Taking Back Beautiful (2 page)

Him: “Can you believe she came back?”

Her: “No way.”

Him: “I thought she was gonna be one of those pipe-dream New Year’s Resolution people who never come back after they sign up.”

Her: “She
shouldn’t
have come back. What an embarrassment. Is it too late to decline her membership application? She might scare off the other members.”

Him: “Are you kidding? She’ll be comedy relief for everyone. Sign her in. After you do, we can watch her make a fool of herself on the security cameras in my office. It’ll be a laugh.”

Fashion Forty giggles at him, then perches her tiny behind on the edge of Handsome Office Guy’s desk, a.k.a. HOG, with her back completely to me. Did I mention that HOG looks like every jerky guy on the high school football team when I was at North Valley? The ones who always made fun of me? Of course he does.

My face burns with embarrassment. I’m ready to turn around and leave.

No!

I remind myself I didn’t actually hear what they were saying. I was making all of that up in my own head. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that I’m usually my own worst enemy.

I’m not leaving.

I will wait however long it takes.

Fashion Forty continues chatting with HOG. Is she ever going to sign me in?

“Excuse me,” I call out in a strong voice.

Fashion Forty and HOG ignore me.

“Excuse me!” I yell, my face now hot with anger.

Fashion Forty is still ignoring me.

“Ex-CUSE—!”

“Is anybody helping you?” a gruff voice says behind me.

Startled, I turn around and stare right at a solid wall of purple. I tilt my head up and realize it’s a purple Body Fitness polo shirt wrapped around a man mountain. As my gaze climbs higher, I realize it’s a man Mount Olympus because there’s a god on top. Chiseled features, just enough scruff, short thick unruly dark hair, honey gold eyes that glow like sunshine and a panty melting smile as hot as the surface of the sun.

And yes, that smile is aimed at me.

My heart races. I can’t speak.

His smile curls, “Is… is anybody helping you?”

I swallow hard and my throat clicks. “Ummm…”

“Is this your first time here?” His eyes glimmer and my brain melts.

That voice.

It’s music.

Have you ever been to the symphony? I went once. On a field trip in middle school because I was in orchestra class. At the time, I played flute because my mom told me it was a girl’s instrument. So I played flute. But then my orchestra class took that field trip. We were bussed downtown to the Los Angeles Philharmonic to watch the world-famous cellist Yo Yo Ma play Bach’s six cello suites. When Yo Yo Ma drew his bow across the strings and played the prelude of Cello Suite No. 1, I was mesmerized from the first note. It’s the piece you always hear at weddings before the bride arrives. It’s both celebratory and melancholy at the same time. I can’t think of a more beautiful piece of music in the world. That sound did something to my little twelve year old self that I couldn’t explain. I latched onto that melancholy and joy like it was my own. It was the most uplifting and beautiful thing I’d ever heard. When I got home that night, the first thing I did was tell my mom I was changing my instrument from flute to cello. We had a huge fight. But I wouldn’t back down. It was probably the first time I ever stood up to her over something important. Anything, for that matter. She finally relented and I’ve been playing cello ever since. To this day, the sound of cellos playing is my favorite thing.

“I said, is this your first time here?” the godlike man asks again.

That voice isn’t mere music.

That voice is those cellos.

It rocks me to my core.

“Ummmm…” I titter.

Any second, I’m going to start crying or laughing. This man’s voice is my soulmate. Ridiculous but true. This revelation hurts like you can’t imagine because a man this handsome will never give a damn about me. That’s just the way it is. I’m surprised he’s even talking to me.

Behind me, I hear Fashion Forty laugh in the glass office with HOG. The sound of their voices is like breaking glass and it’s ugly and awful. Their sound is the one I’m accustomed to. Not cellos.

I start to shake with disappointment and sadness.

I want to run away from this place and never come back. I grab one last look at Mr. Cello’s sunshine eyes before I dash out of here so I can remember this moment. At least I’ll have that much. Because what’s going to happen next is, he’s going to walk behind the counter and join Fashion Forty and the HOG in his glass office, and all three of them will point at me and laugh like broken glass.

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Cello says, his voice rivaling Yo Yo Ma’s virtuosity for its beauty. “I can check you in.” He walks behind the counter to a computer. “What’s your name?”

“Daphne Bowman?” I sound so insecure, like I’m not even sure of my own name. But I always sound this way around men. Especially godlike cello-voiced men like this man.

He clicks keys and the computer beeps. It’s the most beautiful beep I’ve ever heard. “Okay, you’re all set. Have a good workout,” he smiles.

“Um?” That’s all I can force out.

“Yeah?”

“Um?”

He snickers, “Yes?”

“Um, um, um!”
Get a hold of yourself, Daphne! Use your words!
“Um, I’m supposed to meet with my trainer! At six!” I’m practically shouting.

He’s startled.

“Sorry,” I sigh.

“It’s okay. This is your first time, isn’t it?”

“How can you tell?” I ask sarcastically.

He flashes a rugged grin, “You seem a little nervous.” The way he’s looking at me does something I don’t understand. Guys never look at me this way. It’s like he
wants
to talk to me.

“Yeah, a little.”

Unlike me, he is totally at ease and confident. His shoulders beneath his purple polo are broad and his bare arms defined. “Let’s see who your trainer is.” He clicks more keys on the computer. He frowns. “I don’t see your name on here. Did you reply to the confirmation email we sent out? If you don’t, the system automatically fills your slot with someone else.”

“No.” Crap. That’s how these things always work out for me. I forget one little thing and set myself up for daily failure. Now he’s going to tell me to go home and never come back.

He smiles, “That’s okay. I don’t have an appointment until seven. You can be mine.”

Did he just say I can be his? I shake my head.
He didn’t mean it that way, Daphne. He just means the appointment way. He’s just being polite.

But the flushed look on his face says the opposite. He says, “I mean, you can be my six o’clock. Appointment. My six o’clock appointment.” He chuckles.

Nervously.

It sounds like cellos.

#b#b#b#

APOLLO

“I just need a minute to drop my bag in the locker room,” I say to Daphne.

“Okay. Should I wait here?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” she smiles.

“Yeah…” I don’t know what it is, but that smile is killing me. And those curves. I just want to grab them and never let go. And that smokey black hair of hers tied back in a pony tail that is begging me to wrap my fist around it while I take her from behind. And those liquid blue diamond eyes. It’s like they’re piercing a hole in my heart. It almost hurts. It’s also turning me on, which is weird because I’m not usually an eye man. But I am now. I could stare into her eyes day and night and never get tired of them.

“Weren’t you going to the locker room to drop off your bag?”

“Oh, right.”
I am such a tool.
“Hold on.” I turn and walk fast toward the locker room.

Why am I rushing?

It’s not like she’s going to leave.

Is she?

When I turn the corner, I speed up and beeline into the men’s locker room. I open an empty locker and toss my bag inside. I pull out my padlock from the zipper pocket and hang it on the latch. Then I unzip the big pouch and unscrew the SMIRNOFF without pulling it out of the bag.

For a second I consider not drinking any.

I already had enough at the cemetery. I can’t believe I didn’t get pulled over by Highway Patrol on the drive up from San Diego. Fuck it. I’m nervous all of a sudden because of Daphne and there’s no cops waiting to write me up for DUI here at the gym.

I pull my entire gym bag out of the locker, unscrew the cap on the vodka, and tip it and my gym bag back while I take a swallow. I must look like a high-class wino, drinking from a bottle in an expensive gym bag instead of a greasy paper sack. Whatever. I screw the cap back on and pull out my mint breath freshener and spritz some into my mouth. I breathe on my hand. Mint. I hope she doesn’t notice the vodka.

I slam the locker shut and close the padlock.

This day started out in the shitter, but somehow it got turned around.

Somehow being Daphne Bowman.

Chapter 3

DAPHNE

“Are you ready to get pumped?” Apollo asks as he comes strolling back to the reception desk.

WHAT?!?!

My eyes nearly jump out of my face. “Uhhhh…”

What kind of pumped does he mean?

The look in his eye inclines me to believe he means the only kind of pumping a woman wants from a man like him.

Oh. My. Gasp!

Yes,
that
kind of pumping.

The kind that requires the sort of fire hose a man like this obviously keeps coiled in his black khaki shorts.

Okay, he must be blind. That’s it. Mr. Cello is blind. It’s the only explanation for why he’s treating me this way. That’s fine with me. I don’t judge. Blind is fine.

He smiles, “I like your top, by the way. That shade of blue looks good on you. It brings out your eyes.”

Okay, he’s not blind.

Died. Gone to Heaven.

“Long time no see,” a familiar and irritatingly glassy voice purrs behind me. Fashion Forty. She must’ve walked out of the office when I wasn’t looking. She walks right up to Mr. Cello. Sure, she walks out for him. But me? Of course not.

“Hey, Fiona,” Mr. Cello grins at her.

Died. Gone to Hell.

Fashion Forty brushes her fingers across Mr. Cello’s muscled forearm. “What’s new with you?”

He smiles, about to speak…

This is the moment where my fantasy bubble bursts. Mr. Cello is going to sweep Fashion Forty Fiona off her feet like a feather because she weighs ounces, carry her into the back, and make sweet beautiful people love to her while I stand here like an imbecile. Then HOG will come out of his office long enough to rip up my membership contract, send me on my way, and tell me never to come back. Which, at this point, I will gladly do.

Mr. Cello places his palm against my lower back and says, “I was just about to take Daphne here onto the floor and coach her through her first workout.”

I almost have a stroke because his hand is touching me. Despite the insulation of my loose-fitting workout top between his hand and my skin, his touch is making every cell in my body sizzle. The electric sensation emanates out from his hand in pulsating waves. If he doesn’t remove it, I’m going to faint.

Fashion Forty scowls at me and deflates. “Oh.”

Take that, you heathen!
I’m surprised I still haven’t fainted because this is now officially the longest amount of time a gorgeous man has touched me. And in a slightly possessive sort of way, no less.

“Let’s go, Daphne.” Cellos.

“Talk later?” Fashion Forty asks him hopefully.

“I’ll see if I have time.” Mr. Cello says it like he’s saying,
I really won’t have time so don’t hold your breath.

I faint.

But somehow I manage to stay on my legs as Mr. Cello guides me toward the workout floor. The sound of whirring ellipticals and stationary bicycles and treadmills is loud. There’s a flurry of people moving on the machines, sweating, listening to music on earbuds, reading things on their smart phones, watching the TVs hung from the ceiling. Beyond them, a huge wall of windows reveals the setting sun.

“Sorry about her,” Mr. Cello whispers. His hand is still on my back.

“Who? What?” I can’t remember what happened a second ago because his touch has blocked out everything else.

“Fiona? The receptionist?”

“Oh, her! I forgot about her!” I giggle.

He smirks, “She’s very forgettable.”

Huh?
Let’s be honest. Fashion Forty Fiona is gorgeous. I’m not blind either. When I arrived earlier, the guys checking in were all staring at her. I need to call him on his dishonesty. “What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fiona is rude to everybody she doesn’t like, which is most people. If it was me, I’d fire her.”

“Oh. Really?”

“I saw the way she ignored you when she was in the office with Tony.”

“You did?”

He nods, “She does that kind of thing all the time. It’s totally unprofessional.”

I almost blurt,
So it wasn’t just me she was ignoring?
But I manage to keep that to myself. “Right.”

“We should have you warm up for a few minutes with some cardio before we start. Get your blood flowing.”

Is he kidding? Just being in his presence has my blood flowing just fine. “Okay.”

“What do you prefer?”

All I can think is: which machine will make me jiggle the least? Now I’m embarrassed. Why did I have to buy lycra leggings? Couldn’t I have bought a tent?

No!

I look good.

I don’t need a tent.

“Ummm, whichever?”

He scans the cardio machines. “Let’s do the treadmill. There’s two free over there. I’ll walk next to you.”

Is it normal for the trainer to exercise with you? I have no idea. If I’m being logical, I want to say no. I mean, they probably train people all day long all week long. It doesn’t make sense that they would be exercising with their clients the whole time. They’d be all sweaty and gross before the day was over. So what in the Eff is he doing offering to walk with me?

I’m not gonna ask.

“Okay!” I blurt.

He leads me to the two treadmills and we both start walking.

I do my best not to bounce. Just thinking about it makes me twice as nervous as I already am. I need a distraction.