In Your Corner (9 page)

“I need you.” I drop one hand to his belt and work the buttons on my shirt with the other.

Jake hisses in a breath and jerks away. He takes one step back and then another, chest heaving.

Alone, on the edge, I lean against the door, my breath coming in short pants. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

His voice drops to a strained rasp. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything. You’re just…hard to resist.”

“But…” My mouth drops open and my body aches with the sudden drop in arousal. “Is it Sia? Sandy said you were with her…”

“I tried it with her,” he growls. “It didn’t work out. I tried it with a lot of girls—a lot—but none of them…” He pounds his fist on the wall and the fresh plaster gives way, leaving a gaping hole. “None of them were you. None of them made me feel the way you made me feel.”

“But then what’s the problem?”

He scrubs his hand over his face. “Last time was too fast, too intense. Overwhelming. You pushed me away and I went. This time I want to take it slow. Do things different. Make sure it’s right. I just…when I’m with you…it’s so damn hard.”

Humiliation hardens my heart. “Why waste your effort? I’m the same person I was. Nothing is going to change.”

Before I can say anything else, he brushes a kiss over my forehead and then pulls open the door. “It already has.”

***

Sandy and I manage to have a civilized meeting after Jake leaves. I try not to think about how he left me hanging or why I’m wasting time and energy on a man who has an agenda that involves not having sex.

As we exit my office, I catch sight of Ray, now ensconced on my new Farnsworth & Tillman–style couch, his shoes up on my new glass coffee table.

I blink. Ray nods and says, “Hey,” as if he hangs out in my office every day, drinking my coffee, scuffing my table, and reading my newspapers.

Sandy’s head snaps in his direction and she sucks in a breath. Ray stares at her. She stares at Ray. Penny and I exchange a glance.

“Tell me again what he’s doing here.” I keep my voice to a low, discreet hiss.

“You need an investigator.”

“Not him. He works for Farnsworth. He has a conflict.”

I clear my throat to draw Ray’s attention, but he’s still entranced by the fair Sandy and she by him. I have to admit, she is looking especially gorgeous today with her long, blond hair fanning over her shoulders and a jaunty tan beret perched on her head. Of course, no one could look bad carrying a $10,000 handbag or wearing $2,000 shoes.

“He says it isn’t a problem,” Penny whispers.

“Well, it’s a problem to me.” I give Ray a cold smile. “Um. Ray? Could I talk to you for a second?”

He tears his gaze away from Sandy and gives me a wink. “Sure thing. Just catching up with Pen. Nice to see you out on your own and already gettin’ clients.” With a nod at Sandy, Ray shifts his long, lithe body on the couch and crosses his ankles. Not the pose of a man about to get up and do my bidding, but who am I to complain? Even I am not immune to his chiseled good looks and hard-body charm. He is looking particularly commando today: buzz cut, army fatigues, black boots, grizzled chin, and a mysterious bulge on his side that looks suspiciously like a weapon. But what would a PI be doing with a weapon?

Since he doesn’t seem to have taken the hint that I want to talk to him in private, I try another tactic. “So, what can I do for you, Ray?”

“Heard you have some investigation work. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it done.”

I glance at Sandy and then back to Ray. “Don’t you have another…employer? Someone who can actually pay what you’re worth? Someone who might be upset to find out you’re doing contract work for me?”

“Nope.” He smiles at Sandy. “You got a case?”

“Yes.” Her tiny voice is so unlike her usual full-throated fight scream, I almost can’t believe it’s coming from her.

“Amanda tell you if you need a PI on it?”

Her cheeks brighten. “Yes. I told her to hire the best.”

Ray gives a satisfied grunt. “Right. I’m hired. Your client wants me, Amanda. Looks like we’ll be working together again.”

I give an indignant sniff as Sandy waves good-bye and heads out the door. “Direct as always. I see you haven’t changed. Did Penny mention I can’t pay you?”

“I’m here—means I’ve changed,” he says brusquely. “And I’m not worried about pay.”

“How nice no one needs to worry about getting paid,” I mutter as I head to my office. “I’m definitely in the wrong profession.”

“Hey, Amanda,” Ray yells as I push open my door.

Turning, I raise an eyebrow. “Check out the décor. This is a law firm, Ray. We don’t yell or raise our voices here. Also, we don’t put our shoes on the table. Pretend you’re at Farnsworth & Tillman. Act accordingly.”

Ray snorts a laugh. “You want this to be a mini Farnsworth & Tillman? Take a look around, sweetheart. This house is made for comfort and relaxation. It’s a place to loosen up. Be yourself. Are you really Farnsworth & Tillman or are you something more?”

More than Farnsworth & Tillman? They are the top of the top. La crème de la crème. The firm every law student wanted to join. My father gave me a rare pat on the head when I showed him my offer letter. How can there be more?

“I want it to be professional.”

“Yeah?” Ray bounces on the couch. “Nothing professional about making your clients sit on an uncomfortable couch. This couch…hard as nails. I saw a nice couch in the hallway. Flowers and birds and garden-type things all over it. Lotsa cushions, although a bit beat up. I’m thinking you should swap these out and bring it in. You want, I’ll do that for you.”

“Law firm. Not lounge,” I snap. “I need to project a professional image.”

Ray lifts an eyebrow. “You need to let go of the past.”

Maybe I do. And Jake with it.

THE SUBMISSION MASTER

The next day, the unthinkable happens.

Rampage and the other fighters who helped me at Hellhole are served with a civil lawsuit for ten million dollars courtesy of Bob and his sidekick, now identified in the voluminous documents as Clive Custer. From the papers Rampage faxes to me, it appears they have retained some back alley attorney who has clearly taken the case on a contingency basis with the mind-set of “throw enough at them and something might stick.”

I see red.

Penny and I spend the rest of the afternoon drafting retainer agreements for the fighters, all of whom, except for Jake, have agreed to have me represent them. No arm twisting needed.

“Do you want me to draft something up for Jake just in case?” Penny hands me an envelope with the completed documents as I grab my gym bag from the storage cupboard.

“Not yet. It’s a bit of a tricky situation, which is why I need to speak to him in person.” I shrug on my jacket and tuck the envelope in my purse. “If we were in a sexual relationship and he wanted to retain me, it wouldn’t be an issue. The ethical rules allow attorneys to take a lover as a client. What they don’t allow is an attorney taking a client as a lover. I’m not sure if we are in a sexual relationship. Or if our relationship from before would count. All I really know is we had sex two years ago. And now we’re not having sex. Unless, of course, meaningless foreplay in the office counts as sex.”

Penny frowns. “So if you have sex with him, then he can hire you as his attorney without any ethical issues?”

“Crudely put, yes. But even if I was the kind of person who would purposely have sex with someone to smooth over ethical issues for the sole purpose of getting a client, which I’m not, I don’t know if I want to get involved with him again. It’s just too hard. Too many emotions involved. Too much history. I’m thinking I need to start fresh, find someone new.”

Penny snorts. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

Now it is my turn to frown. “That sounded slightly sarcastic.”

She turns off her computer and fishes around in her desk for her purse. “Only slightly? I was going for full-on sarcasm. You finally get another chance with the one guy you want more than anything else. You two almost burn up the office with the heat between you. But hey, maybe it’s time to find someone new? Seriously? Just sleep with him. Get that out of the way and then deal with whatever issues are left over and sign him up for the Bob and Clive funfest. Shag ’n’ bag.”

“Shag ’n’ bag?”

“That’s right. You sleep with him. Then you bag him as a client. Problem solved.”

I would laugh but Penny isn’t even smiling. She is dead serious about her shag ’n’ bag plan. “What if he doesn’t want to sleep with me? What if he’s just playing around and having a bit of fun at my expense?”

Penny rolls her eyes. “I thought you were the man whisperer. Why are you asking me for advice? I’m the one on an extended dry spell who can’t get a date to save her life. But since you did, I’ll give you the benefit of my experience. He’s a man. He wants to sleep with you.”

“Thanks for that,” I say dryly.

Penny shrugs and pushes open the door. “Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best.”

***

Almost two hours later, worn ragged by a traffic nightmare on the bridge, I make it to Redemption. With Rampage’s assistance, I commandeer Torment’s office for a group signing of the retainer agreements. I can only imagine what he would say if he saw fighters draped over every surface, but everyone promises to keep it hush-hush.

After the sign-up, everyone heads out, but Homicide Hank lingers by the door. He sighs loudly, then inspects Torment’s bookshelves as I sort out the papers on the desk.

“Something on your mind, Homicide?”

He takes a quick look over his shoulder and then slides into the chair across from me. “Actually, the wife and I…we’re thinking we should have wills for when the baby is born. But we don’t have a lotta money, so I bought a DIY will kit online.” He pulls out a crushed bundle of papers from his gym bag and slides them across the desk. “I just…it’s kinda complicated.”

Fortunately, Homicide lives in the catchment for the community legal aid clinic, and five minutes later he becomes my newest pro bono client. But the fun doesn’t end with Homicide. Obsidian catches me outside Torment’s office with a motor vehicle injury claim wadded into a tight ball in his fist, and Rampage hands me a bundle of insurance papers before I hit the changing room. Who needs advertising when I have Torment?

Relieved that Jake isn’t around, I make it into the registration office with enough time to sign up for three grappling and fight technique classes before Get Fit or Die starts. Shayla, now working the desk part-time, walks me through the forms, but just as I hand her my credit card, Fuzzy taps me on the shoulder.

“What’s going on? Why aren’t you warming up for class tonight?”

“I’m signing up to learn how to fight.”

Fuzzy glares as I scrawl my name on the sign-up sheets and then snatches away my pen. “You can’t even manage Get Fit or Die. How are you gonna fight?”

“You can’t stop me. Shayla…er Shilla the Killa says I can take any classes I want. She says I don’t have to pass Get Fit or Die first. She says everything that comes out of your mouth about prerequisites is bullshit.” I smile at Shayla, frozen behind the cash register with my credit card in her hand. She doesn’t look pleased.

“No.”

“Come on, Fuzz,” I moan. “I joined Redemption because I want to fight. I want to be able to walk down dark alleys and not be afraid. You said I should take your beginners’ class to get in shape and I did. Plus, I’ve been working out every day, not just here. I’m stronger, faster, and I can now leap small buildings in a single bound.”

His face softens and his lips quirk into a smile. “I just want you to be safe. I’ve seen too many people hurt in the ring simply because they weren’t properly conditioned. Maybe you should consider taking one of the martial arts classes. It would be a good halfway point. Girls like you don’t belong in the ring.”

Girls
like
me?

Shayla snorts a laugh. “Girls like her work out, train hard, and become girls like me. You don’t think I belong in the ring?” She flexes her impressive biceps and then mocks up a few bodybuilder stances. My mouth drops open. Shayla is ripped. Everywhere. She could definitely put down most of the guys I know. I want to be like her.

“Course not.” Fuzzy’s smile fades. “You’re a fucking machine. You didn’t get your nickname for nothing. But I’m talking about Amanda. She’s…different. Delicate.”

Tilting her head to the side, Shayla gives him a curious look. “Did you know I was a professional ballerina before I joined Redemption? I wore tutus and pink slippers. I danced for Joffrey and toured the world. I practiced every day from the age of three until even the barest flutter of my fingers was graceful. You want delicate, you look right over here.”

Eyes wide, mouth open, Fuzzy stares at Shayla like she’s grown two heads. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

By way of answer, Shayla pulls out her phone. She flips through her photos, holding up pictures of her as a ballerina for Fuzzy to see.

He sighs over the last photo. “I don’t get it.”

Shayla shrugs. “We’re not all born fighters. And the fact that you can’t even begin to understand it is the reason you shouldn’t stand in Amanda’s way. She wants to learn how to fight. You should let her fight. If she gets hurt, she’ll learn what not to do next time. Worked for me.”

Still, he hesitates. His eyes rove over me in an assessing, entirely nonsexual way, and he strokes his bottom lip. I fight back the urge to whinny and paw the floor with a running shoe–clad hoof.

“I’ll sign a legal waiver.” I give a pathetic laugh.

Fuzzy shakes his head. “It’s not the law I’m worried about. It’s Renegade. You get hurt, he’ll be all over my ass.”

“Renegade? He has nothing to do with what classes I take. We’re not…you know…together. And even if we were, I wouldn’t let him interfere with how I want to train.”

Fuzzy arches an eyebrow and then he and Shayla share a glance and a snort.

“How about we sign her up for Grunt ’n’ Grapple?” Shayla suggests to Fuzzy as if I wasn’t standing in front of her. “Rampage is teaching tonight. They’re using dummies and just doing submission drills. Should be safe enough.”

Fuzzy sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “What if she gets a scratch—or worse, a bruise?”

Shayla’s eyebrows fly up to her hairline. “I didn’t think of that. How about I run interference? First sign of injury, and I’ll pull her out and take her to first aid. Doctor Death can patch her up and send her home. Renegade will never know.”

“Seriously?” I raise my voice in disbelief. “Is this a serious conversation? I told you he has nothing to do with how I train. And you can’t possibly be that afraid of him. I mean, he’s only been back in the gym a couple of months.”

“Make sure you have a word with Rampage,” Shayla says to Fuzzy, ignoring my outburst. “We don’t want him getting hurt. He’s fighting in the next event.”

A few irritating minutes later, I am released into Rampage’s hands with a full set of instructions about my care and handling like I’m a kid being dropped off at day care.

“This is ’manda,” Rampage tells the class consisting of six guys and no other women. “She’s Redemption’s attorney and she’s Renegade’s girl, so no one messes with her. That means you don’t speak to her; you don’t look at her; you don’t touch her; you don’t breathe the same air as her. She’s gonna train over there.” He points to the far end of the mat. “We’re gonna train over there.” He points to the opposite end.

“I feel like a pariah,” I mutter. “And, by the way, I’m not Renegade’s girl.”

Rampage chuckles. “Everyone knows you’re Renegade’s girl. Don’t need to be shy.”

“How does everyone know?” I pull away from his bulk and fold my arms. “Did he say something?”

Rampage gives my head a condescending pat. “He didn’t need to say anything. A man stakes his claim, every man with a beating heart in the vicinity knows it. That was done the first day he brought you back to Redemption. Reinforced at the renovation party. The minute you walk in here, he’s got eyes on you. He’s got hands on you. He keeps the sharks away. You never wonder why no one bothers you? You never ask yourself why, looking the way you look and dressing the way you dress and smiling that pretty smile and with all those smarts in your head, you’ve never been harassed at Redemption?”

“But…”

“You’re his.” Rampage’s face softens. “Looks like you’re the only one who doesn’t know it.”

Stunned into silence, I go through the motions as Rampage leads us in a warm-up. Then it’s over to the wall to get a grapple dummy.

“Make sure you get a submission dummy,” Rampage hollers at us. “I don’t want to see anyone with a practice dummy and no bags. Amanda, you take Grapple Man because he’s lighter than the rest. Everyone else can take a Bubba II.”

Wrapping my arms around the life-size, six-foot training dummy, I drag it across the mats. Eerily human, the fifty-five-pound mannequin has realistic and bendable arms, legs, and torso, and his skin has the feel and resiliency of human flesh. The molded hair and face give him the appearance of a giant Ken doll. When no one is looking, I check under his cotton shorts for anatomical correctness and find him lacking. Just like Ken.

“Today we’re going to drill basic submissions from the bottom—arm bars, triangles, and kimuras. We’ll do them one after the other, ten reps each.” Rampage positions us all on our backs and ropes Drake into helping everyone position the dummy on top.

“How’s my best girl?” Drake kneels down beside me and brushes the hair away from my face. “I stopped by your new office after surgery the other night and I couldn’t believe the lights were out at eight p.m. Only putting in half days now, are you?”

“It’s a whole new me.” I grin and push myself up to my elbows. “No late nights. Getting in shape so I can learn how to fight. And I’m down to only four cups of coffee a day.”

Drake frowns. “So I’ll be seeing you on my operating table in fifteen years instead of ten.”

“Chill. I’m feeling good.”

His gaze roves over Ken tucked between my legs, his plastic face nestled between my breasts, and winks. “You’re looking good. Always like to see a woman in submission.”

“Shut up, Drake…er…Doctor Death. This isn’t the place for sexual innuendo. I’m trying to learn serious fight techniques.” I fake a scowl while Drake repositions the dummy, one plastic hand on either side of my head, one plastic pelvis where an anatomically correct pelvis might go.

“He’s in full mount,” Drake explains. “Dominant.”

I’ll bet.

“Um. Is this the right position?”

Drake sucks in a laughing breath. “It’s the position I use. The ladies seem to like it.” He leans closer and whispers. “You seemed to like it.”

“Rampage!” Unable to move with roughly sixty pounds of dummy on top of me, I turn my head and holler. “Get Doctor Death out of here. He’s harassing me and definitely enjoying himself too much to teach me properly.”

More wheezing laughter and Drake helps me position my right leg around Ken’s neck, my ankle tucked behind the back of my left knee. Ken’s head is locked tight between my legs, his mouth tucked tight against the curve of my sex. Hoooah! I might just buy a grapple dummy for the long, lonely nights ahead.

Drake lifts Ken’s head. Ken’s head slides down and bumps gently between my legs. Drake tries again, but Ken has other ideas. Ken knows where a woman wants a man’s mouth and if Drake keeps doing what he’s doing, I’m going to need a dummy with real lips…and a tongue. I suspect Drake knows this all too well.

Finally Drake sits back and sighs. “Problem with you using Grapple Man is that he’s designed for a bigger fighter. He won’t stay put. And there’s not enough tension in the arms. A real person will hold his head up and push against your legs. The Submission Master would be better, but he’s our heaviest practice dummy and I think he’ll be too much for you.”