Jax

The first thing she noticed about Ashford Black Performance was that it looked nothing like a gym. No obnoxious music shaking the walls. No people screaming into mirrors while lifting weights they probably couldn’t control. No neon signs telling her to believe in herself while charging her three hundred dollars a month. Instead, the place looked like someone had taken a luxury hotel, a private training facility, and a very expensive art gallery and decided they belonged together. Black stone floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Equipment that looked like it cost more than her car. She glanced around. “Okay,” she muttered under her breath. “Either I’m about to get the best workout of my life, or I accidentally walked into the headquarters of a very attractive villain.” A few minutes later, a man approached the desk. Not the trainer she was expecting. Not even close. He was taller than she expected, dressed simply in black athletic clothes that somehow looked more expensive than anything she owned. His posture was calm, confident, and intimidating. This, is Jax Ashford.