She imagined Ed, sitting behind his desk, one hand holding the phone, the other gripping the coffee cup like an anchor. Since his wife had died, he ate, slept, and drank the Las Vegas Times. Nothing controlled his life and his mood like the newspaper.
“You missed this morning’s staff meeting. Circulation is down. Sales are hurting in single-copy. If it wasn’t for the old-timers and retirees subscribing to the daily paper, we’d all be out on our ass.”
She felt her brow furrow. “Is that a no?”
Another slurp.
“You know I’m going to need something. Something good. Something juicy. We can’t afford to send you on a paid vacation.”
She gave a quick eye roll at the insinuation. Okay, so his answer wasn’t no . . . not yet.
“How much time do you need?” he asked.
“Two weeks, maybe three.” She grimaced, awaiting his answer.
“One week,” he growled. “I don’t need a headline for the sports page. I need a front-page story, above the fold.”
Excitement pumped through her body. “You’ll get it. I promise.”
“If I had any doubt you couldn’t deliver, I’d never let you go. Make it count.” And with a click, he hung up.
She had all she needed. A hunch and her editor’s blessing to pursue the story that would be her Everest, launch her career into national syndication, and pave the way to the anchor desk at ESPN. It would give her her dream since she was a little girl, to make a name in sports reporting.
She didn’t want to be looked upon as a scum-sucking fame grabber, profiting off of other people’s misfortunes. She always followed the rules of journalism. She’d never produce anything to harm the paper or shirk off her personal responsibilities for her stories. She used the most trustworthy sources when gathering content and always served her readers well, made them see the truth. With Mike’s story, whatever it was, she would show the world sports celebrities were just like everyone else. Some celebs believed they were above the average Joe. Celebs like her father, who was overpaid, overhyped, and needed to be taken down a notch or two. For those kinds of sports stars, she’d happily perform the demolition.
However, something seemed different about Mike. She just had to find out what.
She looked across the parking lot at Stamina’s front doors. The one-story concrete building housed some of Vegas’s greatest talent, but no one would know it at a first glance. The building was like the boxers inside, hard and tough. The place was a no-frills gym. Very un–Las Vegas. The afternoon sun was a killer. It baked nearly everything to the pavement. Heat pressed down on her. Perspiration broke out across her neck, and she headed for her car.
She’d done all she could for today. Having her editor’s approval for her travel to New York would go a long way to securing step two—getting Mike Perez to agree.
Chapter Four
Evenings at Stamina were Mike’s second favorite time of day. Since they were so close to fight night, Daniella started closing the gym early to the public, and the scent and the silence reminded him of the good old days. The days when the gym consisted of him, his trainer, R. L., and the guys. Boxing was, and had always been, the focus, but with all the changes at the gym, they caused distractions, ones he didn’t need.
Not that he didn’t like Daniella, he did. She brought a lot of talent to the gym. She worked hard and was a helluva businesswoman. But he couldn’t help but miss a segment of his past, the time when his life went from bad to good. Then R. L. passed away, and life changed again.
Closing his locker, Mike strode out of the dressing room. Jack, Daniella, and Shakes waited for him by the ring. Jack was already gloved up and ready to spar. He looked cocky, but Mike knew better. He loved Jack like a brother and, like brothers do, kept him in his place, world heavyweight champion or not.
But their relationship wasn’t always so tight. Before Daniella took over, Jack liked women and booze too much for his own good. He was sinking, and taking Stamina down right along with him. Daniella had turned all that around. She brought him back¸ and he followed her to the top.
Lucky for all of them Jack learned his lessons. He’d changed for the better, even though he was the same shit-talking, fun-loving, pain-in-the-ass sparring partner he’d been before.
And Mike loved him.
“Let’s go, boy,” Jack yelled out as Mike strode toward the ring. “We ain’t got all day. Where’ve you been?”
“With your mama,” Mike shot back, flashing a satisfied grin.
Jack smiled, letting the insult slide. “Well, I hope she taught you a thing or two. That ex of yours always said your skills in the bedroom left her hanging.”
Mike felt the burn, but let it slide.
Okay. He was going there.
“Well, that’s better than what your wife tells me,” Mike blurted out, all too aware that Daniella stood beside her husband, laughing. “After a few drinks, you get a bad case of whiskey dick.”
Shakes laced up Mike’s gloves as Jack continued his verbal assault. “Whiskey dick or not, I got a mean right hand that’s going to drop you to the canvas.”
“Bring it,” Mike urged.
Boxers learned early that trading verbal punches was as important as physical ones. At a fight, anything can happen. Mike knew his opponents would use every opportunity to psych him out. He’d watched enough video of his contender, Marlon Littleton, to know he played to the cameras up until the bell rang. One-upping his opponent wasn’t only physical. The game was mental, too.
When Shakes had finished lacing him up, Mike climbed between the ropes. He met Jack standing in the middle of the ring and they tapped gloves, and then retreated to their corners. Friends. Partners. Brothers.
“Two minutes,” Daniella said. “Shakes calls time.”
The timer buzzed and both men stepped out from their corners. Mike didn’t hold back. He led with a right cross, fully extending and clipping Jack on the jaw. Jack countered with the over/under. A move he pulled on Sokoloff to win the world championship, a punch Mike anticipated. He bobbed, then weaved, letting the shot hit air.
Then, he took a step back and bought a few seconds to set the jab. Jack didn’t let up on the pressure. He closed in on Mike. Stepping forward, Mike released the jab—his power shot.
“Keep pressuring,” Daniella instructed Jack. “Mike, don’t drop your right hand.”
The two men continued to slug it out for the next thirty seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike noticed Shakes running to the gym doors, but he pushed that away. He had to focus on the match.
Jack’s uppercut worked Mike’s body, and just as Mike was about to push Jack, Ava appeared in his peripheral vision, and Mike took a straight right hand to the chin.
Fuck.
“Time,” Shakes yelled. He scrubbed a bony hand over his face. “You have to counter the straight right.”
“Damn right he does.” Daniella looked unhappy.
Hell, he was unhappy, too. Jack had all but told him he was going to drop him with a right hand, and he nearly did.
“Pressure him, Jack. Did I tell you Littleton is quick?” Daniella continued, addressing all of them. “Quicker than my husband, quicker than you, quicker than anyone in this gym. You can’t lose focus. Not even for a second.”
Usually he didn’t. Wouldn’t. But there was something about that redheaded vixen taking up the corners of his visual field that caused his focus to go to hell. It wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t allow it.
Ava followed Daniella to her office, and Shakes took over the rest of the training. Mike and Jack retreated to their corners for the remainder of their one-minute rest period. He breathed hard, and his chin hurt like a bitch. Jack didn’t become the heavyweight world champion by holding back. He wouldn’t, either.
Shakes came round with the water bottle. Lifting his hand, Shakes removed his mouthpiece and Mike rinsed and spat.
“Good shot,” Mike said, knowing Jack couldn’t respond. He still had his
mouthpiece in. “For an old man.” He opened wide and allowed Shakes to insert his mouthpiece, then caught a few more breaths and stood up and started pacing.
Shakes made his way to Jack. After his mouthpiece was removed, Jack said, “Hell, if all it took was a redhead to throw you off your game, I’d have had her in here hours ago.”
Mike walked back and forth like a big cat trapped in a cage. Tension crept down deep in his muscles. They ached, no, screamed for release. He needed to unload the throbbing need that built at the sight of Ava.
He hadn’t been with a woman since his breakup with Tiffany three weeks ago. Maybe not getting any was the cause of his unrest. There were girls he knew—a few he could call to work the kinks out—but none seemed to get him as hot as that annoyingly beautiful redhead. Yeah. Maybe that’s what he needed. Find a redhead, and then play out the fantasy in his mind that she was Ava, while he plowed into her, fucking away whatever was eating at him.
Maybe it was unorthodox, but newly single, he could do whatever he wanted.
“Time,” Shakes yelled. And again, the shit was on.
With large steps, Jack burst out from his corner, heading straight for Mike. He was putting the pressure on, just like Daniella instructed. Mike held his hands up, protecting his face, chin. Any more shots like the last one and sparring would be over for the day. Or he’d lose a damn tooth.
Mike moved in, dangerously close to Jack. He landed a few shots in quick succession, working Jack’s ribs, making him pay for the redhead comment. The big man kept form, protecting his head. Frustrated, Mike couldn’t land the power shots, the ones needed to break down a fighter like Jack.
It didn’t matter that Jack outweighed him, or that he had a longer reach. A good fighter could fight any man, regardless of size, because boxing was more than just two guys beating the hell out of each other. Boxing was about life. It was about skills, conditioning, and strategy.
Thinking about strategy, what was Ava’s? Why was she back so soon?
Jack came at him, this time more aggressively, working his left hook to Mike’s body. Mike absorbed the pain. It was that same pain that fueled him. In turn, Mike punched a few quick jabs to Jack’s ribs. Jack grunted. Yeah, that was going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow.
“Time,” Shakes yelled. Two minutes seemed to pass quicker than before. “You can’t let him get the jump on you, Mike,” Shakes advised. “He came out of his corner like his ass was on fire. You need to preempt that shit. If he’s coming right at you, you need to sidestep. Lateral footwork. Keep control.”
Staying in control usually wasn’t a problem. And it wouldn’t be an issue now.
“You look tired,” Shakes said to him. “Why don’t you and Jack pick this up tomorrow?”
Jack worked his mouthpiece off his teeth and spat it on the canvas. “You okay, buddy?”
He gave a decisive nod. Shakes worked to untie his gloves while he kept one eye on his manager’s office. Ava had followed Daniella behind closed doors, and either had yet to appear. What could they be doing?
Once both hands were freed, Mike removed his mouthpiece. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.” He wedged himself between the ropes and exited the ring.
He lifted a finger and picked at the edges of the tape, working to unwrap his hands when Daniella appeared at her office door.
“Mike, can I have a moment?”
Somehow, he’d known this was coming. Maybe it was the way Ava kept looking at him, studying him, but he surmised from the moment she returned to Stamina she was there for him.
He walked to his manager’s office and there she was. Sitting in a chair across from Daniella’s desk, legs crossed, comfortable. Too comfortable for a stranger.
Mike let his eyes roam. Starting at her high-heeled foot, his gaze traveled up her calf, over her knee, and planted on the spot where the hem of her dress covered the most tempting part of her thigh.
“Have a seat,” Daniella said.
He took the chair beside Ava. Heat radiated off her body. Or maybe it was merely his reaction to her. He pushed the notion away and focused on his trainer.
“Miss Phillips wants to spend the next week covering Stamina in detail. She’s writing an exposé on the gym, leading up to your fight with Littleton. She’s asked to accompany you to New York.”
He swallowed hard. Daniella wasn’t asking for his permission, but if she had, he could’ve summed up his answer in three little words. No. Fucking. Way.
His gaze hardened on his trainer as he processed exactly what was about to go down. He was going to be trapped in a car with a woman he absolutely despised for thousands of miles. What the hell had he done to deserve this?
The room fell silent. His insides stilled. He turned his head to look at Ava, and then faced his manager. When no one said a word, Daniella addressed Ava.
She smiled at the reporter. “Could you give us a few minutes?”
“Of course.” Ava rose up from the chair, and her sweet ass passed in front of him as she left Daniella’s office. The move, totally innocent. His reaction, pure sin. One look at how her skirt fell across the fine curve of her ass made his mouth water.
The door closed with a click. He let out a breath.
Daniella pursed her lips, then asked, “What’s the problem?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” He meant no disrespect, but the woman caused him to feel things. Things he didn’t want to name.
She exhaled. “I asked, didn’t I?”
He leaned forward in his chair. “I’m not sure all this press is good for Stamina.” Mike kept his voice low.
His trainer sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her body. She studied him as if she were trying to tell if he was speaking the truth or a lie. “Go on.”
He felt his eyebrows hike up his forehead. “She wanted to see what we do. We showed her. We turned the gym around. Put Stamina back on the map. End of story.”
Daniella’s expression slowly morphed into a frown. “I don’t think that’s how Ava sees it.”
He sat silent.
His trainer crossed one leg over the other. “You know what Stamina was like before. The place was in shambles. Jack was washed up. My father was dead and Stamina wasn’t far behind. What we did was no overnight success. We fought, and scraped, and saved to get where we are. We reinvented ourselves from the ground up. Jack is the new heavyweight champion, and you, well, you’re getting ready to fight Marlon Littleton at Madison Square Garden.”
She stopped speaking when Mike didn’t react. Daniella continued. “Look at history. Mike Tyson, Evander Holyfield, and Floyd Mayweather all had the one critical bout that launched their careers into the stratosphere. For you, this is that fight. After you beat Littleton, you will secure a future as a middleweight contender, one to be reckoned with. The people from EverStrong see it, that’s why they signed you. Your endorsement deal is no joke. I see what you’re becoming because of all our hard work. Why can’t you?”
He didn’t object. Together team Stamina had accomplished great things, more than anyone ever thought they could. But there was a difference between then and now, something Daniella failed to see. Back then, all of Stamina’s secrets were out in the open, broken and splattered like an egg on pavement. It was easy to clean up what you could see, harder when you couldn’t. Back then, they had no place to go but up. Now that they were back on top, he didn’t want to be the cause of another downfall.
“All I want to do is go to New York and win without some reporter tagging along,” he answered honestly.
Daniella wet her lips. “You’re going to have to get used to reporters.”
Reporters he could handle. Usually sports reporters were ex-athletes or journalism junkies who couldn’t play professionally, so covering sports was the next best thing. He didn’t mind their questions, their phones recording every grunt he made. Those things he could deal with. A sexy woman like Ava hanging around, digging into his past, he couldn’t, not if he wanted to win in New Yo
rk.
He’d read her columns over the years. She always found the ugliness in someone’s life and brought it to the forefront. The woman didn’t have an empathetic bone in her body. She had no regard for someone’s troubles, their secrets, their privacy.
He remembered reading her extensive column on a pro basketball player’s collapse in a Nevada whorehouse. Obviously the guy made a mistake, but his error nearly took his life. He remembered how sorry he felt for the guy, even though they’d never met. Did Ava care? Not according to her column.
She was always out to ruin athletes. She’d print anything to sell a newspaper. Bile rose in his throat and he choked it back down. His gaze landed on his trainer. “I never ask you for anything. Never needed to. You always make the right decisions, but not this time. Sorry, Daniella. But that woman isn’t tagging along with me.”
And with that he left his manager’s office with his life, and past, intact.
Chapter Five
Mike needed to chill. He’d come home from the gym still feeling bad about going against Daniella. He showered, shaved, and ate dinner in silence. Being here, alone, a cold quiet settled around him, guarding him, repelling anything from getting too close. This was safe, how he liked it. He was sure he’d left his manager confused. He never went against her wishes. Hell, she probably thought he’d love the idea. Wasn’t everyone supposed to want attention? Buzz? Didn’t athletes want their fans drunk off all the hype?
Not him.
Needing to hydrate, he pulled several water bottles from the fridge and placed them on the table beside the sofa. The night was all his, and lucky for him, The Walking Dead marathon hadn’t ended. He needed a few zombie kills to take his mind off his shit day. And the farmer’s daughter, hot as she was, didn’t get him going covered in blood and guts. He sat watching Rick and the gang kill the dead through a chain-link fence. They lived in their prison, and Mike lived in his.
Going The Distance (Ringside #2) Page 3
