He reclaimed his seat and unfurled the top of the bag. Taylor took it out of his hand before he could reach for a chip.

“If you’re going to get back in tip-top form, you’ll have to say goodbye to these,” she said. She slid off the barstool and looked around for a garbage can. There was none. “You’re ruining my dramatic effect here. I wanted to toss the chips in the trash and slam the lid closed for emphasis.”

“Don’t throw away my chips.” He rounded the kitchen island and plucked the bag from her hands. “They’re organic and they’re baked.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She tried to snatch the bag back, but he held it out of her reach. “You need to limit your complex carbs. If you’re craving a crunchy snack, go for those made from lentils or white beans instead.”

“I don’t like lentils,” he said as he retrieved a chip.

Taylor plopped her hands on her hips. “Are you seriously going to eat those in front of me? Okay, you need to decide if you’re going to take this seriously. If not, I can leave. I won’t have you saying in two months that I didn’t do my job because you can’t say no to a potato chip.”

He dropped the chip back into the bag and held it out to her. Taylor snatched it from his hands.

“You see, this is why I wanted to hire you,” Jamar said. “Another trainer wouldn’t have had the balls to tell me off the way you just did.” He dusted his fingers, as if wiping away crumbs. “I’m done with potatoes. Bring on the lentil chips.”

“You have to earn lentil chips.”

His brow arched, amusement shimmering in his dark brown eyes. “Is that how it is?”

“You wanted a drill sergeant,” she said.

Taylor wiped the grin off her face before he misconstrued it as flirting. Except this totally felt like flirting. Shit.

“Wait, you do meal prep, don’t you? How much to add that to what you’re already providing?”

“You want me to cook for you too?”

He shrugged. “If you think it will help get me into shape.”

She thought for a moment, then said, “I can prep your meals, as long as you pay for the cost of groceries.” She crumpled the bag in her hand, crushing the remaining chips into inedible crumbs. She handed it back to him. “We’ll start working on your diet tomorrow. Go change into your workout clothes. It’s time for you to show me what you’ve got.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jamar tugged a pair of running shorts on over his tighter compression shorts and grabbed a tank made of wicking material from the neat stack the cleaning service had placed in his dresser. Pulling the tank over his head, he made his way to the walk-in closet that housed more than four hundred pairs of tennis shoes, each in custom-built units that lined the walls.