by Cindi Madsen
Brooklyn picked up the laptop she’d set aside, grabbed the stack of bills, and transposed the amounts into a spreadsheet. “Are you good with accounting stuff?”
“I’m better with charts, percentages, and crunching data, but I can hold my own.”
“Don’t ever let my dad know, or he’ll recruit you.”
“At this point, it’d be nice to know I’m wanted that badly.”
Brooklyn’s fingers slowed on the keyboard. She hit a few buttons, closed her laptop, and set it aside. “Spill.”
I thought about waving it off, but I needed to talk about it. “When I envision the future I want, I see myself in a sleek office, running things my way. And I’m sure everyone pictures themselves as the boss, but I’m good at what I do. The part I fail at is boldly stating my opinions. I know what I’m doing unless someone questions me. Or gives me a mean look. Then I sort of fall apart, and I’ll never get very high on the ladder that way. My ideas will never be heard over the people who state theirs with more confidence.”
“I get it,” Brooklyn said. “You’d think in the art world that it’d only be about the art—that your method and medium and how well you carry them out would be all that matters. But in this day and age, if you don’t push and market yourself, you get lost in the noise.”
“Exactly.”
“Here’s the thing. You’re brilliant, and you’d make a kickass boss. I can tell you that until I’m blue in the face, but you need to believe it. Until then, fake it till you make it.”
“I’ve been trying that method, but it’s not working as well as I hoped.” Someone kept getting in the way, undermining me and giving my confidence a shakedown before I could pretend I had it. “I’ll keep trying, but…” I fiddled with the ankle strap on my heels. “What about…mean girls?”
Brooklyn’s fists curled. “Do I need to have a talk with someone?”
“Jeez, you’re as bad as your brother.” I appreciated that they always had my back, but the problem came when I couldn’t take them to the office with me on a daily basis. “I need to figure out how to deal with them without him—or you—taking care of it. Though I do love your willingness to throw down.”
“What can I say? That Roth trait is strong.” Brooklyn sat back. “You might need to toss in some intimidation tactics. Show her that she’ll regret crossing you. Then ignore her as much as you can, work your ass off, and make enough noise that your boss notices you.”
“At least I have the advantage of my boss already knowing me.”
“There you go. And if you weren’t amazing at your job, he wouldn’t have brought you along.”
I winced, my confidence flailing again. “I practically had to beg. They’re not sold on my managerial skills—they told me I needed to be more assertive, even though I thought I’d improved by leaps and bounds. Which just messes with my head more. I feel like this is my chance to prove myself, while we’re in a smaller office.” I bit my thumbnail. “What if I mess it up?”
“No what ifs, and definitely no thinking of losing as an option. Remember, I was raised in this gym. Here it’s visualizing, endurance, and arrogance. I occasionally give Shane crap for how cocky he is, but he once pointed out that if he didn’t think he could win, he’d never be able to step into the cage and do what he needs to do. Same goes for you.” She bumped her shoulder into mine. “Just less punching and more crushing presentations.”
“Right. I guess my error was not expecting the presentations to hit back,” I joked. “Liam suggested we bring you in, given that grown men twice your size are scared of you.”
“That’s mostly due to not taking their shit. As much as I hate to admit it, people being aware of who my family is factors in as well. But I also like to do one thing every month that challenges—or even scares—me. Whether it’s with my art, or at work, or like when I went all in with Shane.”
I could do that. Since I needed a quick turnaround, maybe I’d attempt one challenging thing a week.
“As for intimidation tactics, you do have access to a few of the most intimidating people ever.”
“Intimidation lessons. That’s an idea.” Here I’d been focusing on being assertive and bold—not that I had those down yet, either. Man, I have a lot of work to do.
“Also, hitting a punching bag when you’re frustrated works wonders. If you feel self-conscious, we can find a time when the gym’s empty, and I’ll work with you. Shane will insist on being here so we’re not alone late at night—I’ve given up talking him out of it—but I’ll make him do laundry or something.”
“Deal.”
The buzzer sounded, making me jump, and then I laughed at myself. The guys in the cage moved to the next drill, and Liam and Shane switched to striking, now in the position nearest us.
Liam hit, hit, hit, packing a crazy amount of power into each swing. He’d peeled his shirt off, and every muscle worked in tandem, bunching and flexing and delivering blow after blow.
“Their bodies are so ridiculous.” Oops, that sort of slipped out. I gave Brooklyn a sheepish smile. “I mean trained fighters in general.”
“And I totally buy that,” Brooklyn said, her tone contrary to the words.
I slumped back in the chair, giving up on denying it. “It just sort of hit me. But to be clear—”
“You and Liam are just friends,” Brooklyn finished. “I’ve heard the speech. From you, from him. From both of you at the same time. But I also get what you’re saying, because when I first returned home, before I had a chance to rebuild my immunity, it hit me hard, too. And, well, considering I’m with Shane now, maybe I didn’t exactly build it up, but…” Her gaze drifted to her boyfriend, and her teeth sank into her lower lip. “I forget my point.”
“That we should just sit back and enjoy the show?” I asked, doing some gazing and lip biting of my own.
“Amen, sister.”
Liam looked better than ever, and I was talking skill level as well as physical strength and endurance. Carlos would never have a chance of beating him now. Not many fighters would, and I was sure he’d win his next fight and get to put on that belt he’d been dreaming about his whole life.
When the buzzer rang, they called practice, and Liam caught my eye. I lifted my hand in a wave. “Guess I’m going to go talk to your brother about intimidation lessons.”
“Good luck,” Brooklyn said. “And hey, if you need a break from work and all the testosterone smothering the air in your apartment, give me a call, and we can hang out. Actually, give me a call anyway—Liam’s not the only one who missed you.”
Warmth wound through me, and I wrapped her in a tight side hug. “Right back at you.”
I walked to the edge of the cage, and I absolutely wasn’t watching the way my best friend’s throat moved as he drank his water, because that would be weird. But seriously, how did he manage to have a sexy throat? How was that even fair?
“Hi,” I said, suddenly finding myself short on words. In addition to the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, his pecs and biceps twitched with each move, too. Not that I noticed those or anything.
He raked a hand through his hair, but it immediately fell forward again, the longer pieces brushing his cheekbones. “What did Carlos want? You guys seemed extra chummy.”
That was like three subjects ago, so it took me a second to rewind. “Oh, he was telling me about how he’s promoting now, and I offered to help with some of the marketing.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“It’s not a big deal. I don’t mind. Speaking of opposite of chummy, he was reminding me about your last fight and how I held a grudge against him for a while, since he beat you.” I chuckled, and Liam frowned. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. If it makes you feel better, you’d totally kick his ass now.”
“It does,” he said, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Since I didn’t know what that was all about, only that continuing to discuss a past loss would be contrary to b
uttering him up, I charged on with my original mission. “Anyway, I was talking to Brooklyn and”—that turned his weak smile into a genuine frown—“why are you scowling again? I haven’t even gotten to the part of the sentence where I ask you for something yet.”
He looked at his sister and she gave him an over-the-top grin that admittedly did make her seem suspicious. “I just know that between you and Brooklyn, there’s probably a whole mess of bad ideas. Don’t worry, I mostly blame her. But you’re so easily talked into things.”
Now it was my turn to scowl. “Low blow, and now I’m not gonna ask.” I turned to gather my things, offense fueling me forward, but I only made it two steps before Liam’s large hand circled my arm, and he spun me back to face him.
“Come on. I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “What do you need?”
I crossed my arms. Kind of hard to ask for help on being intimidating when he implied I could be talked into things. Which, okay, was maybe too true. My pride battled with my desire to prove myself at work. “I need more than assertive lessons. I need intimidation tactics.”
“Easy.”
“Like me?” I challenged, and the corners of his mouth trembled against a smile.
“I seem to remember using my best intimidation tactics back in high school to get someone to clear up rumors about you being easy.”
My cheeks flushed red, because of course they did. “I… That… Grr, you’re seriously the worst.”
He stepped closer, the tips of his toes bumping my shoes. “You know, along with intimidation tactics, you might consider working on your persuasion skills.”
“When it comes to you, I think I’ve already got those mastered.”
Surprise showed in his expression, but instead of looking mad about it, he cupped my cheek. “Hell yeah, you do. And the selfish part of me doesn’t want you using them on anyone else.”
My blood rushed to the spot where his palm warmed my skin, everything in me reaching for his touch.
Then he quickly dropped his arm and cleared his throat. “Okay, so step one in intimidation…”
I lifted my chin, focusing on him for learning purposes. Not that it was a hardship.
“Just stare at them. The longer you do, the sooner they’ll give in.”
“Or will they think you must be having a stroke?”
Liam’s expression turned steely. Three seconds in, my heart rate kicked up a few notches. By five, I was ready to confess to things I didn’t do.
I reached up and rubbed the side of my neck. “Okay, point made. Please stop glaring.”
“No ‘please.’ Demand I stop.” His blue eyes contained so much intensity that my pulse went to thudding like crazy.
“Stop glaring and get back to work,” I said, using my firmest voice.
“Or what?”
“Or…” I swallowed. “Or I’ll do bad things to you.”
His eyebrow arched the tiniest fraction, and heat wound through my body. How did I manage to always say the wrong thing? Right now, it feels more like the right thing.
“Hey, Liam?” Mr. Roth called, and Liam turned in the direction of his dad’s voice. “Oh. Sorry. I was about to leave and just wondered if you’d lock up.”
“Sure,” Liam said.
An odd combination of relief and disappointment tumbled through me. The way he’d stared at me left me completely unraveled, but it was a delicious sort of out of control, one that sent heat pooling low in my stomach and made me want things I’d vowed to stop wanting.
Liam placed his hand on my shoulder, and with every cell in my body already pricked up and on edge, it made me jump. “I’ll lock up real quick and then we’ll head home.”
Home. Once again I loved when he called it home, something I shouldn’t—and couldn’t—get used to.
Liam dragged his thumb across my shoulder, and the ridiculous side of me wished there wasn’t any fabric in the way, as if I didn’t have enough goose bumps already. “To be continued?”
I nodded, although inside I was thinking that what I should do was shut it down before I went and did something crazy, like attempt to line up another kiss where I didn’t chicken out. Since he wouldn’t have anything like “depth perception” issues to blame—whether he’d used it as a gentle rejection or he’d legit thought that was what had happened—I’d end up making a complete fool of myself.
There’d be no amount of any kind of lessons that could bring me back from something like that.
Chapter Ten
Liam
In a lot of ways, it was a good thing Dad had said my name and broke me from my staring at Chelsea trance. In other ways… I really wanted to hear what bad things she’d like to do to me.
Okay, time to shut down that train of thought. This was what I got for not going home with the blonde on Monday. I couldn’t get Finn’s words about messing up a future with Chelsea out of my head, and we didn’t have a future, so it didn’t matter… But when it came down to it, I didn’t want the blonde.
Just like I didn’t want to ruin things with the sexy redhead who flopped over the back of the couch to babble at her cat. This morning I’d woken up to a picture of her and George on my phone, only they both had dog ears and noses with long tongues, and how fucking weird was that? And an even better question, why did I find it so damn adorable?
The past few nights I’d gone the ignore the attraction while avoiding her as much as possible method, but it was starting to make me feel shitty, on top of grouchy. I just needed to figure out how to make the most of our limited time together without turning it into weeks we’d later regret.
Regret. There was that word again, and something about it rubbed me the wrong way.
Because I wouldn’t regret pulling her close, kissing those full lips, and exploring every inch of her soft skin with my hands.
My blood pumped hot in my veins, and I ran my eyes up her long legs, let them snag on the ass that was displayed so nicely with her bending over the couch like that, and then moved up to her hair. I wanted to wrap my fist in it while I tilted back her head and…
And that’s enough of those thoughts.
This was the problem with hanging out. My brain kept forgetting the “chill” part of hanging out. Because while I wouldn’t regret making those moves, I’d regret the weirdness after. That I couldn’t give her what she wanted.
A glimpse of her and Carlos laughing had been enough to send me into a tailspin, making it damn hard to concentrate on training drills. I’d reassured myself nothing was going on between them. They knew each other, and he was a mutual friend. One who’d beat me the last time we’d stepped into the cage, during a fight when I’d been thinking far too much about Chelsea on the sidelines. Sure, I was the more inexperienced fighter, and I could make a dozen other excuses, but the truth was, I’d lost my focus.
Just for a minute or so—plus the few weeks before that when I’d been lingering on the idea of kissing her and taking our relationship to another level—and it’d resulted in a loss that took a lot of work to come back from.
Which meant crossing lines was still a solid no. Bad idea. Do not kiss best friend and pass go. No pulling her up flush against me and claiming that mesmerizing mouth.
“Liam?” She’d spun to face me, and her ass leaned against the back of the couch now, her hands on either side of her.
After a slow exhale, I almost managed to shove away the idea of tackling her and taking her to the couch cushions where she’d be pinned underneath me. Almost. “Yeah.”
“I know wine isn’t your thing, but I bought a bottle, and if you have even just a sip, I won’t feel like I’m a sad girl drinking alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I said.
“Right, but George can’t drink wine.”
I flattened my lips, and a beautiful grin spread across her face—she thought she was so funny. And she was. It was one of the things I loved—er, felt very fondly about. Fortunately, moving to the kitchen gave me a second to readjust and
get my dirty-thought reel under control. I grabbed two glasses that were far from the fancy ones most people used for wine, the bottle, and rounded the couch, since she’d moved to sitting on it the normal way.
“Actually, I’m going to go change into my comfy clothes real quick.” Chelsea plopped George on the cushion next to me. “You two get to know each other better.”
The sound of her bedroom door closing echoed down the hall, and I looked at the cat. What did she expect me to do? Ask if he liked to chase mice? “Our girl’s a little crazy. Sexy but crazy.”
George lifted one leg and went to licking his asshole. Didn’t get much more bonded than that. I clicked on the television, and Chelsea joined me a few minutes in. She sat on the other side of George, who took up an entire cushion.
“He and I are BFFs now,” I said, then considered kicking my own ass for saying BFFs, but I was already this deep. No need to stop now. “We’re thinking of hitting the bars together this weekend.”
Chelsea giggled and poured the wine. She handed me a glass, and I drank a sip out of obligation—it was one of those supersweet wines she loved, and I wished for something that’d burn on the way down. Make my eyes water, too, so I wouldn’t try to use X-ray vision to see if she had on a bra under her zippered hoodie.
“Ever notice how in TV shows and movies they do that slow walk back, maintaining eye contact the whole time?”
Onscreen, the character was looking at the woman he was saying goodbye to after taking her out to lunch, doing exactly what Chelsea said. “What about it?”
“I’d run into a desk or another person. I’m not cool enough for a slow walk back.”
“Guess you’ll just have to impress with your smarts and cute personality.”
She made a horrified face, like I had suggested she’d be a good candidate for clown school. “Ugh, no. I want to be smooth. Sexy.”
“You are,” I said, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
She laughed, and a snort came out on the end. “And that rules out that.” She gathered her hair into a high ponytail, and when it swung in front of her face, she picked up one of the strands. “I wonder if people would take me more seriously if my hair was a different color. Should I dye it? Maybe dark brown?”
