Gold Shimmer (20 page)

“S
o what was the deal with you and Calder?” Beth asks once we manage to ditch her security guy. Anthony is far better than Marco. He must know Beth pretty well because he was right on our tail as soon as we left the house. I thought for sure we wouldn’t lose him, but finally I don’t see any car lights following us toward the city.

“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously. I have no idea just how much Beth knows about Calder and Celeste’s relationship.

“Look, I know you weren’t keen on marrying Jake, but I do think Ben’s the better choice for you. He’s definitely less
scrappy
.”

When Beth lets out a laugh, I realize she’s chuckling at her own joke. Jake must be the “Scrappy” she mentioned earlier. Interesting nickname. I don’t remember him getting into fights at school, but I didn’t go to the football games, so who knows just how rough he was on the field.

Sobering, Beth continues, “As soon as Dad announced your engagement to Ben, Calder looked like someone knocked him in the gut. I saw him slip out the patio door after that. Was there something real going on between you two?”

My stomach plummets. I’m so glad I was too distracted to look his way, because seeing him visibly upset would’ve destroyed all my composure. I grimace. “I feel so bad. I wish I could call him.”

“Why don’t you call him now?”

“He’ll probably never want to speak to me again anyway, so I deleted his number to keep me from making a fool of myself.”

“Really?” Beth rolls her eyes and hands me her phone. “If there was the beginning of something between you two, you at least owe him an apology, Celeste. It’s the decent thing to do.”

Beth appears to have the compassion gene her sister lacks, making her fairly likable. I take her phone, my brows pulling together. “How did you get his number?”

She grins. “When I teasingly told him I might need a security evaluation, he sincerely offered to give me one. I have to say, Celeste, I didn’t mind that delicious hunk of a man leaning in close while I added his info to my contacts one bit. He smells divine.”

Annoyed, I pull my phone from my pocket and pretend to add Calder’s number to it. Instead, I make sure to block the caller ID before I paste his number into a message to Talia.

Me: Give this to S. Now he can locate C. Don’t reply back. This isn’t my phone.

I hit send, then pretend to dial Calder while I’m really deleting the text message from the trash folder. I might not be able to officially apologize to Calder for today’s events, but helping Sebastian reconnect with his cousin is my way of putting the one person Calder claims to trust—at least he felt that way four years ago—back in his life.

Holding Beth’s gaze, I speak into the silent phone. “Hey, Calder. I hoped you’d answer, but I guess I’ll have to leave this on your voicemail. I just wanted to apologize. I had no idea my dad would announce my engagement today of all days. I should’ve told you about my obligation to the Hemming family. As Carver Enterprises’ CEO, I’m obligated to keep my father’s wishes of merging our families via marriage. The arrangement was established a long time ago. I hope you can forgive me.”

I glance at Beth’s bummed expression and sigh as I put my phone back in my pocket. “At least I put it out there.”

Disappointment creases Beth’s smooth skin and she drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “The point is…you tried.” Waving her hand to clear the heaviness in the air, she brightens. “Let’s have some fun tonight and forget about regrets and obligations for a bit, agreed?”

“Agreed,” I say, nodding.

My stomach tightens as we head into the revitalized area of the Lower East Side. The city has been working hard to spruce it up and turn it into a hip place to eat out. And for the most part it’s working. Except at night. Its proximity to the dodgier areas makes it a place you only visit during the day.

Yet here we are, pulling up outside an abandoned warehouse at nine in the evening. Granted, we’re not alone. A long line of Audis, BMWs, Jaguars and other high-end cars are waiting behind us to enter the security patrolled parking deck.

We drive under the garage’s automatic arm after Beth waves a ticket in front of a sensor, and I say, “Where’d you get that ticket? What is this place, Beth? It’s as silent as a tomb.”

She parks and cuts the engine. “The ticket tells us where to go. The secret locations change every three months. Just trust me. You needed to get out and cut loose. And I know you, Celeste. This is as far
out
of your comfort zone as you’ll ever get.”

“That’s
not
comforting,” I say, following her across the parking lot. Normally I would find my comment amusing. Between Talia and me, I’m usually the more adventurous one, but right now, I’m not technically myself. When we walk in the opposite direction of the elevator that other patrons are waiting for, I tilt my chin toward it. “Um, isn’t that the way we’re supposed to take?”

Beth giggles and punches a button to a smaller elevator. “Not us. We’re extra special VIPs.”

“So they’re VIPs as well?” I ask Beth as the elevator takes a short trip up. “What kind of place is this?”

“It’s called the Elite Underground Club or EUC for short.” The second the elevator opens at our destination, the roar of a crowd drowns out the rest of what Beth says.

My jaw drops when she drags me out of the elevator. “You brought me to a fight match?”

I stare at the official-looking fight cage in the center of the room below and the mass of people still pouring in through another entrance. Beth and I are standing on a kind of balcony at the highest point in the room. The only way down to the main floor is via a ramp to our left. The ramp circles the entire massive room all the way down to the main floor, where a couple hundred chairs are set up in a circle around the ring.

Beth lets out a full-bellied laugh. “It was totally worth bringing you here just to see that look on your face. Come on. We need to hurry.” Before I can protest, she grabs my hand and pulls me down the ramp.

While we make our way through the crowd of men and women starting to seat themselves, I say over the general murmur of pre-fight talk, “I can’t believe how many women are here.”

Beth pauses once we reach the center aisle that leads right up to the stairs outside the cage. “Why? You don’t think women can enjoy a good MMA fight?”

I glance around the packed place. “You don’t usually see this many women at a boxing match, do you? In the past, women just haven’t enjoyed watching violent sports.”

“Ha! The times have changed, big sister,” Beth says, proceeding down the aisle. “Not only do we enjoy it, we get turned on by it.”

I hurry to catch up to her, my eyebrows raised. “Okaaaaay, then. That was TMI, but whatever floats your boat, LL.”

Beth’s cheeky grin softens. “You haven’t called me that in a long time.”

The way she’s looking at me makes me wonder if I’ve just blown my own cover, but then Beth throws her arm around my neck and yanks me into a tight hug. Pulling me along, she whispers in my ear, “I kind of miss it.”

Relieved I didn’t screw up, I smile and elbow her lightly in the ribs. “So do you have extra VIP front row tickets too?”

Beth wrinkles her nose at my teasing before she tugs me into a huge group of girls all calling out to one of the organizers—a beefy bald guy with a hard expression who’s wearing a black T-shirt that reads SECURITY in bold white letters.

“Pick me!” A high-pitched voice calls from the gaggle of women.

“No, I’m the one you want!” a perky blonde says.

A tall, busty brunette elbows the short blonde in the head, and when she screams out, Big Boobs sneers, “See what happens when you pinch people?”

Snickering at them, Beth says to me in a low tone, “We’re not sitting. We’re joining the greeting party.”

I soon discover what the “greeting party” is when the bald guy picks Beth, me, and eight other women, then points to the edge of the stairs leading up to the caged ring and says in a rumbling voice, “Line up on the left side of the aisle, ladies.”

Beth giggles mischievously as she pulls me to her left and murmurs, “This is going to be fun.”

Standing next to the stairs, I’m at a loss as to what I’m supposed to do. Do we wave and scream for the fighters like cheerleaders? The only reason I was picked is because Beth insisted we were a package deal once the guy chose her. Of course he chose her! She might not be dressed in skimpy skin-tight, mid-drift clothes like the other ladies, but her tall black boots, black mini skirt and fitted red sweater with a deep-vee shows off her assets well. She definitely competes. I feel completely underdressed, but I’m here…may as well get swept up in the fun. I ignore the other girls snorting at my basic outfit and whistle and holler right along with Beth.

The music amps at the same time the lights suddenly dim. A single spotlight focuses on the center aisle and a man’s deep voice announces across the speakers. “Are you ready for the championship fight tonight?” The crowd goes nuts, screaming and whistling, while the announcer begins to rattle off fight stats for the first fighter as the spotlight shifts to the top of the aisle where the fighter stands. “Give it up for Stone Cold Jack Hammer!” the announcer finally booms.

Other than the red tape crisscrossed around his hands and fingers, the fighter is wearing a pair of red shorts with a white waistband and no shoes. While he punches one hand into the other and flexes his thick chest and ab muscles, obviously soaking in the moment of undivided attention, I ask Beth, “What’s up with that tight mask covering his whole head? It makes me feel like he’s going to rob me.”

“Ha, yeah, on top of the required use of stage names, the mask’s intimidating factor is a side benefit.” Beth’s chuckle dies down as she leans close to whisper, “Did you notice the guys in suits who walked into that booth?”

I follow her line of sight to a glassed-in sky-box to the right of the elevator where we exited. I can’t believe I missed seeing it when we first got off, but then the fight cage pretty much drew my undivided attention. The sky-box glass is tinted so we can’t see inside, and several massive guards of different ethnicities stand around the outside of the booth, watching the crowd below with protective scrutiny stamped on their faces. “No, I didn’t.”

Beth nods and gives a knowing smile. “Those are the true VIPs of the night. The men enter the booth with masks on too, though I hear theirs are more comfortable. They’re here to be entertained, but with all that muscle up there protecting them, I’m sure they’re men of influence. One thing is for sure…they’re staggeringly wealthy. I’ve heard
those
tickets are over a million each.”

I gulp. “A million? How much was our ticket?”

“It was a gift,” she titters. “As for the major VIPs up there, my guess is they place massive bets on these fights. This championship bout is the penultimate for the fighters who’ve worked so hard in the amateur arenas to get chosen for the EUC. Only a few were hand-selected and offered the chance to fight in four bouts total over the course of a year. Three previous elimination bouts lead to this one main event. Tonight’s winner will not only be well paid, he’ll also get an audience with those men if he chooses.”

“I would think the fighters would want all the glory and fame in the arena,” I say. “Why wouldn’t they want all the fans to know who they are?” Frowning, I continue, “And more importantly…how do you know all this?”

She
tsks
and fluffs her hair. “I have ways to get people to talk. I’m charming like that. And as for the fighters keeping their identities a secret, in the three other EUC fights that lead up to this main event, the fans do get to know the MMA fighters through their stage names.” She gestures to the fighter in red shorts who’d stopped to sign autographs on his way toward the ring. “Since only amateur—aka unpaid—MMA fighting is allowed in NY, the fighters’ identities are kept secret. They can’t get in trouble for being paid if no one knows who they are. The masks protect their identities so they won’t have problems with the law, which could hurt them if they wanted to go pro later.” She stops talking and laughs at my dumbfounded expression. “Yes, I’m a fan.”

“A super fan more like.” I snort. “But…headgear aside, wouldn’t their stats give them away?”

Beth smirks. “I can tell by their accents that the guys who fight aren’t always native to New York. But since we don’t have a name or city to compare their stats to, it would be hard to figure out who the fighter really is.”