She asked another question. “You just fought five rounds with Gabriel Maddox last month. Are you ready for this fight? It’s only eight weeks away.”
“If Maddox had actually fought back, I might still be recovering. But I’m fresh.”
A few people booed, but he didn’t care. The press conference continued on, electricity still humming through the air. By the time it was over, anticipation for the fight was running high—at least among fans.
Leandro left the stage, his belt over his shoulder, ready to get the hell out of there. He’d been spit on, booed, and shown that Darcy didn’t respect his abilities as a fighter.
It was that last one that stung the most.
ASHLYNN SHOOK HER head as Leandro stormed off the stage. She hoped that his entitled behavior didn’t come back to bite them both in the ass. Craig had been very happy with the positive press Leandro had generated with his hospital visit, even patting her on the back and telling her she’d done a great job—no small feat where Craig Darcy was concerned. While showing up late and getting in a fight at the press conference probably wouldn’t make much of a blip as far as Leandro’s image was concerned, she had a feeling Craig would be pissed about it. He wasn’t one to tolerate disrespect.
Her fear was confirmed when Craig walked straight to her as he left the stage. His jaw was clenched and his eyes blazed in anger. “Your job is to keep him under control. That wasn’t under control, Ashlynn.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
Craig opened his mouth like he planned to say more, but thankfully a reporter interrupted them and she scooted past him. Dammit. She resented the fact that her livelihood was tied to the impulsive actions of a man-child.
Pushing through the crowd, she made her way backstage. At a couple of inches over six feet, Leandro should’ve been easy to spot as he moved through the crowded room. A flash caught her eye from the overhead lights, glinting on the gold of the championship belt he carried on his shoulder, and she saw his broad shoulders going out a door. “Leandro!” she called, but he either didn’t hear her or he ignored her and let the door close behind him.
Grumbling under her breath, she rushed after him. The door opened into a long corridor that led to other conference rooms. All of them were vacant, so the hallway was empty except for Leandro walking away from her. “Leandro!”
His long stride slowed down, as if he’d heard her but was reluctant to turn around.
“What the hell was that?” she asked when the door had closed behind her. He came to a stop and turned to face her when she walked up to him.
A muscle ticked in his jaw and he pointed toward the conference room. “That was Darcy disrespecting me.”
She scoffed. “That’s not what that was. You were late, Leandro, and instead of apologizing you walked in there like everyone owed you something.”
“The WFC does owe me something.” His brow furrowed as he stared down at her. “I came here because Darcy begged me to. He flew to Brazil, met my family, my coaches, toured my gym. He promised me the best fights against world-class opponents, a chance to show my skills.” He bit off the last word and looked away, trying to rein in his anger.
She hadn’t realized until then just how upset he was. He’d walked into the press conference late, all swagger and arrogance, throwing out insults like he enjoyed taunting Craig. Only now did she understand that anger, not petulance, had fueled that outburst. Well, not only petulance. Not wanting to make the situation worse, she gentled her tone. “And he’s delivered on his promise. You fought Maddox, the reigning champion, and won. Now you’re up against Murphy, who’s a huge celebrity. What more do you expect?”
Leandro laughed but was shaking his head. “I expect better than Murphy. He’s a joke. He has no real MMA experience; he’s famous for pretending to fight. It’s not the same thing, and it’s not worth my time. I don’t care how many fans he has, he shouldn’t be here, and he shouldn’t be fighting for the belt. You know what’s going to happen? I’m going to hit him, and he’s going to . . .” He squinted and then made a pfffffffffttttt sound. “Just like a balloon. I thought Maddox was a champion, but he was nothing. This will make twice times I’m fighting for the belt, and twice times I don’t get to prove myself.”
“Two times.”
He frowned. “What?”
“It’s two times. Not twice times.”
“Not the fucking point right now, Ashlynn.” His nostrils flared, impatience wafting off of him.
“I’m not sure I understand why you think Maddox is nothing. He’s a great fighter.”
“Was. Maddox was a great fighter. Do you know what the headlines were after I won?”
She shook her head.
“ ‘Maddox hands belt to Oliveira,’ ‘Maddox loses by decision,’ ‘Maddox headed for retirement, gives belt to Oliveira,’ and my favorite, ‘Maddox grants Oliveira the championship.’ Like he gave it to me. A fucking king choosing his . . .” He let out a frustrated sigh, clearly struggling for the right word. “Herdeiro.”
God, he’d memorized the headlines that ate him up—headlines that implied he hadn’t earned the belt. He wanted to prove himself; Nick had told her as much. And now Darcy was offering up what Leandro thought was a subpar fight. He wanted a challenge, but he’d been given a cakewalk. Ashlynn took in a breath, starting to understand the root of his anger. It made her breathe in his cologne, sending the butterflies swarming in her belly, so she took a step back. “That must be frustrating for you.”
His frown deepened, and he tilted his head as if he was suspicious of her attitude change.
“I didn’t realize that you felt cheated after fighting Maddox,” she said.
Some of his anger drained away, and his shoulders relaxed. He gave her a brief nod.
“But you fought well. You can be proud of that,” she said, surprised at her need to comfort him. Wasn’t she supposed to be tearing a strip off of him for his behavior at the press conference?
It was his turn to scoff. Muttering under his breath in Portuguese, he stalked down the hall a few steps, hands on his hips, before pacing back to her. “No, he wouldn’t fight me, so I’m not proud. He wouldn’t engage. Don’t you understand? They’re right.”
Ah. It wasn’t that the press thought he hadn’t earned it; it was that Leandro thought he hadn’t earned it. “Okay, well, you’ll prove to the press that you deserve the belt when you fight Murphy. He seemed pretty happy to fight you just now. I don’t think he’ll spend the whole fight dodging you. Maybe you’ll even get a knockout.”
Mentioning Murphy only seemed to make him angry all over again. His jaw clenched as he said, “Murphy is Darcy’s way of telling me to fuck off. This is him telling me he can control me, that he calls the shots.”
The fact that he genuinely believed what he was saying made her heart clench for him. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm before she could stop herself. “I really don’t think that’s it.”
He glanced at her hand, and she could feel the solid muscle move under her fingers. She had the strangest urge to give it a squeeze but let her hand fall away.
“Darcy thinks that if he keeps the real championship fight dangling in front of me that he can keep me in line. He knows that I want to prove myself and that Murphy isn’t the way to do it. He thinks I’ll be a good little monkey as long as I’m waiting for that chance. The fight with Murphy is about eyeballs and money, nothing more.”
She swallowed, suddenly afraid that Leandro had taken Craig’s action as some sort of challenge and her job was about to get a lot more difficult. But she had to admit, she understood his frustration. “You’re right. Declan Murphy is a huge name in wrestling, and fans are eager to see him make his WFC debut. The fight will bring in a huge viewership, and probably lots of money from sponsors and ticket sales. It’s not fair to you that he gets to fight for the championship right away, not when you deserve a more worthy opponent.”
He shook his head, the anger in his eyes giving
way to something she couldn’t name. Something genuine that made her think she was seeing the real Leandro for the first time. His gaze swept over her face, leaving her skin tingling everywhere it touched. Finally, his eyes met hers and he said, “Darcy wants to control me.”
As if anyone could. Maybe she should ask Darcy for some tips, since she was completely failing. She was already opening her mouth to say that before she stopped herself. Leandro was wild. He did what he wanted when he wanted. Something about that appealed to her, but she locked that thought away. Now that she’d heard his side of things, she knew he was right. Why else would Craig schedule a fight that wouldn’t challenge Leandro? “I know it sucks to wait, but you’ll fight Murphy in a few weeks. You’ll beat him easily, get a new fight lined up, and everything will work out.”
He shook his head. “He’s wasting my time. I didn’t come here for this.”
She stepped forward and touched his arm again, unable to stop herself. “What can I do to help?”
He smirked down at her, the light in his eyes taking on a devilish gleam. He leaned forward, his breath rustling her hair as he spoke. “I could use a distraction right now. Since I’m having such a horrible day.”
A shiver ran through her as tons of ideas played through her mind, each of them dirtier than the one before it. Her gaze darted down to his full lips, briefly imagining how soft they’d be before she dragged her attention back up. Deep down she knew that giving in to their attraction wouldn’t be the best idea, but somehow they kept ending up close like this, and she was having more and more trouble remembering why she needed to stay away from him. “I think we both know that would be a horrible idea.”
He shook his head, biting his lower lip before he said, “I don’t think either of us thinks that.” He shifted, drawing closer without touching her. “You know it would be the best night of your life.”
She did know that. It would be so easy to give in to him, but she couldn’t. Too much was at stake. Her professionalism. Her future with the WFC. Not to mention that she was pretty sure he only wanted her as a means of controlling her. Dropping her hand from his arm, she forced herself to take a step backward. He smirked. Of course he knew what he did to her. “I meant with Craig. What can I do to help you with Craig?”
He shrugged. “There’s nothing you can do, minha linda.”
The door to the conference room opened. “There you are, mano. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
They both turned to see Thiago walking toward them. His brow furrowed as he noticed her. Instead of continuing in English he switched to Portuguese, his eyes cutting back to her as he spoke. Clearly he wasn’t happy to see her talking to Leandro. Ashlynn didn’t care, though. She was happy that someone had interrupted them.
“I’ll talk to you later, Leandro. Keep yourself out of trouble. Please,” she added, hoping that he might take pity on her and want to make her job easier.
Leandro nodded and answered Thiago in Portuguese, though she could feel his eyes on her ass as she walked away, and she savored the sensation because it was probably as close as they’d ever get to exploring the attraction between them. As she opened the door, she glanced over her shoulder to see she’d been right. Leandro’s gaze was positively smoldering as he watched her. She couldn’t help but smile as she hurried inside. Nothing could ever come of the chemistry that sizzled between them, but it didn’t hurt to look, right?
5
ASHLYNN HUNG UP the phone and rubbed her tired eyes. She’d been at her cubicle at the WFC headquarters all day trying to mitigate some of the damage from the press conference. The hit to Leandro’s image hadn’t been as extreme as some of the other things he’d done in recent memory—fighters trading insults at a press conference wasn’t anything new. But after the sex tape, the illegal street racing, and the strip club incident, every little bit of damage tended to have double the impact.
It hadn’t helped that MMA Australia, one of the largest mixed martial arts news sites in the world, had slammed Leandro’s behavior and taken Murphy’s side in the dispute. She’d just spent the past half hour on the phone with the editorial director basically groveling for some good PR. They’d refused to retract the post but had promised to publish an interview with Leandro letting him tell his side of the story.
At least she’d lined up other promising interviews for him. She arched her back, stretching out her shoulders as she looked down at the list she’d made on a legal pad: six new interviews in addition to the upcoming press tour. Not bad work for an afternoon.
“ ‘10 Things You Never Knew About Leandro Oliveira.’ ” Leandro’s voice was unmistakable as he read the title of the article displayed on her laptop’s screen. She’d been writing it when the editor from Australia had returned her call.
Ashlynn gasped and spun around in her chair to see him leaning against the low wall separating her work space from the one next to her. He was smirking at her.
“Are you chasing me, Ashlynn?” He seemed pleased with himself.
Chasing? “Um . . . no?”
His smirk stayed firmly in place and he gestured at the screen. “You’re looking up my information online.”
The figurative light bulb clicked on. “Do you mean am I stalking you?” she asked.
He frowned, and she gave herself a point for wiping the smug smile off his face.
“I’m not stalking you either.” Though she could feel her face getting red. She’d spent more time than she wanted to admit Googling him. She’d kept getting distracted by all the modeling photos. She turned back toward her computer as she spoke. “I’m writing this in hopes that Cosmo or BuzzFeed will pick it up.” She had a friend who worked at Cosmo and planned for the article to be sitting in her inbox in the morning.
He leaned forward and she mumbled an “oh” as he placed one hand on the back of her chair and reached for her mouse with the other. “Let’s see what you have so far.”
She stared at the screen as he leaned over her. Her heart beat in her ears as his cologne set her every nerve ending on fire. How did he smell so damn good all the time? The scent of his soap was mixed with the cologne and she realized his hair was damp, as if he’d just taken a shower. “It’s nothing really. Just a few things I—”
“ ‘Number one: He once donated a library of books to a school for orphans in Brazil.’ ” He read the first line aloud and scrolled down. There was a picture of a school just outside São Paulo with a link to the article she’d found.
“That was very nice of you,” she said.
“Number two,” he continued, not acknowledging her compliment. “He’s a model in his spare time.” He smiled and scrolled down to the picture underneath. Oh God! Her eyes widened as she remembered the photo she’d pasted there: Leandro in a Speedo on a beach in Brazil. “This . . .” He broke off in a laugh when his naked torso appeared on the screen. She’d chosen an image of him pulling himself up out of the ocean. Water streamed down his chest and emphasized his six-pack and the impressive bulge in his Speedo. “This is the photo you chose?”
Embarrassed, she stood, knocking his hand off the mouse as she slammed her laptop closed. “It’s a placeholder. They’re free to choose another image. That’s why I included the link to the series.”
He was still laughing, but he stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “I model more than Speedos.”
Her face was flaming as she reached under the desk to grab her laptop bag. She glanced around the room and realized that her lamp was the only one on. Even the door to Craig’s office down the hall was closed, his windows dark. The clock on the wall read nine forty-five. How had it gotten so late? “The idea is to give everyone something more to talk about than your bad behavior. A swimsuit works better than a polo.”
That bulge would have everyone talking, which was partly why she’d used that particular photo. She was risking the chance that it might bring his sex tape back to life, but she hoped that including some of his philanthropy in the articl
e would balance that out. She’d also included information about his guest role on a famous Brazilian soap opera, that his older brother had played soccer for Brazil in the Olympics, that he’d been named one of South America’s most eligible bachelors, and that some of his adrenaline junkie hobbies included cliff diving, surfing, and rock climbing. She’d ended the article with a mention of his visit to the children’s hospital.
“But I thought everyone was already talking about the size of my—”
“What are you doing here so late?” She wasn’t 100 percent sure where he was going, but there was no way she was having a conversation with him about the monster in his pants. Zipping up her bag and grabbing her cell phone, she turned to leave.
“Late workout. I noticed you were still here. I hope you’re not working late because of me.” He managed to look genuinely concerned with his furrowed brow and puppy dog eyes.
Damn, how did he do that? He’d gone from smug to sensitive in the blink of an eye. “You do make my job challenging.” She smiled. “But without you getting into trouble, Craig might not need the extra PR help, so I can’t complain.”
He smiled back at her, but it wasn’t smug. This time it was just a smile, a beautiful one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look less like a god and more like a stunningly gorgeous mortal. “Was the press conference so bad?”
She shook her head. “No, but I lined up a few extra interviews.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not more interviews.”
“You do these interviews without complaining and we’re even. Because I am working late because of you. Deal?”
He mumbled something in Portuguese, but then he nodded. “Deal. I’ll walk you to your car.” He bent over to pick up his gym bag.
“Okay, thanks,” she said and took the lead down the hallway. Since the press conference two days ago, she’d been trying and failing to forget how they’d connected outside the conference room. She’d started to see his side of things, and she was finding it more difficult to keep her barriers up around him. Which would’ve been fine, except she needed her barriers to keep her away from him—at least while they were working together.
No Contest Page 5
