Page 2 of Reputation (Tempt)

There were a few others, but those were the ones I found most offensive.

He was coming home from Canada tomorrow. He’d flown there earlier in the week to put out the latest fire with an action movie his production company was making. He wasn’t acting in it this time, but as the executive producer and studio head, he sometimes traveled to visit a set. Especially when problems arose. And lately, it seemed there had been a lot of problems.

I tightened my ponytail as I stared out at the University of California, Los Angeles training field. I set up my tripod so it would be ready to film snippets of my workout that I could later splice into a short video.

“I should’ve known you’d already have your camera set up.” Dad chuckled. “Did you at least finish your warm-up and stretches before posting on Instagram?”

“Yes.” I mean, seriously? I knew my dad was likely teasing, but why did the men in my life think I was so incompetent? And why did they care so much about my social media?

Nate was my boss, and he paid me to do a job. That didn’t give him the right to dictate my personal life. And had Dad forgotten that my Instagram selfies were a big reason I’d attracted so many sponsors?

If only I could get Hermès to sponsor me. I sighed. Then I wouldn’t constantly have to scan resale sites for the off chance someone would list the Birkin bag I’d been coveting in Rouge. It was damn near impossible to buy one from a trusted reseller, let alone directly from the Hermès boutique.

I tried to focus on that instead of my frustration. The big picture instead of my current situation.

Dad explained the drills, and I worked through them. All the while, my head was stuck on Nate. God, he was such an ass.

For months, I’d tried to adhere to his rules. I’d tried to be polite and professional, but the man seemed determined to drive me over the edge. He hadn’t fired me—yet. How could he? I’d done everything he’d asked and then some. And his daughter loved me.

But if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass, and soon, I was tempted to ask the Hartwell Agency for a different placement. Sometimes I wondered if that was Nate’s goal. Though I had no idea why. What could I have possibly done to make him dislike me with such intensity?

Because even now, three months in, Nate continued to act as if he was personally offended by my presence. We were polite to each other in front of Brooklyn. Otherwise, we did our best to avoid each other. I made myself scarce on my days off—rule number three. But it was difficult, if not impossible, to avoid him completely when my room was just down the hall and I was caring for his daughter.

And his emails…those fucking emails. My hands shook just thinking of them. It was as if he was trying to micromanage me to failure. I’d never had a parent who was soinvolved…for lack of a better word. And that was putting it nicely.

He was so different from the charming man on-screen. Nothing like the man rumored to have women dropping their panties faster than you could say “Golden Globes.”

Hell, once upon a time, I’d wanted to play withhisGolden Globes. But ever since I’d been hired as his nanny, his demeanor was so chilly, it was as if I’d submerged myself in an ice bath like I sometimes did during recovery.

Painfully cold, harsh, and unrelenting.

It made me wonder how an asshole like Nate had ended up with such an awesome kid. Brooklyn was funny, sassy, confident, but also kind. Just thinking of her made me smile.

“Focus, Emmy,” Dad called as I headed around the track again.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Inhale. Tap-tap. Exhale.

I was so sick and tired of Nate’s fucking emails. I clenched my fists. Why couldn’t he just talk to me? Was I truly that repulsive?

That was how he made me feel. Like I was nothing more than a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. At first, I’d thought maybe it was a “staff” thing. He wasn’t the first rich client I’d worked for. And I got that he was under a lot of pressure.

But I also saw the way he treated his chef Andre and his house manager Belinda and the others in his employ. He was polite, grateful, warm. Even when he didn’t like what Jackson or his team from Hudson Security had to say, Nate was still professional.

But with me, he was distant and cold. Sometimes condescending, and I was over it.

“Visualize the competition.”

Instead, I imagined pounding Nate’s face into the track every time one of my feet struck the ground.

“Lighter steps,” Dad called. “You want to fly down the track, not stomp it to death.”

Right.I took a deep breath.Okay, Emmy. You’ve got this.

If I didn’t, Dad would just tell me to do it again. And again.And again.The sooner I got it right, the sooner I could be done.

I tried to focus on the rhythm of my shoes as they connected with the track. Inhale slowly. Let it out slowly. Inhale. Exhale.

I made another lap around the training field as the sun poured down on me. Sweat dripped down my back, and I made another, my body moving on autopilot after years of doing these exercises.