished in a form-fitting black dress that probably cost more than everything I own. It’s professional, sleek, and somehow still club-appropriate. The kind of outfit that makes you wonder if she’s been working since sunrise, responding to any request Gianni has.

Does this girl ever sleep?

She always looks so rested. So composed. Like Gianni could ask her to run a Fortune 500 company or organize a hostage negotiation, and she’d just nod and make it happen.

Candice, on the other hand, is, well… Candice.