Exercise Discretion

ARIA

For the rest of the day, I run around, attending meetings and completing tasks. During a short break, I take a Lyft home to grab workout clothes, shoes, and another change of clothes before rushing back to the office.

Just as I get back up to the thirty-fourth floor, Vivian is heading out for the day.

“How was your first day, Aria?”

“Great!” I lie. “Super excited to be here.”

She gives me a sympathetic look and squeezes my upper arm. “The first few days are always tough. Get some rest,” she says sweetly and then leaves.

Almost as soon as I’m settled again, it’s time to go, so I toss everything in my bag and head out.

Back in the car with Jett, I get an email from Tim, asking for an update.

I subtly type out a quick response and ask for a full report on all previous PAs in this position, including their personality test results, the length of their employment, and the termination details. I’m interested to know how many quit or were fired.

Finally, we arrive at Jett’s building, where he owns the penthouse and several other apartments for various reasons.

I’m going to see where he lives. Maybe this will give me more insight into what makes Jett tick.

Thankfully, no paparazzi are waiting for him, and we make our way into an ornate marble foyer before stepping onto the elevator.

I’ve seen my share of expensive homes in Manhattan before, but I’m completely taken aback when the doors of the elevator open into the penthouse.

After stepping out of the foyer, we enter a living room featuring twenty-foot ceilings with tall windows that showcase the sparkling lights of New York City.

The main room is similar to the office, with minimal and very intentional furnishings, bookcases, and plants that amplify the impact of the space. Stairs lead up to an open library, and I can see a chef’s kitchen through a door on the east wall.

Just outside, on the huge balcony, is a lit-up pool and hot tub.

“Let me show you around so you know where everything is,” Jett says as he starts walking. “The kitchen is in there; the guest room and bathroom are here.”

We walk down a long hallway full of doors.

“My home office is here, and this is my room and closet.”

I feel a small blush creep up my neck and will it to go away before he looks at me again.

His room is dark and masculine, with a large, low bed and another bank of windows. A few shelves are lit up with small photos and personal items, but otherwise the room is bare and minimal.

His closet is expansive, with bright lights and shelves organizing everything. Jett pulls a tuxedo in a bag off one of the racks and hands it to me to prepare for the gala.

“You can go change in the guest bathroom,” he says as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Unless you plan to ‘keep up with me’ in a pencil skirt and heels.”

I look at him and see him raise an eyebrow with a mischievous smile. My stomach does a small somersault, and I hate that his charm has that effect on me. Am I so easily roused?

I just nod and try to avert my eyes from his large biceps and broad chest as I slip out of the closet that’s as big as my apartment.

In the bathroom, I slip into my dark-purple yoga pants and sports bra and slip a loose, black tank top over. After putting on my shoes, I pull my hair out of my low bun and run my fingers through it before putting it in a high ponytail.

After I step out, I see Jett leaning against a doorframe, waiting for me.

“Ready?”

“Of course,” I say as I go to walk to the elevator.

“This way,” he says as he walks down the staircase.

“You have your own gym?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. The previous owner used it as an art studio, but I’m not much of a painter.”

Jett opens the door and leads me into a fully stocked, professional gym with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, televisions, a sound system, drink fridges, and rows and rows of equipment.

“Holy shit, they must have been a hell of a painter,” I say.

Jett lets out a throaty laugh, and I can’t help feeling good for prompting it.

“Jett, my man!” A tall, muscular Black man turns a corner and walks toward us. He fist bumps Jett and then turns to me. “Hi, I’m Jerome,” he says with a wide, perfect smile.

“Aria. Nice to meet you. I’m the newest PA,” I say.

“Awesome. Well, I can tell you work out. What do you typically do?” he asks, looking me up and down.

“A little of everything. Yoga, Pilates, cardio, weights.”

He nods and rubs his hands together. “Perfect. We don’t typically do a lot of yoga, but you’ll probably be comfortable with everything. Today we’re going to start with a warm-up, fifteen minutes of HIIT, then arms, chest, and back. Ready?”

We all start with some simple warm-up stretches, then move into light calisthenics. The HIIT workout is challenging, and I definitely feel myself start to sweat.

Jett is also sweating but makes sure to razz me occasionally by asking if I need a break.

By the time we get to lifting, I’m feeling the intensity but refuse to show an ounce of my exhaustion in front of Jett.

Occasionally, Jerome comes over to correct my form or move me into a better position, and Jett immediately asks him a question or otherwise requests his attention. I can’t tell if it’s intentional or not.

Finally, we finish the workout, and Jerome comes up to me, wrapping an arm around me in a side hug. “Great job today, Aria. You killed it.”

“Thanks! That felt great!” I say.

“Aria, you can head upstairs. Ronda should have dinner ready,” Jett says. I look at him, and he has a serious look on his face.

“Of course. Thanks again, Jerome, and nice to meet you,” I say.

“You too.” He smiles as I head toward the stairs. “She seems great,” Jerome says.

“So far, so good,” I hear Jett say before they start chatting about basketball playoffs.

Upstairs, I do my best to clean up and put fresh clothes on, then I meet Ronda, Jett’s housekeeper-slash-manager, in the kitchen.

Ronda is a sweet woman in her fifties with a slight Eastern European accent. We chat about day-to-day management stuff while she dishes our salads up on plates and places them on the dining-room table.

Jett comes up, grabs his plate off the table, and motions for me to follow. We go into the living room, where he turns a basketball game on the giant TV and sits on the couch.

“So, how was your first day?” he asks.

“Great! Should we go over the schedule for tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he says as he shovels salad into his mouth.

For the next several minutes, we iron out the details for tomorrow and eat dinner. By the time I’m leaving, it’s 8 p.m., over twelve hours since my day started.

Jett insists on having Paul drive me home even though I assure him I can get a Lyft. I fall into my bed at 9 p.m., too tired to do anything besides brush my teeth and wash my face before I close my eyes.

***

The rest of the week is more manageable, as I am through the initial intros and how-tos. My days still manage to stretch into twelve to sixteen hours, but my brain doesn’t feel quite as fried as it did after the first day.

I’m getting used to Jett as well, and vice versa. It’s difficult for me to decipher if he is pleased or not, but something tells me he’d let me know if he was unhappy.

I’m finding it slightly easier to be around him; he’s actually quite funny, and some of his tense behavior has dissipated.

I’m still waiting on the report from Tim, but I’m starting to think it may be possible to make this match after all if the right person joins DYAD in the next eight to ten weeks.

Unfortunately, as I continue to pull long days by Jett’s side, I don’t have time to buy a dress for the gala, and I don’t have anything suitable for a black-tie affair in my closet.

I decide to call and beg Len to pick me up a few options in size four and bring them to me so I can try them on after work. He works in the marketing department of Saks and considers himself the most fashionable of all of us, so he requires very little convincing.

I manage to leave the office at six o’clock and come home armed with wine, hoping Len didn’t pick anything too out there. He and Katie are already at my apartment.

“Hey, guys! Thank you so much for coming over,” I say as I open the door and drop my bags by the entryway.

“Of course! I can’t wait to see what Len picked out. He’s enjoying this a little too much,” Katie says. She’s sitting on my couch with her feet tucked underneath her.

“I am not!” he shouts from my bedroom. He comes rushing out with a tape measure hanging from his neck. “Okay, I am.”

I laugh and pour three glasses of wine.

“I grabbed five dresses. One safe one, one wild card. All of them are going to look amazing. Do you know what he’s wearing?”

“Jett? Why does that matter?” I ask as I take a gulp.

“Because even though you aren’t a couple, you’ll be next to each other all night and should coordinate,” Len says.

“He’s wearing a black tux,” I say.

“Perfect! Okay, let’s go try the first one on.”

We try Len’s safe option first. It’s a simple black gown with a high neck and a beaded white collar that looks like a necklace. Honestly, I’d be fine with just wearing this, but they both insist we try all five dresses on.

The next dress is a hunter-green gown with a bow around the waist and a ruffle edge down to the floor. Nobody is a big fan.

I try on a silvery dress next. It’s beaded and has a layer of tulle around the skirt, which makes me feel like I’m going to a wedding. Katie likes it, but Len isn’t convinced.

The light-blue dress I try on next is pretty but very itchy and hard to walk in. I immediately veto it despite their protests.

The fifth dress is a sparkly gold with a deep V neckline and a slit up one leg. As soon as I put it on, I can’t help but feel like I glow. It fits me like a second skin in all the right places, showing off my body and complementing my bronze skin.

I walk out into the living room, and they gasp. Len grabs his chest.

“Aria, you look gorgeous!” Katie says breathlessly.

“It’s perfect!” Len says.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” I say, scrunching my nose.

Len starts circling me, pulling at the fabric here and there. “Not at all, hon. Besides, you never know who you’ll meet at this gala!” He winks at me, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m worried it’s too sexy.” I try to pull the neckline in, as the deep V goes all the way down between my breasts.

“Everyone wears stuff like this at galas. You’ll be turning heads, for sure, but for the right reasons,” Katie says.

“Okay. I do feel pretty in it,” I say.

Len claps his hands. “Great!”

“How much is it?”

“Four thousand three hundred dollars,” he says casually.

Thankfully, I wasn’t taking a drink of wine when he said that. “Oh my god! I need to get out of this thing now,” I say. “How much is the black one?”

“Nine hundred sixty-seven dollars. But, Aria, this dress was made for you,” Len says. “Now, I can take five hundred dollars off with my discount, but if that’s still out of the question, you can borrow the dress. But if anything gets on it, I can’t take it back.”

“Three thousand eight hundred dollars for a dress to a work event is crazy.” I look at Katie. “Right?”

Katie tilts her head back and forth. “I mean, when was the last time you bought something for yourself? Just borrow it, and if you still love it after the night, buy it!”

I sigh and take another look in the mirror.

“Okay. I’ll borrow it.”