Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (3 page)

Nikko dropped his face in his hands and dragged his fingers through his hair. After over two years of running, his ghosts had finally caught up with him. “Is he . . .” Nikko cleared his throat when it tightened up on him and tried again. “Is Coach all right?”

Cole stared at him a moment, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to answer. Whatever he saw in Nikko’s eyes must have convinced him of his bone-deep regret, because the hard-ass fighter nodded his head. “Yeah, he’s fine. You’re lucky. Listen, I’m only going to tell you this once, Del Toro. That man is like a fucking father to me. If you
ever
touch him again, I’ll do more than knock you out.”

With that final warning, Easton flicked a square of paper between the bars. The business card landed on the floor near his feet. “Monday morning, bright and early,” Easton grumbled, then turned and walked away, leaving Nikko to rot behind bars. It was no worse than he deserved.

S
o . . . how was your date last night?”

Violet glanced up from the file she was reading to find Penelope hovering in the doorway of her office. She didn’t have time for this right now. The CFA was sending a fighter in for a psych eval in twenty minutes, and she was busy getting up to speed on what had transpired this weekend to prompt the referral.

This wasn’t the first time they’d sent her a client. The CFA required mental health evaluations on all their fighters, as well as background checks, before offering contracts. But this was the first time Vi was concerned one of them wasn’t going to pass it. What guy in his right mind knocks out his coach at a CFA press party? Whoever would do something so impulsive and just plain stupid was either looking to commit professional suicide or something wasn’t firing right upstairs.

“Well . . . ?” Pen prompted when Vi didn’t respond.

She pulled off her cheaters and dropped them onto the desk. “Not now, Pen. I have a new patient coming in at eight thirty and I’m trying to finish reading his file.”

“If you would have returned my multiple phone calls last night, we could have kept the sex talk out of the office. You don’t technically start work until eight thirty, which means you’re not on the clock yet. So, spill it, sister.”

Vi exhaled a sigh, casting another glance at the clock, and grumbled, “Remind me why I like you again.”

“Because I’m the fun version of you—except my tits are bigger and my hair is darker.”

She scowled at her friend’s impish grin, trying like hell to look serious. “Your tits are not bigger than mine, Pen.”

“I know.” She shrugged. “I just wanted to make you say
tits
at work.”

And this was the problem with having your best friend as your secretary. Perhaps it was because Pen reminded her so much of her sister that they’d become friends so fast. Working together every day had quickly built a bond that would normally have taken Vi years to develop. Pen’s loyalty and support and overall hatred for Barry had solidified what might have otherwise been an unlikely friendship. Despite herself, Vi cracked a smile. “You’re really horrible, you know that?”

“No, I’m not,” she said, strolling into Vi’s office, looking 100 percent business with her updo, light-blue button-up blouse, and navy skirt.

But looks were deceiving when it came to Pen. What you saw was not what you got. Only Violet knew what a reckless wild child she really was. So essentially, yeah, she was the fun version of herself.

“I just wanted to see you smile. It’s been too long, Vi. Maybe if that assclown Barry would stop calling you . . . I swear, if you take him back—” She dropped into the chair opposite Vi, crossing her legs and propping her spike heels on the edge of her desk.

“Nice shoes.”

“Thanks. Clearance at Macy’s. You didn’t answer my question.”

“That wasn’t a question, it was a threat. And no, I’m not taking Barry back.”

“That’s good, because I’d hate to have to kill him. Then there’d be
a body, and those things are heavy, let me tell you. I’m not as strong
as I look.”

Vi laughed, a burst of belly-splitting giggles letting loose from somewhere deep inside her—a place buried beneath a pile of yuck for
so long, she’d almost forgotten it existed. It felt good to laugh, so good she didn’t notice the man standing in the doorway—correction,
filling her doorway—until his knuckles rapped against the wooden frame.

Vi’s laughter was abruptly cut off by her startled gasp, and Pen leapt from the chair, shooting her an
oh, shit, sorry
grimace before turning to face the man.

“Can I help you?” Pen asked, painting on her patented Saturday-night grin. Only problem was, it was Monday freaking morning! And what was with
that
voice? Not even three minutes ago they were cackling like a couple of hens.

Turning her attention from her friend to the man in the doorway, Violet got a good look at the guy and was pretty sure her heart stopped. There was definitely a moment of pulselessness before it kicked into some other rhythm that rioted inside her chest.
Oh, no! It can’t be
. . . The guy from the plane was standing in her office! This had to be some sort of mistake.

This
was the fighter the CFA was sending her?
This
was Nikko “The Bull” Del Toro? No freaking way! Fate couldn’t be so cruel. But even as her mind desperately clung to denial, there was no denying it. She’d recognize that face anywhere, and not because of the white scar slashing down his cheek. Not a day had gone by since she stepped off that plane six months ago that she hadn’t thought of the man who’d rocked her world, and hadn’t regretted letting him go without at least discovering his name.

“I have an eight-thirty appointment with Dr. Summers,” he told Pen, pulling a business card from his pocket and handing it to her. His attention was solely focused on her secretary, and why wouldn’t it be? Penelope was gorgeous. Nikko had yet to tear his eyes away from her long enough to glance at Violet. Then the thought occurred to her,
What if he doesn’t remember me? What if he doesn’t recognize me?
How utterly humiliating would it be to discover the man who’d played a starring role in many of her late-night fantasies didn’t even remember who she was? Maybe she was just that forgettable. What would she tell him when she had to explain that he needed to find another psychologist?

“You’re early,” Pen pointed out, a teasing lilt to her soft, airy voice.

You’ve got to be kidding me.
His brow arched at Pen’s flirty tone. Apparently,
he
couldn’t believe it was happening, either.

“If you’ll come with me, I have some paperwork for you to fill out.”

She walked toward the man, who had yet to budge from the doorway. It took Vi a moment to find her voice. “Um . . . that won’t be necessary, Penelope.” There was no point in doing paperwork when he wouldn’t be staying.

When Vi spoke, that slate-gray gaze darted over, locking on to her like an acquired target. He flinched in surprise, and if she had any doubt that he would recognize her, there was none now.

Holy. Shit.

Ho-ly shit! Clover?
He’d know that soft melodic voice anywhere, heard it echoed in his dreams more times than he cared to admit. This was
sooo
not happening. How could he have not realized it was her the moment he stepped through the door? Other than she now looked every bit the professional who had earned the PhD-titled nameplate sitting on her mahogany desk.

Damn, he couldn’t believe it. He’d found his four-leaf clover. What were the fucking odds? Nikko couldn’t decide if he was the luckiest bastard in the world or if the universe was playing a sick joke on him. Unable to take his eyes off her, Nikko stood there staring at the woman who’d occupied his thoughts too fucking much over the last six months.

Shit . . . he hadn’t thought it possible, but she was even more gorgeous than he remembered. Wow—Vegas certainly agreed with her. Her blonde hair was a shade paler, and the sun-kissed tan of her once alabaster skin now glowed golden, setting off those amazing violet eyes.

“Clover . . . ?” Her name left his lips in an utterance of shocked disbelief. Unbidden, the memory of her in his arms, his cock buried deep inside her, sent the blood in his veins rushing south so fast he felt lightheaded. Something in his chest tightened, the uncomfortable cramp hitting him with a sucker punch of reality.
This woman is my fucking shrink?
No way. No way in hell is this happening.

“Her name’s not Clover, it’s Violet,” her secretary supplied as she tried to squeeze past him.

Violet? Seriously?—just like her eyes.

Realizing that the woman wasn’t getting by until he got the hell out of her way, Nikko stepped inside the office and let the secretary pass while he scrambled to get his shit together before he said or did something to
make a bad situation worse. A small part of him was glad to see Clover again. It’d been a long time since he’d felt . . . well, anything.
But there was a larger part that couldn’t believe God would have such a sick sense of humor.

“Penelope, please close the door,” Clover called to her secretary.

Once it shut, the tension in the room went from high alert to critical, really fucking fast.

“Hi,” she said softly, looking very uncomfortable and so damn pretty it made his chest ache. She broke his stare, focusing her attention anywhere but on him.

“Hey . . .” So, yeah, this was super awkward.

“I umm . . . I was reading your file the CFA sent over.”

That’s it? She wasn’t even going to bring it up? No
how are you doing? How’ve you been since we banged?
Was she seriously going to sit there and act like that shit on the plane didn’t happen?

“I can’t believe you’re a goddamn psychologist!” he exploded, marching toward her desk. A flicker of fear flashed in her eyes, which instantly pissed him off. “What kind of a shrink fucks some random guy in an airplane bathroom?”

She flinched at his verbal assault, and a stab of guilt arrowed into his gut. Who in the hell turned off the filter from his mouth to his brain? This wasn’t her fault. He knew that, and he had no right taking his problems out on her. If his head weren’t so jacked up, he wouldn’t be here in the first place. He had no one to blame but himself for this mess.

“I’m sorry,” he grumbled, diving his fingers into his hair as he paced in front of her desk like a caged animal. “That wasn’t fair. I’m not judging you.”

But he could feel her eyes on him as he made another lap in front of her desk, and she was not returning the nonjudgmental favor. Why wasn’t she saying anything? She just sat there watching him with that expressionless look of cool professionalism on her beautiful face. He had no clue what she was thinking, and it was making him edgy as hell.

Finally, she spoke. “It’s unethical for me to be your therapist. I’ll have your file transferred to my partner, Dr. Morrison.”

She reached across her desk and held down the silver button on the intercom. The movement shifted the V of her blouse, giving him a glimpse of her gorgeous cleavage. His heart stuttered. No tan lines . . .

“Penelope, when is Dr. Morrison’s next available appointment?”

“July twenty-first. Dr. Morrison is on vacation this month, remember? Do you still want me to make the appointment?”

“Yes, please.”

Nikko’s scowl darkened. July twenty-first? Was she kidding? That was over a month away. “Don’t bother,” he muttered, resuming his pacing as she leaned back in her chair. “I can’t wait that long. I’ll just go somewhere else.”

“You can’t. We’re under contract with the CFA. It’s an insurance thing. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait until Jim gets ba—”

He stopped midpace and spun around to face her. Planting his palms on her desk, he leaned across it, pinning her with a glare. “Listen, Clover—”

“That’s not my name.”

“Whatever. I am this close”—he held his thumb and index finger an inch apart—“to getting kicked out of the CFA, and I am not going to tank my career because you can’t handle this.”

Her face squished into a scowl that wrinkled her little pixie nose. “
I
never said I couldn’t handle
this
. I said it’s unethical.”

“Well, I’m sorry, babe, but my career trumps your ethics. Until you start signing off on my therapy appointments, I can’t even set foot inside that gym. So unless you want to punch my card without seeing me—”

“I can’t do that.”

He plopped down in the chair across from her and folded his arms
over his chest. “Then it looks like we’re stuck with each other until your shrink-dink partner gets back from vacay. Which means you’re now running about ten minutes late for my appointment, babe.”

“Mr. Del Toro—”

“What?”

“I’m not your babe.”