Saved (A Standalone Romance) (A Savery Brother Book)

by Naomi Niles

  “Given the state of the economy, I’d say we’re doing okay.” I took a sip of my drink, thinking. Attendance at our fights had flat-lined within the past year, but at least it remained stable.

  “It’s a bad time to be in business, just in general,” said Randy. “Every day I read stories about how some once-prominent restaurant or department store is shutting its doors. The film industry is in decline, the NFL, fast food, publishing, nobody goes to church anymore… There are so many other things competing for our wallets and eyes, and frankly kids today are so glued to their smartphones they’ve lost interest in going out, in shopping, in the sorts of things that used to keep this economy ticking.”

  I nodded along, having heard some variation of this speech at least a dozen times before. Randy was given to dark, apocalyptic moods that made him seem fussy and old-fashioned. He felt a keen sense of loss for the things of his youth, a sense that the world was changing in ways he was powerless to control.

  “Well, it’s not just their smartphones,” I said. “It’s true that the entertainment industry has become a formidable opponent. Mass media and the internet have gotten frighteningly good at stealing our attention. But the reason we’re not giving money to those other industries is because we can’t afford to. My friends are having to work two jobs just to put together enough money to pay rent. We barely have enough left over for groceries.”

  “I hear you,” said Randy. “I wish I knew of a solution. I really do.”

  Reaching into my handbag, I pulled out my laptop and opened up the Excel sheet in question. “It would be great if we could increase our attendance levels.”

  “It would. Lately, I get the sense that people aren’t as interested in MMA fighting as they used to be.” He retrieved an orange from inside his desk and began to unpeel it. “Same is true with wrestling. It’s old hat.”

  I could think of a few reasons for that, though I knew better than to voice them aloud. Like wrestling and football, MMA fighting was masculine and hostile and aggressive—a barbarous relic of a world that was dying.

  “If we want to spike our attendance,” I said, “we may have to shake up our routine a little.”

  Randy peered intently at me from behind his glasses. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, we’ve been circulating the same five or six players for years now. It would be great if we could get some fresh blood, some charismatic up-and-comers.”

  He nodded gravely. “No, I think you’re absolutely right about that. In fact, I was thinking about flying down to Florida over the weekend and scouting out some new talent. I’d love it if you could come with me—that is, if you haven’t already made plans for the weekend.”

  I had no plans, other than to write. “No, I’d love to. It’s been ages since I’ve been to Florida. Last time I was there, the Wizarding World was just opening.” We had shown up with almost no money in our pockets, and Rennie had convinced them to let us into the park for free.

  “Yeah, isn’t that just the darndest thing?” Randy shook his head. “I really thought the place would fold after a few years when the world lost interest in Harry Potter. But they love it. I mean, they absolutely love it.”

  As soon as I left work that afternoon, I called Rennie.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she asked. I could hear what sounded like the whirring of a drill in the background.

  “Nothing, I just left work and wanted to see where you were.”

  “You ought to come down to the parlor. I’m just finishing up with my last customer, and then I was thinking about heading down to the West End. It’s Friday happy hour, and wings are half off.”

  “Sounds cool.” I told her about how Randy and I were flying out to Florida over the weekend.

  “Oo, la, la,” said Rennie, so suggestively I could almost hear her eyebrows wagging. “I guess you won’t be getting any writing done this weekend.”

  “No, probably not.”

  “Where are you going to be staying?”

  “We’re flying into Orlando at noon.”

  “One hotel room or two?”

  I cringed inwardly at the thought. “Hopefully two. I love Randy and all, but I definitely don’t want to spend a night in the same room with my boss.”

  “Well, you had better stay vigilant,” she said sagely. “It sounds to me like he wants some of that good good.”

  “Eww!” I exclaimed, but I had an uneasy feeling that she was right.

  Chapter Three

  Braxton

  When I reached the FAF training gym on the following morning, it had finally stopped raining. A pale sun shone overhead like a rindless orange.

  I stumbled through the motions of my daily workout feeling sore and exhausted, trying to ignore the blare of the stereo at the front desk. Between the police and the girl and the cat waking me up at five-thirty am like clockwork, I hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep the night before. I wanted badly to go home and rest.

  If there was one thing about me I could have changed, it would have to be my hair-trigger temper. Especially on mornings like this when I was running on so little sleep, even the smallest thing could set me off.

  But that stereo was so loud. Or maybe it just seemed loud because I was tired. The person running the desk this morning was a college student who couldn’t have been any older than nineteen, and she had turned the stereo to one of those godawful funk stations that plays the same dozen songs on loop. I sat through all of “Kung Fu Fighting” and “Funkytown” before I decided I’d finally had enough.

  My irritation mounted as I approached the front desk and found she was on her phone.

  “Yeah, tell them we want two tickets to Glastonbury… The tenth and eleventh… I think we could probably stay in a hostel if they’re not overbooked…”

  “Hey,” I said, blood pounding. “Hey!”

  “Hang on, Sar, I’ll call you right back.” She hung up the phone, giving me a bored look. “Can I help you?”

  “Would you mind turning that off? Or turning it to something else?”

  She stared up at me for a moment as though having to think about it. “Some of us are listening to it.”

  “Yeah, well, some of us don’t like it. So if you could just—” It was taking all my strength of will not to reach over and turn it off myself.

  “What would you like me to play?” From the tone of her voice, I got the impression she was quietly mocking me.

  “Just anything where I don’t have to hear Gloria Gaynor or Kool and the Gang. I don’t care what it is!”

  “Okay, guy.” She switched to an indie station playing Sleater-Kinney.

  Still feeling irritated but no longer having a reason to complain, I turned and stormed off toward the elliptical trainer. At around the same time, Nick walked in looking wan and hungover, one hand pressed to his temple as though trying to stifle a headache.

  “You doing alright?” I asked him.

  Nick shook his head. Vin Diesel glared coldly from the front of his t-shirt, as though blaming me for his bad night. “I shouldn’t have drunk as much as I did last night. But I suppose we must all pay for our sins. How about yourself?”

  “Still paying for mine,” I replied.

  “Yeah? How late were you and her up last night?”

  “Until about four. She must’ve slipped out right after I fell asleep, too, because when I woke up an hour later, I found her panties lying on the floor by the door.”

  “And she wasn’t wearing them?”

  “No. I threw ‘em in the lost-and-found and fed the cat.”

  “How many times a day does your cat eat?”

  “Too many. But at least I didn’t get totally wasted and then have to come in for training the next morning.”

  “Hey, you know what?” said Nick loudly, his breath smelling of tequila and jealousy—she had clearly been interested in him until I showed up. “At least I didn’t spend half the night in police custody!”

  This was a fair point
, though of course, I wasn’t going to admit it. I turned back to the trainer, wishing I didn’t have to work out and that I could hang out and harass Nick for the next hour. The stereo at the front of the room was now playing Bon Iver, which was only slightly less irritating than Kool and the Gang.

  “Do you ever feel like maybe your temper is going to land you in trouble someday?” asked Nick as he stepped onto the Stairmaster.

  “Why, do I seem angry?”

  “No more than usual. You’ve always got steam coming out of your ears like in a cartoon.”

  “In that case, maybe I should see a doctor.”

  The conversation might have gone on in this vein if Coach Aardman hadn’t come in at that moment. Aardman was pushing fifty and had only recently become a personal trainer when the university at which he had worked for over twenty years was forced to close owing to state budget cuts. As a result, he had grown cynical and bitter.

  “Big news,” said Aardman in an emotionless voice. “Carrathurs is making a visit next week to see how well you perform when pitted against each other.”

  “You mean the president?” said Nick.

  “You mean the two of us?” I asked.

  “Not necessarily the two of you,” said Aardman. His eyes were watery gobs, and it looked like he had recently been crying. “You’ll be sparring with some of the other fighters. Carrathurs is apparently looking for some fresh talent.”

  I stood there in silence for a moment, trying to process this new information. I knew I was viciously talented in the octagon, but I had long since given up hope of anyone else recognizing the fact. Now I was being presented a chance to prove myself and maybe ascend higher in the company.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a noise of retching a few yards away. Nick, his face an odd shade of green, was vomiting copiously into a trash can.

  Aardman and I stood watching him with looks of only mild interest. I looked over at Aardman, whose eyes were still watering.

  “You okay, coach?” I asked him.

  “Yeah. New contacts,” he replied, not very convincingly, and stalked away looking embarrassed.

  Chapter Four

  Jaimie

  I spent the rest of the evening panicking over the Florida trip. It wasn’t just that I hated flying; although that was part of it.

  “I’m not saying he wants into your pants,” said Rennie as we sat talking in the shadowy tattoo parlor after hours. “But when a boss invites a subordinate of the opposite sex on a business trip, he’s usually got one thing on his mind.”

  I blanched at the thought. If only someone else was going with us, I wouldn’t have worried so much. But we would be traveling alone, and I didn’t relish having to tell him that I wanted separate rooms.

  Rennie could see the fear on my face. “If you’re really that worried about it, then you ought to let him know. Put your foot down.”

  But we both knew how unlikely this was. I had trouble standing up to my own mother, let alone the president of a company who also happened to be my boss.

  “What am I going to say, exactly? ‘No, I don’t want to sleep with you?’”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “What if he fires me on the spot, and I have to find my own way back to Colorado? He holds all the power in this relationship.”

  “Yes, but you have the power to say no. And if he’s a good man, he’ll respect that. And if not, you can find yourself a new boss.”

  Ren was so used to getting her own way that sometimes she had trouble understanding the struggles of the less assertive. “Not everyone can just walk into a place of business and demand to be hired. You have some kind of superpower that us mortals can only gawk at.”

  “We,” said Ren, smiling. “We mortals.”

  “Right. I just wish he was still married because then we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “But on some level, you must enjoy the attention, no? It’s flattering to be liked by your boss.”

  “Maybe to some people. I’m just there to do my job. And I’m not even sure why he’s taking me on this trip because you don’t need an accountant to help pick out a new fighter.”

  “He definitely likes you,” said Ren. She stood in front of the mirror applying eyeliner. “You have no business being there, and yet he invited you because he likes your company. That’s an obvious tell.”

  “So what do I do?” I exclaimed.

  Ren shrugged. “You’ll just have to wait and see what he does. I suppose there are worse things than sleeping with one’s boss.” Seeing the horrified look on my face, she added, “I’m kidding! Please don’t sleep with him.”

  “I’m not planning to!”

  “Anyway,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a tube of lip gloss, “at least you’ll have something to write about when you get home on Monday. Isn’t that what you wanted: material for your books?”

  “I don’t think I should have to walk into the lion’s den to get material for my books. I should just be able to sit at home and come up with stuff like you do. How do you do that, anyway?”

  Ren shrugged as if she wasn’t entirely sure herself. “I just sit around a lot and do a lot of thinking. Also, I limit my computer time and go on a walk every day, and I leave my phone at home.”

  “Brilliant,” I said, incredulous.

  “It helps. If he starts hitting on you too bad, just call me, and I’ll fly down there and put the fear of God into him.” She punched a hand into her fist menacingly.

  “I think you could just call him and it would put the fear of God into him,” I pointed out. “Don’t you remember how you spoke to the cashier this morning? He looked terrified.”

  “I don’t know if I would say ‘terrified,’” said Ren, smiling at herself in the mirror, “but he didn’t argue. That’s how you’ve got to be with Randy.”

  “Don’t argue with him?”

  “No, you’ve got to be tough! You’ve got to make him wish he had never tried to hit on you.”

  ***

  But for most of the trip, Randy sat quietly beside me eating peanuts out of a paper bag and reading an informative brochure on Disney World. His legs were slightly too long for the seat in which we were sitting, so he sat with his knees pressed against the seat in front of him, much to the discomfort of an older woman in a straw hat.

  “This is just marvelous,” he murmured in awe as we flew over Arkansas. “Apparently Disney World is the largest single-site employer in the United States, with over 50,000 employees. And you don’t even see them, for the most part. How do they do that?”

  “I think they have an underground tunnel system where most of the workers hang out.”

  “Yeah, I was just getting to that part.” He turned over a page or two, marveling at the colorful pictures and reminding me of a little boy reading a book about dinosaurs. “Here’s something I bet you probably didn’t know: in terms of square acreage, Disney World is roughly the size of Boston and twice the size of Manhattan.”

  “You’re right; I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s just incredible. It’s just—how did they do that? It says here Disney World owns the third-largest bus system in the state of Florida.”

  “I’m surprised it’s not the first.”

  “I know, right?” He chuckled to himself. “The whole place is just so big!”

  I sat back in my seat and released the breath I had been holding in. It was hard to feel panicked when he was feeling so cheerful. Though it did raise a question. “Randy?” I asked.

  “What’s up?”

  “Are we actually going to Disney World?”

  Randy hesitated for a moment. “I mean, I was thinking about it. Would you want to?”

  “Maybe.” I hadn’t been since my sophomore year of high school. I remembered it being a magical place, and I was afraid of being disappointed if I went back now.

  “We’ll see how we’re feeling when we land,” said Randy. “We’re both probably going to
be tired and hungry, and I suspect we’ll want to take a nap before we mosey over there.”

  This seemed like as good a time as any to broach the question that was foremost on my mind. “Did you book separate rooms?”

  Randy sat frozen for a second as though not understanding the question. “Oh, of course!” A shock of understanding flashed over his face. “Did you really think—”

  And he laughed so long and loud that the woman in front of us turned and glared at him.

  “No, I wasn’t going to make you share a room with me!” The tone of his voice suggested that he found the idea preposterous. “Maybe if we were two guys and we were trying to cut down on expenses—but I figure a woman probably wants a room to herself. Unless—” He added in a lower voice, “Did you want to share a room?”

  “No, I’m good!” I said quickly. “Two rooms are perfect.”

  “And to be honest, we probably aren’t even going to be in our rooms a lot of the time. We’ve got this meeting at seven-thirty, but first I would like to get dinner and hit up the Magic Kingdom, maybe MGM… I’m curious to see how the Wizarding World is coming along since I’ve only seen pictures. Apparently, business is booming.”

  “Yeah, somehow, even in this economy.”

  “When I heard they were building one in Florida,” said Randy, “my first thought was, ‘why?’ I feel like a Harry Potter theme park should be built somewhere more northerly where it’s cold and snowy and gloomy. Having pristine blue Florida skies overhead totally takes me out of the illusion.”

  “Yeah, a bit. But the butterbeer is excellent.” I felt so relieved I didn’t particularly care where we went or what we did. I hadn’t been looking forward to this trip until about three minutes before. Now there was a chance—even if it was just a small one—that I might enjoy my weekend.

  ***

  Randy proved to be a funny and entertaining companion. He studied the Magic Kingdom with the eye of a businessman, marveling at the cut of the paving stones and the color of the paint on the buildings the way a twelve-year-old boy might marvel at Splash Mountain.

  “Mansard roofs,” he said to me as we walked down Main Street in the warmth of a late April day. “Can you believe it?” At one point as we were walking through Adventureland, he paused in front of a row of flower planters standing outside the Skipper Canteen and started rattling off the names of the flowers: larkspur, lobelia, petunia. “Maybe if we had more of an eye for beauty,” he said, “we would draw more young people.”