by Ellie Danes
* * * * *
I awoke the next morning to the ringing of my room phone.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Rollins, there’s a man waiting for you by the name of Tristan Thorne. He requests that you meet him at the East Pub.”
“Yes, tell him I'll be down in thirty minutes. Thank you.”
I pushed myself from the bed and headed sleepily to the shower. I was clean from taking a shower before bed, but I needed the water to hit my face just to wake me up fully. Once I stepped out, I ran a towel over my hair, got dressed, and made my way down to the East Pub. It was barely after noon, and the moment I stepped into the elevator, my first thought went to the beauty I’d met the night before. Zoey. Just thinking about her put a huge grin on my face. I pulled out my phone and began to text.
Meet me at 1:30 at the Montford? Please?
I hit send and watched the little bubbles moving. That sports agent was waiting for me, but I wanted to see Zoey’s response, first.
Since you asked nicely. See you then.
I smiled and shoved my phone into my back pocket. I walked across the room, eating up the distance quickly, and dropped my body into the chair across from two men. I recognized the one who had barged into my dressing room after the fight, Tristan Thorne, but I had never seen the other.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rollins. This is my business associate, Bruce Elliott,” Thorne said. “We will be the team handling all of your needs if you choose to sign with us.”
I nodded in the other man’s direction, but didn’t make an effort to shake his hand. I looked them over. They were both dressed in suits I was certain they didn't get by being poor. “Tell me exactly what it is that you want,” I said.
“We want to represent your interests over the next two years. We have put together a contract that we would like for you to read over. We recommend you talk it over with a lawyer when you get home. We have a long-standing reputation with many professional athletes that is nothing short of superb. Our goal is to help you land the fights you want and deserve, as well as help you secure the sponsorship deals you want. I assure you, we have your best interests at heart. There are already whispers on the pipeline that ProFit protein wants to talk to you.”
I raised my eyebrows. That was a surprise development.
Thorne continued, “One fight was all it took to make your career go through the roof, and ProFit wants to use up-and-coming athletes. If we can get you on board with them, we are talking millions over the next several years. The endorsements will come in, and we will negotiate them for you. It's our job and what we get paid to do. We would also negotiate your fight contracts. You deserve the big ring and the main events after your performance last night. It’s easy to see why you’ve moved up the ranks so quickly the last two years.”
“So, you want me to pay you to do what I can do myself?” I said.
“You could do it yourself,” he said. “I have no doubt you have the ability. But you don’t know the ins and outs of how some of these companies will try to get something for nothing, and there’s always fine print. Sadly, going it alone could also mean you end up broke like Marv Johnson. All it takes is one bad deal. If you want to navigate this alone, that’s your call. But I can guarantee that you would not be represented as effectively for your bank account as if you allow us to do it for you.”
Thorne was right. Marv Johnson was broke. It took me a minute to think about that. Johnson had fought and won fights that should have padded his bank account for the rest of his life. Instead, he was living with his brother and had lost his fortune while trying to get out of an endorsement contract that went south.
“So, let me get this straight, you get half my money, and I get you and your legal team?” I asked.
“Not half. Around twenty percent of the deals we broker. If you break it down, it's what you would pay a lawyer anyway, but you get us fighting for you and connecting you with the right people to boost your career.”
“I'll have to go over this with my dad. He’s my manager.”
“Absolutely, please bring him into the discussion. When you’re ready to move this along, we can fly you guys in, answer any questions, and take care of everything for you.”
“Is that it?” I asked. I was feeling a little uncomfortable. Yes, I wanted to be rich—who didn't? But the kind of money they were talking hadn't even been a blip on my radar. I just wanted to make enough to drive a nice car and provide for my family.
He pushed an envelope across the table and stood. “That’s it,” he replied, reaching his hand out. This time, I shook it. “I look forward to speaking with you soon,” he added.
“Yeah. I’ll be in touch.” I moved from behind the table, took the envelope, and headed back to my room. After dropping the envelope on the table next to my bed, I made a beeline for the one place I actually wanted to be. The Montford.
Chapter Six
Zoey
I strolled into the large hotel, following the overhead signs as I moved through the crowds of people. The Montford restaurant was technically in the hotel next door, but the entrance was not. I made it to the front, gave the lady my name, and she told me that our table wasn’t quite ready and that my dining partner had not yet arrived.
To kill some time, I walked around the front of the restaurant located within the back lobby and read the show posters of the acts and events that would be coming up. The fight poster from the night before caught my attention, so I wandered over to it, thinking I’d at least read the names and jar my memory. That’s when I saw his face—a face I couldn’t mistake. After all, I’d spent nearly an hour staring at it the evening before and a glorious minute kissing those lips.
I looked down at the name again. Ryder Rollins. He was the fighter that had beaten Tate last night. I stepped back and placed my hand over my heart. I immediately felt a twinge of anger. Like I’d been lied to. Maybe by omission, but lied to all the same. I turned to leave, and almost ran right into his brick wall of a chest.
“Hey there, you ready?” he asked, smiling.
I just looked at him for a few seconds, then started pointing at the poster behind me, still a little in shock. “You—you're—you're him.” I struggled to get the words out.
“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. When he recognized my confusion, he looked concerned.
“Why didn't you tell me?” I questioned him.
“I don't know,” he said with a shrug. “When you said you weren't a fan of fighting, I didn’t want to scare you away, so I figured I’d let you meet me first and then we could talk about the fighting.”
I moved to the left and tried to get around him.
“Zoey, wait.”
“No, I can't start this with a lie.”
“There wasn't a lie. You didn't ask me what I did, exactly.”
“You said you were here for the fight, not fighting.”
“Technically, I was here for the fight.”
“Seriously? Ugh.” I pulled away again.
“Just have lunch with me and let's talk about this. I wanted to see you again, and I was afraid that if I said ‘hey that was me in the ring tonight,’ you would have run for the hills. Which is exactly what you’re doing.”
“I'm not running.” I stopped, turned on my heel and at looked at him. He was pleading with his eyes and I softened a little.
“Please, just lunch. Scout’s honor,” he said.
“You were not a boy scout.”
“Eagle, actually.” He smiled, and looked rather adorable, like a kid proud of getting an answer right in math class.
I was immediately mad at myself for thinking this man was simple when he appeared to be far from it. Could I learn more about him, but protect my heart at the same time?
“Fine.” I moved around him toward the restaurant. I saw the smile spread over his face as I passed him. He fell in behind me.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rollins,” the hostess said. “We have your table ready.”
“Than
k you.” He had his hand on my lower back in an intimate gesture as we followed the hostess through the restaurant. When we reached our table, he pulled my chair out and waited for me to sit. Once more, he was proving he was a gentleman.
Looking around, I felt a tad underdressed in my sundress. He, on the other hand, was once again wearing suit pants and a crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. I studied his arms as he spoke to a waiter who had magically appeared at our table the moment we did. He ordered wine, and I did my best to maintain the heat racing through me. I couldn't help it. He was moving his hands as he talked. The movement of his smooth skin over his muscles was fascinating. I had never seen someone with arms so muscular, especially not up close.
When he stopped talking to the waiter, he also stopped moving his hands and arms. I altered my attention to meet his eyes. His sea-blue eyes were smiling at me.
“Is everything okay?” he asked with a smirk.
“I've just never seen anyone as…large as you are.” I fumbled with my words, not wanting to come across too weird.
He chuckled. “Trust me, I’m not that big. More medium when it comes to fighter standards.”
“I don't understand how someone as big as you are can move as fast as you do.”
“I thought you missed my fight last night.” He smiled.
“I did, but I heard all about it. And if you are this big and you can move that fast, it's a little intimidating.”
“I don't fight people outside of the ring…anymore.” He grinned playfully. “When I was younger and a bouncer, I didn’t always have a choice,” he explained. “But, that isn’t an issue these days. I have an unfair advantage, and that wouldn’t be right. Besides, I’m usually at home or at the gym.”
“Right,” I said with a nod.
Once again, I was going out with some guy that I couldn’t really trust. He’d lied to me about being in the fight last night. What else would he lie about?
Chapter Seven
Ryder
She looked at me curiously. Then her look turned to one I had seen more times than I cared to remember.
She didn’t believe me.
I wanted to explain everything, but at the same time, I didn't want to talk about fighting. I wanted to get to know her. Her glare softened, and she asked me a few more questions before I changed the subject.
“So, you now know my last name. What’s yours?” I asked.
“Marous.”
“And just how long are you in Vegas for, Zoey Marous?” I asked.
“Until Monday. We’re going to a runway show tomorrow night for a new line that’s coming out. The boutique I work for knew I was planning to be here and asked me to check it out.”
“That sounds right up your alley,” I said.
She smiled. If I could just sit here and stare at her smile all day, I’d be happy forever.
“It is,” she said. “I love checking out fashion in other places. New York tends to get a little over commercialized, and it takes away from the real designers, in my opinion. Seriously, who wants to wear a dress covered in peacock feathers? I get it, but at the same time, I want to make clothes for the everyday woman. I can assure you that a lot of runway shows, at least televised ones, aren't even close to what most women want to wear. Most of the time we want to put on a soft dress or pants, look cute, and do our work.”
“Peacock feathers, really?”
“My whole rant and that’s what you heard,” she said with a giggle.
“What can I say? You said peacock, and I was immediately picturing a crazy dress in my head. Can you blame me?”
She just shook her head, smiled, and picked up her menu.
I looked down at mine, searching for the biggest protein load I could find. I needed to put as much in my body as I could. Not getting the right diet was the worst part of being away from home. Everything was so regimented within my walls, but out here, it was insane to try to get what I needed.
“You find anything you like?” I asked her as she placed the menu back on the table.
“I think I want the butterflied chicken breast with asparagus and candied pecans.”
“That sounds amazing,” I said, still looking at the menu in my hands.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I think I'll have that and the eighteen-ounce ribeye with steamed green beans and mashed cauliflower,” I answered, looking over the menu to make sure the sides were what I wanted.
“You’re going to eat all that?” she looked shocked.
“I have to protein load and meat is usually the best way to do that without shakes.”
She seemed to understand and smiled. “It's a lot of food, that’s all.”
“Well, I do like to eat, so it's a good thing I picked a career that requires it,” I blurted out, not thinking about her dislike for my chosen career. Her smile fell a little bit. I didn't understand why she was so against fighting. I usually had women falling all over me because I was a fighter.
As if she was reading my mind, she started the conversation all on her own. “For some reason, fighting concerns me. I don't understand it. Why you would risk your personal health for sport?”
“Well, it isn't really any different than football or hockey if you think about it,” I explained.
“It is different. They are wearing gear, they have some protection, and their main object isn’t to injure their opponent.”
“Okay, I’ll concede that point, but they still suffer from the same issues we do. Concussions are just as common in those two sports as ours. We learn to protect ourselves when we first start out.”
“I guess you’re right, but the thought of watching someone you care about get beat up hurts my heart.”
“Luckily for you, I have never been beaten up, so you won't have to worry about that too much.” I was trying to lighten the mood and maybe end the talk of my job. It seemed to work because she laughed.
A few minutes later, our food arrived, and she did the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a woman do. She dug in. She didn’t try to be prim and proper or impress me by acting like she didn’t need to eat. She ate. Eventually, though, she slowed down and began pushing food around her plate.
She watched me as I ate and I watched her as she picked at her chicken.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I don't know. I like you, Ryder. I really do. But what are we doing here? I’m not a one night stand kinda girl, and I don't know how we could have any kind of relationship, if you were even thinking along those lines, when I live in New York, and you’re here.”
“Just so happens, I live in Connecticut for most of the year. I fly out and do some training here in Vegas, usually in the winter. I probably would have moved, but I don't want to leave my dad yet, so I keep my apartment in Connecticut.”
“It sounds like you have it all figured out.”
“As far as my career goes, I do for the most part. Just need to fill a couple holes along the way. As far as you and me are concerned, I don’t really have a game plan. Kinda figured we could just go with the flow. It doesn't have to be defined.” I smiled and lifted my wine glass to my lips. A gesture she mirrored.
I realized as I watched her lips open and take in the wine that I wanted her more than I could remember wanting a woman ever. I knew she wasn't that kind of girl, but I wanted to mark her. Make her mine in every sense of the word. As much as I enjoyed women, this was the dreaded cliché. She was different. I had to know this woman, and it was clear she wasn't the type I could fuck and leave. She was the type that made you a better man. The type that would hold all your shit together when it was falling apart. The type that you held onto for dear life and hoped like hell she would love you back.
“It's nice to meet a man that has a plan,” she complimented, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Nice to meet a woman who knows what she wants out of life,” I countered.
“Dessert?” the waiter asked, appearing out of thin air.
&
nbsp; “I am so full.” She exhaled and shook her head. “But if you want something, then please feel free. Don’t hold back on my account,” she said with a smile as though she already knew I would order.
“I’d like that strawberry dessert you have,” I said. I’d had it before. It was to die for.
“Yes, Mr. Rollins. It will be right out,” he replied and then disappeared as stealthily as he had appeared.
“I have no clue where you put all that food!”
“I could eat more, but I figured you didn't want to sit here for another hour,” I said with a laugh, but I meant it. “I usually eat five to six thousand calories a day, some days more, some days less.”
“What?” Her mouth gaped open. “Seriously? Six thousand? A day?”
“Yeah, I average more like five, but after a fight, I'll eat more. Plus, during the training up to the fight, I tend to work harder and longer each day, so it goes up and down.”
“Does your weight change too?” she asked, the look on her face genuinely intrigued.
“Not usually. I stay around 185 but will go five pounds either way.”
The waiter reappeared. “Your dessert, sir.” He placed the plate of strawberries sitting on a bed of cream on the table, and I looked over at Zoey.
“You want a bite?”
She eyed the strawberries, then her eyes playfully turned up to meet mine. “Yes, I believe I do.”
“Hard to say no when it’s in front of you, isn’t it?” I teased.
“When it looks so delicious, yes, it is,” she shot back, never taking her eyes from mine. A jolt of energy passed between us and part of me wanted to toss the dessert aside and replace it with her lips. I refrained.
“The best part about this is the part you can’t see. You see, there’s a layer beneath the surface that you have to dig down to reach,” I informed her. The way one corner of her mouth turned up, I knew she picked up on the hidden meaning.
“Is that so?” she asked. “And just what is hiding underneath what I can see?” Her question was just as veiled as my earlier statement.
