In His Corner
Alexandra Warren
In His Corner
Copyright 2017 Alexandra Warren
Cover Art by Visual Luxe
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real locations, people, or events is coincidental and unintentional.
-Round One-
Bella
Journalistic integrity.
They said I was supposed to have it - exude it - but I was losing all bets as I sat in the media section a few rows beyond the front of the ring, cringing every time Princeton Lattimore, better known as “The Prince”, threw a jab at his opponent’s chin. The poor guy didn’t stand a chance; outsized, outmatched, out-everything. Yet here he was, taking a brutal pounding for a check with enough zeros to cover his medical expenses and beyond.
Boxing was outrageous.
I wasn’t even sure how I became responsible for doing the write-up about this match. I knew the basics of sports, but it wasn’t exactly my thing, especially a sport as technical as boxing. And maybe that was why my boss wanted me here, to challenge me, force me out of my writerly comfort zone that usually focused strictly on pop culture and entertainment.
Mission accomplished.
The roar of the crowd knocked me out of my daze, everyone standing up from their seats as The Prince delivered punches that seemed even stronger than the ones before according to the way his opponent’s head was flinging every which way until the referee slipped between them. And while my immediate reaction was to feel terrible about watching this man get his ass kicked live and in color, seeing the smile on The Prince’s face as his arms shot up in victory completely stole my attention.
He was… beautiful, if that was something you could call a 6’6”, 249 lb man who just beat another man’s face in. But there was a playful glitter to his eyes as he celebrated with his team of trainers, an extra charm to his smile that included dimples deep enough for me to see from my seat, and after spitting his mouthpiece out into one of his trainer’s hand, I realized that also included a perfect set of teeth, reminding me of his undefeated status.
As their celebration continued, I made myself busy jotting down a bunch of notes in my phone for later; things I found interesting about the interactions amongst his camp, my observations of his demeanor going from serious and focused to fun and spirited - almost childlike. Even if I couldn’t write about sports specifically, I never had a problem writing about people. And Princeton Lattimore was already proving himself to be a very interesting person.
I quickly switched my phone from the notes app to the one I used for recording as the commentator took to the ring to conduct a post-fight interview just after it was announced that The Prince was still the champion; as if that was ever in question. And while my intentions were to snag a quote or two I could use in my write-up, it didn’t take long for me to once again get lost in the man himself as he thanked God, shouted out his father and camp, and then gave playful, runaround answers about what was next for his career, until it came to who he wanted to defend his title against.
“You have to fight the best of the best to be considered the best. And that’s the only thing I give a fuck about.”
The crowd gave another satisfied roar as I bit back my smile, finding the obvious determination in his response wildly attractive. In fact, everything about The Prince was becoming more attractive the longer I watched him maneuver around the ring, shaking hands and giving hugs to people important enough to already be in the ring with him, stopping to smile for pictures with fans of all ages, even going over to check on his opponent who was still moving about slowly in his corner. He seemed so concerned for the guy’s well-being that you would’ve thought he wasn’t the one responsible for putting him in that condition in the first place.
I suppose I could appreciate his sportsmanship.
As The Prince made himself busy bidding farewells, I settled back into my seat and jotted down more information, being sure to note how much it seemed as if Princeton was really a gentle giant.
A gentle giant who just gave another man a concussion with his hands.
Yeah, there was nothing gentle about that. But the hardened, angry man from the fight seemed far from the man who had just stopped to take a picture with a kid, bending down to match the kid’s fisting pose with one of his own and giving a smile that beamed throughout the now mostly-emptied arena.
The man was gorgeous.
I did my best to shake off the distraction of his good looks, quickly typing out the last few tidbits I wanted to make note of, though I already knew what angle I would be taking with my article; an angle that would surely be different than the thousands of other articles written about this fight. Most journalists would focus on the act, the battle, the beat down. But me, I planned on focusing on the person responsible for it.
Just as I was putting my phone back in my purse, a security guard was motioning to tell me I had to clear the area. And after flashing my press badge, I slipped past him towards the backstage grounds, thinking I may be able to catch one last glimpse of tonight’s hero before I made my way home to work on the article about him.
To my surprise, it only took a few turned corners to find his dressing room, made obvious by the steady flow of people going in and out. But when I finally made my way deep enough into the room to spot him, I wasn’t at all surprised to find him flanked by women in dresses tiny enough to make me blush as I watched them both force engagements The Prince didn’t seem too interested in. In fact, it was almost as if he was purposely dodging their attempts for attention, his face scrunched as he blew them off with a wave of his hand.
One eventually decided to move on to a guy I remembered from Princeton’s team and the other made herself busy on her phone as Princeton answered a few questions from a reporter. But once the reporter was gone, phone girl was back, tossing a disgusted eye at her friend as if she was turning against her in order to earn her spot as The Prince’s girl for the night. And this time, he actually seemed interested, offering a smile as he put a heavy hand against her cheek that had her closing her eyes in ecstasy. But just as quickly, he snatched it away, the disappointment on her face settling in a few short moments later once she realized he had dodged her yet again to do another interview.
He was mid-response when he peeked up at me with those piercing, hazel brown eyes, my heart skipping a beat and whatever I was thinking about quickly replaced with erotic thoughts of him as his seemingly-bored expression turned into a grin that rivaled the one he gave his fans in the arena. I tried my best to regain my composure, taking a deep breath and pulling my shoulders back before I approached him. But my approach prompted him to stand up from his seat, only reminding me of his great, dominating stature.
Still, I at least wanted to keep it professional, waiting for the reporter to finish before I extended my hand his way. “Hello Mr. Lattimore. I just wanted to tell you congratulations. On the win. You were great out there.”
I could feel him taking me all in, tempting me to blush as he accepted my hand. “Appreciate that, love. Who you here with?” he asked, peeking behind me as if he expected the explanation to be there.
I flashed my badge similarly to the way I had done for the security guard when I answered, “I’m actually here for work. I’m a journalist. I write for FullestDisclosure.com. They sent me to cover the fight.”
Having to say it out loud only reminded me of how outlandish it sounded considering I didn’t know the half about boxing. And thankfully The Prince didn’t grill me on it, instead asking
a simple, “Did you enjoy it?”
“I mean… yeah. It was good. You did your thing and all that,” I replied with a wave of my hand, avoiding his eyes that seemed to be zeroing in on me with every word I spoke. Almost as if he could see right through my bullshit of a response.
Still, he once again saved me from making a complete fool of myself when he asked, “You got a card on you?”
“A card?”
He took a step closer, peering down at me with a boyish grin as he explained, “So I can find your article later. I’d be interested to read what you have to say about the fight, interested to peep your perspective.”
“Right,” I breathed, his closeness enough to have me fumbling through my purse to find what he was asking for. And of course the only one I could get my hands on was a coffee-stained version that I should’ve thrown away weeks ago. Still, since it was my only copy, I handed it his way with an apology. “Sorry. This one got a little wet, but you can still read the information.”
He accepted the card that looked especially dainty in his large hands which still had lines of evidence from the hand wraps he wore under his gloves, pinching it between his fingertips as he read, “Bella Stevenson. Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Prince,” I gushed a little too easily for my liking, my flirtatious tone totally inappropriate for the circumstance. But it felt as if I couldn’t help myself, his gaze, his presence, his… energy a thousand times more potent now that we were sharing a space.
Still, since that wasn’t exactly a good excuse for my actions, I was just about ready to apologize when he replied, “Princeton. Please call me Princeton.”
“Well Princeton, I hope you enjoy your night. You’ve definitely earned it,” I told him with a smile that could only be interpreted as friendly.
“Yeah? You think so?” he asked, his eyebrow piqued and his innocent grin replaced with a look of… uncertainty.
Is he serious right now?
It was possible that Princeton just wanted his ego stroked, possible that he was used to people - especially women - being overly complimentary of his talent and expected the same from me. But something about his expression read otherwise, as if he was really uneasy about his performance in the ring. And since that seemed ridiculous, my face was scrunched when I replied, “Uh… is that really a question? Because if it is, we can surely go ask ol’ boy who got his face smashed in what he thinks about it. And that’s if he can even remember the fight happening.”
He brushed me off with a quiet chuckle. “Couple days in a dark room and he’ll be aight.”
“That sounds really depressing,” spilled out before I could contain it as I tried to make sense of why anyone would subject themselves to such torture.
But once again, Princeton only brushed me off. “It’s the name of our game, love. It’s what we do. All we know.”
Even if he thought so, I was quick to clarify, “All they know. I mean, they’re the ones taking a beating. Not you, Mr. Undefeated.”
The boyish smile returned, though it didn’t exactly match his response. “It’s still a risk every time I step in the ring, and I’d be a fool to take any of my opponents lightly. Every fighter has a puncher’s chance.”
While I could appreciate his humble mentality, and would be sure to include my impression of that in my write-up, I couldn’t help but tease, “Well I guess you’ve just been lucky enough to have never been laid out on your back.”
“I don’t mind being on my back every once in a while, Bella,” he replied so smoothly that I almost laughed it off until I replayed his words in my head.
Did he just…?
Instead of overreacting, I did my best to ignore what sounded like The Prince coming on to me, putting my professional hat back in its rightful place when I rushed out, “It was… a pleasure meeting you. I’ll tag you in the article when it’s posted, and if you feel so inclined, a simple retweet or share would go a long way for our site.”
He nodded, that playful twinkle back in his eyes as he said, “I got you, love. Looking forward to reading it.”
&
“Beast. Freak of Nature. Animal.
All words used to describe Princeton “The Prince” Lattimore. All far from the truth outside of however many rounds it takes for him to dominate his opponent…”
The words were flying from my fingertips with ease as I glanced between my notes and the screen of my laptop, not even worried about the word count I was expected to submit to my boss before the sun came up. This would be well beyond whatever requirements set because Princeton had given me so much to include without even realizing it.
While the intention of our impromptu conversation hadn’t been for interviewing purposes, I couldn’t help but include some of that insight, being sure to note how his bold, mighty, intimidating presence in the public eye was completely opposite of the gentle, jovial demeanor he wore behind closed doors. In fact, it made me wonder if “The Prince” was just a character, a mask he wore to cover up who he seemed to be on the inside. But even if that was my gut impression from our short interaction, making those sorts of claims for public consumption made me feel as if I was overstepping. And since Fullest Disclosure was far from a gossip site, I decided to keep that to myself, relying on my other observations, quotes from our conversation, and sound bites from his post-fight interview to help me finish my piece before sending it off for editing, satisfied with my work regardless of if my boss found it up to par or not.
She better find it up to par.
The hour of the night hit me like a ton of bricks the second I closed my laptop, pushing it to the empty side of the bed before reaching over to turn off the lamp so I could get some rest. But when I closed my eyes, it wasn’t sleep that came right away, instead more thoughts of him as he maneuvered around the boxing ring with ease; a place he clearly felt right at home in considering the confidence he displayed. And while that side of him was attractive for obvious reasons, the mystery of who he was outside of the ring was what most intrigued me.
Before I could even come up with possibilities, I dozed off, awakened only a few hours later by the incessant buzzing of my phone on the nightstand. And once I saw the name on the screen, I had no choice but to answer it, keeping the phone at a distance in hopes of hiding the fact that I had just woken up when I groaned, “Hello?”
“Bella, that was fantastic!” she shouted, her screechy voice enough to give me an instant headache.
I tried my best to shake it off as I replied, “Good morning to you too, Sharon. I’m assuming you read my piece.”
“Read it? Girl, it’s already posted to the site with thousands of hits within a few minutes of sharing. The social media manager tagged “The Prince” on Twitter and even he retweeted with praise,” she gushed, his name alone enough to snap me to full alertness.
“He did?” I asked as I changed the call to speakerphone so that I could scroll to my Twitter app to see for myself. And sure enough, once I opened it, there were enough notifications for the app to freeze. But at the very top of the screen I could still see the original tweet from Princeton that read, “Post-fight vibes. Shoutout to @BellaStevenson for the love.”
“Oh my God. This is… amazing,” I screeched almost excitedly as Sharon had.
But this time, she was a little calmer as she agreed, “Amazing indeed. Now get your ass in the office so we can start talking about what’s next.”
Just that quickly, she had put me back in my place as her employee. But that wasn’t going to stop me from feeling giddy about Princeton following through with my request, even going as far as tagging my name so I could get the recognition that may have otherwise been overlooked. Unfortunately, since my app was still frozen, I couldn’t thank him right away. But I would be sure to do so once I made it to the office, even if I had to do it from the official @FullestDisclosure account.
I took my time getting dressed, feeling as if I had somehow earned the leverage required to show up whenever
I wanted to. But I was reminded otherwise the second I stepped into work and was bombarded with, “You better have a good explanation or a doctor’s note.”
“Listen, Sharon. The main event was pretty late last night, and I still had to do the write-up that has our web traffic on fire,” I replied, trying to remind her of how much of an asset I was.
But you would’ve thought my article was already a thing of the past when she snapped, “No excuses, Bella. One more slip-up and I’ll be replacing you.”
Even though I wanted to shout, “This is some bullshit,” for the sake of my career along with the bills I never seemed to be able to stay ahead of, I only nodded before finally making my way to my desk. But once I was there, I became confused since… where did these flowers come from?
The arrangement was beautiful and they smelled just as divine as they looked, but there wasn’t anyone other than my father who would even think of such a gesture. And considering it wasn’t my birthday or any other special occasion, that meant he was really off the list of one.
So who are they from?
I peeled the card from the holder, flipping it open to find a short yet incredibly powerful, hand-written statement.
“Thanks for seeing me for me.” - Princeton Lattimore
Instantly, I blushed, gnawing at my lip as I tried to read the message again in his voice, tried to remind myself of that playful glare in his eyes and that dazzling dimpled-smile. But my bliss was short-lived once someone behind me asked, “Gettin’ flowers from The Prince, huh? You must’ve worked really hard for those quotes, coming in here all late and what not...”
While I wanted to ask how she knew who they were from, my immediate reaction was to play it down instead. “Gina, stop it. He’s just… being nice. He’s a nice guy.”
“Newsflash, Bella. The man beats people into a pulp for fun. Nice guys don’t do that,” she replied in a way that made me laugh since, she had a point. It took a special kind of person, a special breed of human to want to knock people unconscious for a living.
In His Corner Page 1
