Fighter's Heart

Scene 4

Jase

Oh, she's hating this situation, and her sour expression makes my day. Lena thinks she's better than me, and she's dying inside with every word she says. I'm sure it makes me a bad person to take joy from her pain, but at this point I've got to get my thrills wherever I can. Everything else about today has been shitty.

"I'll think about it," I reply, wondering how far I can push before she snaps. There's fire beneath that frosty exterior, and I want a front row seat when it ignites. Nick shoots me a look. Killjoy. "Okay. Partners." I stick my hand out, and she surprises me by taking it. I half expect her to spit on me. As we touch, my nerves zing, and a muscle spasm shoots from my hand to my shoulder. Flinching, I let her go, and scowl when she wipes her hand primly on her skirt.

Jesus, what just happened? Is something wrong with my arm? I can't afford to be in less than peak physical condition the week before a fight. I shake it, but everything feels fine now and when I tense the muscles one by one and wriggle my fingers, they seem to be in working order.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Lena asks, maintaining a solid three feet of distance between us as she heads for her desk. A sweet scent like vanilla ice cream wafts in her wake, and I can't help dragging it into my lungs to savor. She gestures to the chair directly across from her. "Sit."

I sit. Nick stays where he is.

"Good boy."

Great, now she's treating me like a dog. At least dogs get pats. I doubt I can convince her to pet me. Worth a shot though. I loll my tongue out and pant.

She is not amused. "Grow up, Rawlins."

"I'm plenty grown up, cutie pie." If she can't see that the body behind my clothes is all man, that's her loss. Besides, I've got to be older than her. The creamy, unmarred skin of her forehead gives her away. Of course, my perception could be skewed because most of the faces I see have taken some hard knocks.

She sighs and glances at the ceiling as though begging the universe for patience. "Why don't you share your side of the story?"

"Nuh-uh." I shake my head. "Not gonna happen."

She stacks her hands one on top of the other and leans forward. "Why not?"

Because she won't listen. They never listen. Once a person's mind is made up, there's little I can do to change it, and she already believes I'm the bad guy. It's evident in every impatient tap of her foot, and the slight narrowing of her eyes. She doesn't want to know the truth, she just wants me to feed her a line of bullshit she can sell to the media. An excuse. But excuses are for the guilty.

I don't tell her any of this though. What's the point? Instead, I shrug. "Can't be bothered."

Her hands twitch, fingers curling as though she's imagining wrapping them around my throat. The image is so ludicrous I have to laugh.

"You think this is funny?" she asks.

"Come on, it is a little." This only seems to make her madder. "You should try it," I suggest. "Take a shot at me. See how much damage you can do." I'm goading her, but I know she won't respond.

Predictably, she notches up the ice factor. "I'm a professional, Mr. Rawlins, and for me to do my job, I need you to tell me the truth."

"Now I'm 'mister'?"

Cue eye-roll of epic proportions. I'm growing worried she might actually invert her eyeballs. That would be a shame. They're pretty. Nick clears his throat, loudly and vigorously.

I swivel to face him. "You all right, there?"

He sighs. "Remember why you're here, Jase."

Seth.

"Fine." Turning back to Lena, I try to be reasonable, for Seth's sake. "I know you want to do your job, Lena, but I'm not the kind of guy to gossip or share rumors. To be honest with you, I don't see the point in any PR stunts because Erin will find someone else to harass eventually. She's just enjoying her five minutes of fame, and as long as I play it cool, it will die off. If I try to fight back, it will just confirm the rumors. I'd be better off training for my big fight against Karson Hayes next Friday."

She cringes when I say Karson Hayes's name. Or is that my imagination? I study her, looking for a hint of discomfort but she's cool as a cucumber at a cocktail party.

"I've been trying to tell you, Jase." Her face scrunches with something like pity. "This isn't going to go away like you think it is."

"You don't know that." She doesn't know Erin the way I do.

"I'll be the first to admit, I don't know everything," she begins, and when I laugh, she smiles in response. A cascade of tremors stir in my belly. Strange. I poke one of my abs but it feels firm, the same as usual.

"But," she continues, "this is my field of expertise. Yours is MMA; mine is public perception. I wouldn't get in a cage and expect to have any outcome other than getting clobbered. If you try to manage this on your own, you'll be the one taking a clobbering, if you get my meaning. Shall we each agree to stick to what we know?"

It's a good analogy, but unfortunately now I'm picturing elegant Lena in an octagon, wearing nothing but shorts, a sports bra, and a snarl. She'd be fierce. She's totally underestimating her mean streak.

"So, what you're saying is, me ignoring this would be equivalent to you getting in the ring with Killer Karson?"

This time, she doesn't cringe when I mention the other fighter's name, but something flickers behind her eyes. "Essentially, yes."

I whistle. "Have you seen him fight? I've been in the ring with him. The guy is nasty, but this time, I'm going to make him my bitch."

Her palms slam onto the table, side by side. "I can't work with you if you're going to be like this."

The jab strikes true. "Fine by me."

She groans, and fuck, I want to hear her makethat noise in another setting. One with a bed and significantly fewer clothes. "You.Are. Impossible."