“You seem to be getting the hang of things around here,” Trick says, giving me her schedule for next week.
Trick is one of the full-time personal trainers at the gym. She’s funny, smart, and super strong. And I’m not exactly sure if she’s a she. But I don’t know her well enough to ask.
The past few weeks working at the gym have been a lot of fun. Much more fun than modeling. Okay, so the pay is considerably lower, but if I’m being honest, having a steady paycheck is more exciting to me than living off ramen noodles ninety percent of the time and living like a queen the other ten percent.
I mean, who knows what would have happened if I’d been able to take the job with that high-end clothing line. I keep thinking back to what Caden said about living on borrowed time. In model years, twenty-three is over-the-hill. I might’ve gotten in a few good years, but at the end of it all, what would I really have had?
It’s only taken me two weeks to realize I want more out of life than getting on the cover of a magazine and then being remembered as a has-been. And it’s only taken that same two weeks for the owners of the gym to take notice of me.
The other day, Jayden, the manager, asked me to help with some paperwork since the membership coordinator is on maternity leave. I think she was impressed with how organized and detail-oriented I was. I told her I had taken some business courses at the community college back in Iowa, and then the next day, I was informed the owners wanted me trained as an assistant to the coordinator. It doesn’t mean any more money. Not yet anyway. But who knows what could happen. This is the biggest gym in the city. The staff is huge and business is booming.
“I’ve been trying hard to keep up with all your schedules. With fourteen trainers, that’s practically a full-time job in itself,” I tell her.
“Well, you’re doing a great job,” she says. “You are so organized. I’ll bet your apartment is always neat and clean, isn’t it?”
“Ha! Hardly. I live in a two-bedroom apartment with four other girls, all of them models. That equals a lot of clothes and makeup lying around. Not to mention the fact that getting any quality bathroom time is just unheard of.”
Her jaw drops. “You live with four models? You must be one tough chick.”
“You don’t know the half of it. My cheating ex is always hanging around because he’s now dating the girl I share a room with.”
“No fucking way.”
“Way.” I nod.
“I have a cheating ex, too. In fact, she just moved her lying cheating ass out of my apartment last week.” She studies me for a second, drawing her brows together. “You know, I have a spare room. It may not be much, but it beats sharing a bedroom with a model.” She sticks her finger down her throat to let me know just how highly she regards those in my former profession. “And it takes me all of five minutes to get ready in the morning. No makeup and other crap you’d have to weed through to use the bathroom.”
“I don’t know,” I say, hesitant about moving right in with another person I barely know, considering how well it went the last time.
She sees her next client walk through the door. “Just think about it. Joan paid me rent through October, so I have more than a month before I’m in dire straits on my mortgage, and I won’t even make you pay rent until November, you know, in case you have to give some kind of notice to your other roommates.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it,” I say as she walks away with someone who I now know is an Olympic skater.
There are a lot of sports stars who come here. Probably because one of the owners is the starting quarterback for the Giants.
My phone vibrates in my pocket so I pull it out to check the text.
#8: Ready for your next lesson? I want to take you to a game.
Me: Isn’t your season over?
#8: Thanks for reminding me that we didn’t make the playoffs.
Me: Sorry.
#8: I’m joking, Old Man Murphy. You aren’t working Saturday afternoon, are you?
Me: What did you have in mind?
#8: I’m taking you to a Yankees game.
Before I can answer him, an attractive woman who has blonde hair with inky-black tips approaches the counter. “I’m looking for Murphy Brown,” she says.
I roll my eyes, but I’m also grateful she didn’t ask for Old Man Murphy. “Let me guess. Caden sent you?”
“Kind of, I mean he told me about you, but I didn’t think he knew I’d come in,” she says. “I’m Piper Lawrence. Did he tell you to expect me?”
“He didn’t tell me anything, but he’s the only one who calls me Murphy Brown. I think he has some obsession with an old TV show or something.”
“Your name isn’t Murphy Brown?” she asks.
I hold my hand out to her. “Murphy Cavenaugh. Are you by chance related to one of my bosses?”
She leans in close and whispers, “I’m married to the best boss. But don’t let my sisters hear you repeat that since they are married to the other two.”
Just like when I met Lexi, I feel an instant connection with Piper.
As if reading my mind, Piper says, “You know, I’m friends with Lexi Stone. Between her and her sisters-in-law, and me and my sisters, we can throw some pretty fun girls’ nights. You should definitely join us.”
I smile thinking of how completely different that would be from when I was hanging out with my pretentious roommates. “I’d really like that. Thank you.”
“I have to run and get my daughter from school,” she says, pulling a piece of paper from the printer and writing on it. “But here is my number. Text me so I can have yours. We’ll set something up.”
Before she turns to leave, she stares at my face and I think maybe she’s looking at my scars. They’re starting to fade, but I’m still self-conscious about them.
“Caden’s right,” she says. “You are gorgeous.”
She spins around and walks out the front door, leaving my jaw slightly agape.