Fighter's Heart

Scene 5

Lena

I underestimated Jase Rawlins when he came through my door this morning. I knew he was violent, and within a few seconds, I knew his ego could fill a room, but I ranked him lower on the annoyance scale than the dickheads I usually work with. Now I see I was wrong. Not only is he dangerous, he's also a first class pain in my ass.

Is he hamming it up in front of his manager because he doesn't want to admit he's worried, or is he actually this much of a jerk? If I get him alone, maybe he'll tone it down. It's worth a try.

"Why don't you and I talk in a private meeting room?" I suggest.

It's instantly obvious I've miscalculated. Jase looks me up and down, eyes blazing hot, and I fidget beneath his scrutiny. It's like the guy has x-ray vision and can see under my clothes. He practically smolders.

Off limits, I remind myself. He's a bully and a client. It doesn't get much more wrong for me than that.

His lips hitch up. "If you think being alone together will make us productive, then I'm down for that."

Regret filters through me, but I can't back out, so I nod, select a pen and notebook from my desk, and mask my jitters as I take him to the nearest interview room, leaving his manager behind. It's smaller than my office, and has no windows, only a round table and two chairs. When I sit, my back is to one wall and when Jase slides into the chair opposite, the door can barely close past his shoulder.

He's watching me curiously, as though I'm an exhibit at a science museum, and his fingers drum on the table. They're sturdy, to match his massive palms. Good for punching people—or choking them, I suppose. As I watch him, his lips part and his pupils expand, swallowing the light. This close, I can tell his irises are more gray than green, the color of slate.

He chuckles, the sound dark and lazy. "Are we going to start, or do you just plan to stare at me?"

My cheeks flame. This morning may be the least professional I've behaved in my life. Something about him provokes me. Perhaps it's his attitude. Perhaps it's the similarities to my ex. Whatever the case, I need to tread carefully so I open my notebook to the front page, where I keep my standard list of questions, and dive right in.

"What do you do with your spare time?"

"Eat and sleep."

I record his unhelpful answer and skip to the next question. "Do you drink or do drugs often?"

"No."

If I didn't know how disciplined fighters need to be during a training camp, I'd be dubious. Jase Rawlins looks like the type to party hard. "Is there anything in particular I should know that you haven't told me?"

He shrugs. We both know the answer to that. He hasn't told me a goddamn thing.

I swallow my irritation. "Are there any other women likely to be pissed off with you?"

"No." He stifles a yawn, as though I'm boring him. "Are we nearly done?"

I glance at my notepad. There are another twenty questions to go, and if he continues in the same vein, I'm going to get very little useful information out of him. Still, something is better than nothing.

"No." I circle the previous question, deciding to do my own research on the matter. If he's hit one woman, chances are he's hit another. "Do you donate to charity?"

"Yes."

Color me surprised. "To which organizations?"

"Doesn't matter."

How am I supposed to figure out what makes him tick if he blows off every question I ask? "Humor me."

He leans forward, and finally I seem to have captured his attention. "The two main ones are Albright Literacy Foundation and King's Sports Grants."

Interesting choices. Not the cookie cutter variety. Also, literacy? This guy? I don't see it. King's Sports Grants makes more sense. They give scholarships to kids from low socioeconomic backgrounds to give them a chance to train with the best.

"Do you mentor any kids in the program?"

"Nah." He holds his hands up, palms facing me. "I'm strictly a hands-off guy."

Of course he is. My upper lip curls. I shouldn't have expected anything different. Still, he must have some redeeming qualities. Everyone does. "Do you volunteer your time anywhere?"

"No."

"Have any pets?"

"Nope."

Snapping the notebook shut, I slam it on the table. "Mr. Rawlins, I can't help you if you won't let me."

"Call me Jase."

"No, thank you." That suggests a level of familiarity I'm not comfortable with.

He scans me, and I feel every hair that isn't in place but resist the urge to smooth them down. "Do you volunteer, Lena?"

I shift in the chair, uncomfortable with the way he's looking at me. "This isn't about me."

"There." He sits back, smiling smugly. "See? You hate being interrogated too. It's an invasion of privacy."

"It's my job." And he's clearly not going to make it any easier. Time to try another tactic. "Do you mind if I shadow you for the rest of the day?"