Occupational Hazard: The Ultimate Workplace Romance Box Set

by Eve Langlais

  “Obviously not.” I pulled on my tank top and exchanged my work capris for shorts. “What’s going on?”

  She ranted for ten minutes about the new owner of the gym, who apparently intended to take a more hands-on approach than the previous one. He’d swept through earlier and demanded to see all the trainers one-by-one, then rattled off a new list of policies. This was all secondhand info, since she hadn’t had her meeting yet. It was scheduled in five minutes.

  “He’s tightening the screws, man. I’m not putting up with this. If he yanks my chain too much, I’m out of here.”

  I stopped braiding my hair and frowned. “What about me?”

  “What about you? You’re three-quarters in the bag anyway. You’ll be gone in a month.”

  I didn’t say anything. Technically that was still the plan, but it had lost a lot of its luster. One guess why.

  “Won’t you?” she pressed. “I thought you said your landlord was squawking about raising your rent.”

  I resumed braiding my hair. “Yeah. He is. My building’s not rent-controlled and he says the neighborhood’s gone up in value recently.” I expected the final notice about the raised rate anytime now, which would put it above my means unless Carly got a great job.

  “So? You’re still going, right?” She heaved out a breath. “God, Mia, not you too.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I see it all the time. Girls with big ideas and firm plans of their own, throwing them all away just because some penis struts in and changes the landscape.” She dragged her other leg up to her chest and wrapped her arm around it. “That’ll never be me. Never.”

  “It’s not like that. Besides, my firm plans were only about running away. That’s not healthy.” I bit my lip and forced the rubber band over the end of my braid.

  “Who says what’s healthy? Who says what’s running away? You had a goal, and you were determined. Now you scored your big fight and you don’t even care anymore. You’re too busy buying crazy ass undies and getting all melty-eyed and—”

  Someone rapped on the door. Once. Twice.

  Kizzy stared at me, then bolted to her feet. “Who the hell is it?”

  “Sutton Pierce.” Came the sharp reply. “You’re late, Cavanaugh.”

  All at once, her face changed. The flush returned, blanketing her fair skin from throat to hairline. She was almost as pale as I was, although she never blushed from embarrassment, just anger.

  Shooting me a look that said told you so, she marched to the door and yanked it open. I rushed up behind her just in time to get a glimpse of a tall guy in a white dress shirt and shiny dark shoes.

  “I’m taking a shit if that’s all right with you, Pierce. The laxatives just kicked in.”

  I backed into the shadows, tilting my head to get a look at him above the neck. He had dark hair and scruff and wow, what a face. Chiseled. Sexy.

  Pissed.

  “Then I’d advise you to finish up fast and get out here, because you’ll be out of a job otherwise.” He had a hint of a British accent. Faint, but definitely there. “I don’t tolerate lateness from my employees. Or rudeness.”

  “I’m not your employee. Pax hired me, not you.”

  “Pax isn’t here any longer. I suggest you catch up with the times, Cavanaugh. You have two minutes.” He walked away, his shoes clicking sharply on the hardwood floor.

  Kizzy shot me a furious look and followed him out, banging the door in her wake. I couldn’t help smiling as I finished up and went out to start my workout. Seeing Kizzy so out of sorts amused the hell out of me. Normally she bossed everyone else around, not vice versa.

  I worked through a complete circuit on the treadmill, the elliptical, and the rowing machine, then spent some time with the punching bag, working on my kicks in particular. I remembered Tray’s admonition to kick from my hips and practiced until my thigh muscles quivered. I was definitely kicking higher up the bag and with more force. Too bad he wasn’t there to see it.

  “Moron.” I could only pant the self-directed insult. “You’ll see him in an hour.”

  “Maybe less.”

  I went still, a smile forming even before I looked around to check out if I’d imagined that deep, sinful voice. I’d been tempted to keep an eye on the door, telling myself I was just waiting for Kizzy, but I’d talked myself out of it. Hot as hell fighters never struck twice.

  Then a pair of strong arms slid around my waist. If I were dreaming, I never wanted to wake up.

  “It’s not nice to sneak up on someone.” I couldn’t keep the pleasure out of my voice.

  “You were talking about me. I figured it would be rude to keep watching you. Kicks look better, by the way. Good job.” Tray kissed the side of my neck. “But make sure you twist your upper body with the movement. You’ll gain more flexibility.”

  “I’m plenty flexible already.”

  “No arguments there.” He nipped my jaw. “Miss me? Because I missed you. I watched the clock all day. I even considered going by Vinnie’s to see you in your titty top.”

  I elbowed him in the gut. “That’s not a titty top. Jerk.” Then I remembered my animal print panties and the usual heat climbed up my cheeks. “Though I tried to get something for tonight. It didn’t work out. Don’t ask about it. Forget I said anything.”

  He laughed. “What?”

  “I bought a pair of string bikini panties. But I can’t wear them.”

  “You bought string bikini panties? You?”

  Frowning, I turned to face him and propped my hands on my hips. “I can do sexy things.” Then I sighed. “No, I really can’t. It was a total fail. It’s not even my size.”

  Somehow I could smile and joke about it, when not only had I wasted money, I’d only bought the wrong thing because of Darren. Everything went back to him eventually. But the past faded when Tray was smiling down at me, looking perfectly delicious in his eye patch and a bright blue sweater that made his other eye seem even bluer.

  “You’ll have to model them for me.”

  “They’re too big.”

  He tugged me close again and nuzzled my neck. “So we’ll tie the strings tighter or something. It’ll be more of a challenge for me to get them off with my teeth.”

  I tilted my head to give him more room, then braced. Two chicks had stopped working out to watch us. And giggle. “Tray.”

  “Mmm?”

  “We have an audience.”

  “Really? That’s hot.” He licked my earlobe.

  I relaxed. Being around him was having the strangest effect on me. I was becoming more normal, simply because he was. He wouldn’t let me freak out about everything so acting like a regular person was turning into my default setting.

  The workout room door banged open. “Goddammit, are you fucking serious?” Kizzy shouted. “Over my damn dead body.”

  I sprang back from Tray and held up my hands. “We’re not doing anything. I swear.”

  Yeah, so I might still be a work-in-progress on the regular person front.

  “Can you imagine the nerve? Bastard comes in here off the street and starts deciding how he’ll run the gym I’ve worked at for five years. Does he ask for input? No. Just starts coming up with fancy decrees and thou shalt nots.” Kizzy fumed and paced. “And then if that’s not enough, he tells me he’s breaking all ties with MMA, effective immediately. That he knows chicks here are training for illegal fights and he’ll report anyone he finds out is using the premises for ‘cockfighting.’ I’d like to get my hands on his cock. The stupid prick.”

  Tray arched a brow at me and motioned to the door. Whether he was indicating he should leave or we both should, I wasn’t sure. I shrugged. Kizzy had to wind down sometime.

  “I’m not tolerating it. There’s no way I’m asking my girls to go to another gym.”

  I was actually the only MMA fighter Kizzy trained, but maybe she was speaking in generalities.

  “This has been a place where women have trained to fight
for years. He wants to take down the punching bags and the kettle bells, for fuck’s sake. Says the sport isn’t safe.” She pushed her hands through her already wild blonde curls. I’d never seen her hair quite that huge before, so I imagined she’d been giving her curls a workout during her meeting with Pierce.

  Tray adjusted his eye patch and sprawled on a pile of workout mats. “Who’re you talking about?”

  “Sutton Fuckwit Pierce. Who else?”

  “Miss Cavanaugh.” The voice snapped across the room, sharp as a belt hitting flesh. “My office. Now.”

  Kizzy stilled, her face leeching of all color. Her wild gray eyes connected with mine before she charged across the room to follow Pierce. Yet again she slammed the door.

  “Whoa.” Tray pulled me down beside him on the mat. “That guy looks like he’s not messing around. Hugo Boss suit and all.”

  I didn’t know suit designers, but Tray must since he’d been born with an entire silver tea set in his mouth. “Yeah. He’s the new owner. None of that sounded like good news.”

  Tray shifted me against his chest, stroking my hair. I knew I should push him back, that the laughing girls were probably enjoying the hell out of our display. I just couldn’t do it. I’d been held so little over the years that my body curved into his automatically, seeking the comfort he gave. Seeking him.

  “If you can’t train here, you’ll have to back out of the fight with Costas.”

  His conversational tone didn’t fool me. I’d felt the tension seep into his body. “Nice try, wiseguy. There are other gyms.”

  “Yeah.” He was quiet for a minute. “Like The Cage.”

  “That again?” I reached up to adjust his eye patch. As much as I liked his pirate imitation, I couldn’t wait until he’d had his surgery and I could look him in the eye—both eyes—again. “The Cage isn’t exactly female-friendly.”

  “You’re right. We should work on changing it.”

  The enthusiasm in his voice made me shake my head. “You can’t just change a culture like that. I’m sure other women have tried and failed.”

  “You won’t.”

  He sounded so confident. So sure. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, not wavering in the slightest. “Look at me. I’m not welcome here, but I’m hanging out just the same.”

  “Hanging out isn’t the same as joining.”

  “I’d join if guys were allowed.”

  “You would not.”

  “Shh. You’re ruining the point I’m trying to make. Which is that you can join The Cage, and it sounds like you’ll have to if Pierce pushes through everything Kizzy says. We both know The Cage is the best gym in the area. Unless you decide to give up fighting altogether.” He shrugged. “Your call.”

  He obviously had lawyering in his blood. “And who would train me at The Cage?”

  “My coach. Timmins is the best.” Then he frowned. “Ex-coach, I mean.”

  I sat up. “What? He dropped you because you lost?”

  “No, of course not. Actually, I dropped him.” He scratched his stubbled jaw and blew out a breath. “I quit, Mia. Hung up my gloves. I’ve been wanting to for a long time.”

  Surprise shot through me, followed swiftly by pride. He had enough sense of self to walk away from a fight he’d lost without gunning for a rematch. That took a lot of cojones. I started to say as much, but he cut me off, his expression disturbingly earnest.

  “And today, I started the paperwork to enroll at NYU. They have a great online program. In case, you know, I’m not here.” He grabbed my hand and folded my fingers into his. “If we’re not.”

  Heat blasted through my belly, twining with something slick and slippery. I’d been feeling that same uneasy sensation ever since I’d laid eyes on him at Vinnie’s.

  He wanted to come with me. Us, Carly and me. He didn’t know where we were going—I didn’t even know—but he was willing to come along anyway.

  For a moment I could barely breathe, let alone speak. I was so confused and overwhelmed that I said the first thing that popped into my head. “Okay. I’ll check out The Cage. On one condition.”

  He flashed that heartstopping grin. At least it stopped mine. “What?”

  “I want you to train me.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Tray

  In one day’s time, I’d walked away from one career, took steps to begin pursuing another, and stumbled into an all-new job. And I got a girlfriend, even if I wasn’t sure she’d ever let me call her that.

  I expected Timmins to rip me a new one for even suggesting I could train someone at The Cage who wasn’t a member yet. The woman I’d talked him into possibly training, no less.

  But he only asked me for some tape of Mia, and once he’d watched it, said she was in and so was I, on the other end of the desk. He put me on a strict probationary period, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t looking to be a trainer long term. I just wanted to help her win. End of story.

  Timmins was just humoring me with the coaching thing. He figured I needed a break from fighting after my injury. He could think whatever he wanted. I wouldn’t be back. I was done.

  Kizzy wasn’t thrilled to see Mia leave Mark’s, but Pierce wasn’t backing down. He was militant about getting any and all traces of MMA out of his gym. Technically people could work out for any reason they wanted to, and he couldn’t stop them. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t make the environment inhospitable as hell. Mia had expected Kizzy to quit that first night, yet she’d changed tacks and now flat-out refused to leave. Said she’d outlast some slick Brit. Somehow I doubted it, but it was hard not to admire her gumption.

  Besides, I think she was enjoying how tough I was being on Mia. They’d both probably figured I’d wimp out and give her a cake schedule. They’d been wrong.

  For the week and a half I trained Mia, I put her through her paces. She’d been cut to start, but that didn’t mean I let her slack on the suicide runs or time with the kettle bell. I taught her combinations and made her kick the heavy bag until she could barely walk afterward. We practiced grappling and striking for hours. Grueling, occasionally unintentionally erotic hours.

  And if I enjoyed how adept she became at pinning me, who could blame me?

  With another couple of months of training, she’d be more than qualified for the real circuit. Hell, who was I kidding? She already was.

  Thank God she wasn’t interested in going pro. I couldn’t have stood watching her get beat up and bloodied month after month. Bad enough I’d have to be in her corner tomorrow night.

  Tomorrow night. God. I couldn’t think about it or I’d go insane. I was halfway there already.

  “Red or blue?” Mia held up two boxes of candles. She’d planned a little get-together tonight for Carly’s birthday tonight at their apartment.

  I’d planned an afterparty for the two of us at mine, but she didn’t know that yet.

  We’d been kind of taking it easy on the sex stuff considering my surgery was coming up, and Mia claimed she’d read that extra strain could affect the swelling around my eye. I’d gone along with it, mostly because I wanted her to know I wasn’t with her just to get laid. I wanted the whole relationship enchilada too.

  Tonight, though, I wanted sex. Hard driving, mind-erasing fucking and sweet, slow making love. I wanted us, alone and blocking out everything else in the world. I wanted tomorrow to never come.

  “Blue,” I said automatically, adjusting my hold on the handful of balloons I clutched.

  “Blue?” She frowned. “But Carly’s favorite color is red.”

  “So why did you ask? Get red.”

  “But the blue goes better with the cake. Kizzy’s doing one with purple frosting. She said she saw the perfect cake online at Kiss Kakes, this fancy bakery in Salem. She wanted to just order one from there but the shipping would’ve been crazy expensive.”

  I’d tuned out after she mentioned us having to eat something Kizzy made. “Kizzy’s baki
ng the cake? Are we going to die? Why can’t Carly make it?”

  “She can’t bake her own birthday cake. That’s not right.”

  An image of Mia in an apron and nothing else sprang to mind—and sprang other parts of me into instant wakefulness. “You can’t bake?”

  Mia was still too busy studying the candles to reply. I grabbed both boxes, threw them in our cart, and nudged her forward. “Problem solved. Next?”

  She didn’t move. “I can’t just buy whatever I want, Fox. My budget won’t allow it.”

  I could always tell when she was irritated because I suddenly went back to being Fox. “I know that, babe. But I don’t have to worry about it, so we’re good. Get whatever you need.”

  If someone said that to me, I’d be happy. But not my girl. Nope, she slitted her eyes and jolted the cart until it bumped my thigh.

  “I’m not with you for your money.”

  “I figured, since you won’t take any.” I decided to just keep shopping—sad when that became my preferred out—and hoped that she’d get with the program. “So what else do we need?”

  “It’s what else do I need. You’re not responsible for providing things. You’re a guest.”

  Getting annoyed wouldn’t help anything. Certain areas between us would remain tenuous until she got used to being in a relationship. I didn’t have it all nailed down myself. “I’m your guy. That means I’m throwing the party too.”

  “You’re a guest,” she stressed, walking past me.

  “Goddammit, Mia, stop being so fucking stubborn. Yeah, you have brass balls. I know it. I see it every day. But when we’re outside the gym, it’s not all your way or the highway. I have the right to put my foot down about something.”

  She swiveled toward me. “Like what?”

  I leaned across the cart and braced my elbow, holding my fist in the air. “Arm wrestle me.”

  Her lips twitched. “Why?”

  “Just do it.” She rolled up her sleeve and gripped my hand. “Count of three. Ready?”

  Her chin quivered with the smile she couldn’t quite hold back. “Ready.”

  “One. Two. Three.” I didn’t check my strength and took her down with one swift movement. She resisted admirably, but I’d never allow myself to lose with something so important on the line.