3: Training session

Riley’s POV

By the time my alarm blared at 2:30 a.m., I was seriously questioning my life choices.

I groaned, smacked the clock until it stopped, and rolled out of bed like a corpse reanimating. My entire body ached from yesterday’s disaster—physically, from all the running around, and emotionally, from the soul-crushing realization that Jax Maddox was only getting started with his torment.

Three a.m., no excuses. That’s what he’d said.

Dragging myself from bed, I cursed Jax under my breath the entire time. I had exactly half an hour to get dressed and make it across the city to his penthouse before he found another reason to fire me.

Who in their right mind scheduled a meeting for 3 a.m.? And training for 4 a.m.? Only Jax freaking Maddox.

I hurriedly threw on my sweatshirt, grabbed my phone, bag, tablet, journal, and immediately started driving to his penthouse.

The moment I stepped into Jax’s place, I knew something was off. It was too quiet. No passive-aggressive comments about me being late. No arrogant smirks waiting to test my patience. Just… silence.

For one hopeful second, I wondered if he’d finally learned how to be a decent human being and left a note with clear instructions instead of making me track him down like a lost puppy. But then, I heard the shower running, and I knew my luck wasn’t that good.

Dropping my bag onto the sleek black couch, I pulled out my tablet and started reviewing Jax’s schedule. He had a press conference at noon, followed by a private training session, then some high-profile dinner where he was supposed to make an appearance and play nice with sponsors. Simple enough. Even he shouldn’t be able to mess this up.

The bathroom door opened behind me, followed by the unmistakable sound of a towel being aggressively ruffled through wet hair.

"Wow," Jax drawled, stepping into the living room like he owned the entire city. "You’re early. That’s a first."

I glanced up—and immediately regretted it.

Jax was shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants that did nothing to hide the sharp V-line dipping below his waistband. His hair was damp, messy in a way that looked infuriatingly good on him, and there was a cocky glint in his ocean-blue eyes that told me he knew exactly what he was doing.

I instantly snapped my gaze back to the tablet.

"You look like you’re about to collapse." He said. I could feel his eyes roving over me.

"Thanks. That’s exactly what every girl wants to hear at three in the morning."

He ignored my sarcasm, pushing off the counter. "We leave in five."

I blinked. "You’re not even ready."

He was still shirtless, his hair dripping wet and looking far too relaxed for someone who had ordered for me to be here at an ungodly hour.

Jax shrugged. "I’m faster than you."

I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Great. So I can’t be late, but you get to take your time?"

"Exactly." He tossed me a bottle of water from the counter, which I barely caught in time. "Hydrate. You’ll need it. Also, I think you should leave now, go get me my coffee and meet me at the training center by exactly four.” He stopped for a moment to look at the clock above me. “I need three espresso shots,” he said lazily, like this was just a casual order. “Two pumps of vanilla. Exactly 140-degree oat milk. Stirred, not shaken.” His lips curved. “Think you can handle that?”

I stared at him, debating the consequences of murder.

"This is a joke, right?" I deadpanned. "Why did you ask me to meet you here if you had nothing important to say or assign to me?"

Jax lifted an eyebrow. "I needed you to take my coffee order, Riley. Everybody knows coffee is important early in the morning," he said smugly.

I clenched my teeth, gripping my journal so hard I might snap it in half. This was his revenge for what happened yesterday.

Petty requests. Impossible demands. Testing me, trying to break me. All because I messed up in front of a room full of cameras and made him look like a—well. Himself.

"You’re still mad about the press conference," I said flatly.

"Mad?" Jax leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His too-blue eyes danced with amusement. "Why would I be mad?"

I resisted the urge to throw my journal at his smug face.

"Right." I nodded, forcing a sweet smile. "And this sudden obsession with custom coffee orders has nothing to do with punishing me?"

Jax lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "It’s just your job, sweetheart. Also, don’t forget my protein shake."

Sweetheart. I hated that word coming from him.

His smirk deepened, because he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

I exhaled sharply through my nose. "You know, Maddox, there are actual ways to motivate employees. This isn’t one of them."

His grin widened. "I believe in tough love."

I muttered something under my breath that might be considered workplace inappropriate.

"Careful, Riley," he murmured. "I’d hate for you to burn out so soon."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I know you’d love it if I quit."

"I would," he agreed easily. "But I’d also be so disappointed."

I hated him. Angrily, I got out of his building and headed to grab his coffee and protein shake orders. Within the next 45 minutes, I had almost hit five curbs, dozed off at the wheel uncountable times and I’d gotten yelled at by several impatient baristas, but I managed to get his orders right.

By the time I arrived at the training center, my feet hurt, my eyes were barely open, and I smelled like expensive protein powder because the smoothie lid hadn’t been screwed on properly. Perfect.

The training facility was already buzzing with activity. Trainers, assistants, and staff moved around efficiently, preparing for whatever absurdly early training regime Jax had planned. I weaved my way inside, balancing my notepad, phone, and the half-spilled smoothie as I made my way toward the court.

Jax was already there, of course. Because of course he was.

He stood at the center of the indoor court, stretching, his muscular frame on full display in a fitted black shirt and athletic shorts. He looked effortlessly powerful, like someone born to dominate the game. His racket spun lazily in his hand, and he chatted with his coach, looking completely unbothered—like he hadn’t spent the previous night glaring daggers at me.

I took a deep breath and approached, reminding myself that I was a professional. A very sleep-deprived, slightly caffeinated professional.

"I’m here," I announced, plastering on my best neutral expression.

Jax barely spared me a glance. "You’re late."

I frowned, checking my watch. "It’s just a minute past four.”

His smirk was infuriating. "And yet you prove my point. You’re late."

I gritted my teeth but said nothing, instead I held out his protein shake and coffee. "Here. Your orders."

He took the protein shake, eyeing the damp cup. "Why is it wet?"

I forced a sweet smile and muttered under my breathe, “because the universe hates me."

Jax didn’t even blink. He took a slow sip, then made a face like I’d just handed him swamp water. "What the hell is this?"

"Protein shake," I said, crossing my arms. "Same order as yesterday."

He turned the cup, inspecting the label. "There’s banana in this."

"...And?" I snapped, unable to control the rage boiling inside of me.

"I hate bananas."

I stared at him, my patience circling the drain. "You never said you hate bananas."

He gave me a lazy once-over, like he found my suffering entertaining. "Not my job to tell you. It’s your job to know."

I inhaled sharply, reminding myself that assault was illegal. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re going to get me a new smoothie." He ordered, his hand grabbing the coffee from my other hand. Within seconds he downed the whole content and gulped. His smirk widened before he turned back to the court.

I took my place near the benches, determined to tune him out.

I lasted five minutes. Because of course Jax Maddox couldn’t just train like a normal human being. No, he had to show off. Every movement, every shot, was done with an effortless precision that screamed I’m better than everyone else. His powerful serves sent the ball flying at impossible speeds, his footwork was ridiculous, and worst of all? He knew I was watching.

It was in the way he smirked after a particularly brutal shot. The way his gaze flicked toward me between points, like he wanted me to see just how good he was.

And the worst part? I did see. Jax Maddox wasn’t just good. He was unreal. No wonder he was so insufferable.

As I was actively trying not to admire his talent, movement from the entrance caught my eye.

Leo.

The moment he stepped onto the court, everything about the energy shifted. He walked in like he belonged anywhere he went, his dark brown hair slightly tousled, his fitted tracksuit emphasizing his lean, athletic frame. And when his golden-brown eyes found mine, a slow, devastatingly charming smile spread across his lips.

"Morning, Riley," he drawled, his voice warm and teasing.

My stomach did something ridiculous. "Morning."

Leo’s gaze lingered a second too long before he turned his attention to Jax. "Ready to lose, Maddox?"

Jax rolled his shoulders, his expression sharpening. "You wish."

Oh. I suddenly realized what this was. A challenge.

There was something charged in the air between them. Not quite hostility, just raw and edgy competitiveness.

Leo twirled his racket, looking unbothered. "Let’s make this interesting."

Jax raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

Leo’s eyes flicked toward me for a split second before he grinned. "Loser buys Riley dinner."

I choked on absolutely nothing. "What?"

Jax’s expression darkened instantly. "No."

Leo just smirked. "Scared?"

Jax let out a sharp exhale, gripping his racket tighter. "She’s my assistant. She’s not a prize to bet on."

Leo turned to me, all easy charm. "What do you think, Riley? I win, you let me take you out for a proper apology dinner. Seems fair, right?"

My brain completely short-circuited.

Jax looked ready to murder him. "She’s not involved in this."

Leo’s gaze flicked between us, amusement flashing in his eyes. "Noted."

And just like that, he took his place on the opposite side of the court, ready to play.

Jax hesitated for half a second before stepping forward, his entire posture screaming barely restrained control, as if he was trying not to snap. I had no idea what was up his ass but as far as it wasn’t directed towards me I was fine.