The Romance Plan - Lila Monroe Page 0,71
says, leaning against an elliptical machine with an easy grin. “You’re the only guy I know who would use a breakup as an opportunity to increase his own personal productivity.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I protest, although it’s true that if I’m spending every waking moment perfecting my deadlifts and updating my resume, it’s a lot easier not to think about Eliza.
At least, in theory.
In practice, not so much.
I turn to Madison, the trainer I’ve been working with since I got to New York—a petite brunette who could probably bench press me without much trouble. “I think I’m smoked for today,” I tell her. “Same time tomorrow?”
“You got it,” she says, picking up her water bottle and offering me a towel. “But I’m not going to be so easy on you next time.”
Jase watches her go, the appreciation visible on his face. “She’s cute,” he observes.
“You are emphatically not her type,” I inform him.
“Really?” Jase asks, with the genuine confusion of a guy who’s basically never been turned down by a woman in his entire life. “Who is?”
I fix him with a look. “Jessica Simpson, maybe?”
“Ah.” Jase nods. “Noted. Come on,” he says now, nodding toward the locker room. “If you’re not going to make it happen at the gym, why don’t you hit the showers and we’ll go out tonight?”
I shake my head. “Thanks,” I tell him, “but I think I’ll just go home and veg.”
“No way,” Jase says. “You know the best way to get over someone—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—Is to get under someone else.” Jase grins. “If not your hot trainer, then one of the five million other beautiful women in this city.”
“That’s your MO, not mine,” I remind him.
“Fair enough,” he admits. “Then let’s do the next best thing: eat. I see you’re watching your girlish figure, but I’ve got to taste-test some pizzas.”
I sigh. “You’re still on that, huh?”
“Are you kidding me?” Jase smiles proudly. “At this rate, I’m going to be the Millennial Pizza King of all five boroughs by my next birthday.”
“It’s good to have goals.”
“Thank you.”
We pick up half a dozen test pies from Mario’s and head back to the Clubhouse. It’s still early enough that the place is mostly empty, but a pretty blonde is setting up behind the bar. “Hey Jase,” she calls, her shirt riding up to reveal a toned, tanned stomach as she lifts her arms to hook a pair of wineglasses in a rack over her head. She motions to the pizzas. “Hungry?”
He winks. “I’ll save you a slice, how about.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Save me two.”
“You know,” Jase murmurs as we make our way across the still-empty dance floor, “she’s got a sister.”
“That’s nice for her,” I reply blandly. Jase rolls his eyes, and I make a face in return. It’s not like I don’t get what he’s doing—and it would be nice if I could just screw or drink my way into utter oblivion until I emerged on the other side of the fog totally over Eliza. But that’s never been the kind of guy I am, and I know myself well enough to know it’s definitely not going to work now.
Eliza isn’t the kind of woman you can forget so easily.
I sink down onto the leather couch in Jase’s office, tilting my head back and staring up at the ceiling as I replay our fight outside the hotel for the hundredth time in the last few days. I know I should have just explained to her what was going on with Sterling and the buyout in the moment. But my words failed me, just like they have so many times before. And that split-second hesitation on my part was all it took for Eliza to let me know exactly what she secretly thought of me all this time.
Heartless. Uptight.
“Stop it,” Jase orders, handing me a beer out of the mini fridge.
“I didn’t say anything,” I protest.
Jase snorts, opening a beer of his own. “I could hear you thinking.”
“I doubt that.”
“Your thoughts are loud.” He shrugs. “Why don’t you just call her? Explain to her that she got it wrong.”
Right away, I shake my head. “It’s useless,” I say flatly. “She’s made up her mind about me already.”
Jase leans back in his desk chair. “I mean, can you blame her?”
I feel my eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jase rubs thoughtfully at his beard. “Well, by your own admission, you didn’t explain yourself very well,” he points out. “And it’s not exactly like you have some