Ice Cold (An MMA Stepbrother Romance) (6 page)

When I woke up hearing my phone buzzing, it took me a moment to realize that it was ringing because it was a phone call and not my alarm. I rolled over in bed and picked it up. I blinked at the screen. It was just after 7 am, and the number on the screen was definitely not a person I wanted to talk to.

But, if he was calling this early, that meant he had something he had deemed important that he wanted to tell me. So he would call every ten minutes until I did answer. It wasn’t as if we hadn’t played this game before. I always ended up losing.

“Shit, Dad. Do you know what time it is?” I said by way of greeting. I wasn’t all that concerned about offending him. My old man was a pain in my ass.

“You should have already eaten breakfast and be on your way to the gym,” my dad said. “You have a round of press interviews in two hours, and you have to be awake and ready to go.

I had passed out on my couch, and as I sat up, I glanced around the room to see an array of bottles of liquor and glasses everywhere. The party the evening before had been impressive “I’ve got my workout in for the day,” I said with a smirk as I thought about the previous evening’s activities.

“Binge drinking and passing out doesn’t count as working out,” my dad said. It was eerie how he always seemed to know what I was thinking. “Screwing random girls doesn’t count in that equation either. Frankly, I shocked you haven’t gotten a disease yet.”

“Your vote of confidence is overwhelming, as always,” I said. In all reality, I hadn’t screwed any girls since that chick after the last fight. Alexa. I wasn’t as interested. I figured it was just because of how focused I was on my next match. It was going to take a lot more energy than the last one. I couldn’t afford to be distracted by a pair of perfect tits and ass. “Was there something in particular you wanted, Calvin?”

Dad hated it when I called him by his first name instead of calling him dad. Which meant that was a little trick I pulled out of my hat at every opportunity to annoy him. “The firm received your quarterly financial statements earlier this week. It appears you are hemorrhaging cash.”

I rubbed my face. This was not the conversation I wanted to be having without either coffee or alcohol in my system “I am hardly hemorrhaging cash. Could you be more dramatic?” I got out of bed and picked up the red cup next on the coffee table and started searching for a liquor bottle that still had some liquid relief in it.

“You’ve earned more money in the last two years than most people make in a decade,” my dad said. It was the start of a rant that I had heard a million times in the last six months.

“Yeah, yeah. And I’ve spent more than half of it already. And if this keeps up, I’m going to be bankrupt before I’m thirty. That’s if I’m lucky enough not to get injured and have to hang it all up,” I said. I found a bottle of unopened vodka in a paper back on the floor by the sliding glass door to the balcony. “Jackpot!”

“What?”

I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Nothing,” I mumbled.

“Well, it’s nice to know you have been listening even if you haven’t changed your behavior.”

“You worry too much,” I said. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You don’t worry enough. That’s why I’ve hired you a bookkeeper.”

“A what?” I stopped in mid-unscrewing of the vodka bottle cap.

“A person who will keep track of your expenses on a daily basis and ensure that you aren’t spending more than you’re making. Someone who can analyze your spending and help you make better decisions. Maybe even help you find the time to consider some of those investments we’ve talked about.”

I rolled my eyes. About once a month, a fat envelope arrived from the firm with a note from my dad asking me to look over some stock portfolio. He was so concerned about my future that it was almost laughable. I knew it was more because he didn’t want to end up having to support me when he figured my career would come crashing down on my head. Which, according to him, was bound to happen any day now.

“I don’t need a bookkeeper. I am perfectly capable of keeping track of my books,” I said. I poured a long draw of vodka into my cup.

“Last quarter, you were in the red by over two hundred thousand dollars, Shayne,” my father said.

I stopped mid-sip. Two hundred grand? That couldn’t be right. “Nah, I don’t think your bean counters are counting the numbers on my receipts right.” The truth of the matter was that I rarely, if ever, added up any of my bills. Money was deposited into my bank account as I got paid for fights or got my endorsement payments. I kept the receipts and sent them in a big envelope to the firm every quarter. What happened in between was admittedly a little bit fuzzy.

“They do math better than you do,” my father said. “You need to get serious about this, Shayne. I don’t want to see you as a broke, washed-up has been before you turn thirty.”

“I’ll do a better job of watching the numbers,” I said. I took another sip of the vodka. It burned going down my throat, but that was okay.

“I have her signed contract in hand already. There won’t be any more discussion about this. The plane tickets are already purchased. She’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

I groaned. I pictured a short, white-haired penny-pinching woman arriving in my future. One who had one hand on a calculator and the other ready to call my dad at any sign of me stepping out of line. “Seriously? You’re going to force this on me.”

“Look at it as I’m doing you a favor,” my dad countered. “The firm is picking up her salary, so that won’t come out of your bottom line. You won’t have to worry about the bean counters anymore. You can focus entirely on your training and your matches. It’ll help keep your head clear.”

I had to admit that not having to worry about those small pieces of paper sounded all right to me. “I’ll let this happen on one condition.”

“And what is that?” My dad geared up for a negotiation, just as I knew he would.

“If I show this bookkeeper of yours that I know what I’m doing with my money, you’ll take her back. Especially since she’s an employee of the firm and all. I’m sure you’d have much better assignments for someone like that.”

“Fine.” That was easier than I expected. “I’ll give you four months. That’ll line up for your break.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“I’ve cleared your calendar for the last week of September,” he said. “You are expected at my wedding. My assistant will email you the details.” Then he hung up.

I wanted to laugh. My dad getting married. Well, maybe that was exactly what the old man needed to loosen up the reins on my ass. I stood up and took another long sip of vodka. I wasn’t happy that I was going to be stuck with some old broad of a bookkeeper for the next four months, but as long as she stayed out of my way, we’d be fine.

Whistling a random tune, I headed into the bathroom to grab a shower.

I was delighted to hear that I was going to be heading back to Chicago for the start of my new assignment. I met up with Stacey within an hour of landing, and we sat in her living room drinking tequila sunrises and comparing notes on our new jobs.

“I can’t believe you’re going to work for your new stepfather,” Stacey said. “All of your old ones were such pricks.”

“I know, right?” I felt good. I was with my best friend in my favorite city in the world. “I just wish I knew more about who this guy is and what he does. I mean, I know he’s an athlete, and he must do alright if he can afford to work with Cal’s firm.”

“His daddy is one of the partners,” Stacey reminded me.

“Still, if he was small-time, there wouldn’t be any need to have someone manage his money.”

“So what’s his name?” Stacey asked. She pulled out her phone. “We’ll google him.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “This has all happened so fast. I barely had any time to spend with my mom. She’s completely gaga over Cal and wants to spend every waking minute with him. Cal gave me an address and just told me to show up at 9 am tomorrow morning and tell them I was with the firm. They’d show me around from there.”

“What’s the address to?”

“Some gym over on the north side,” I said. I pulled out my phone and showed it to her. “I guess it’s pretty popular with celebrity athletes when they are in town.”

“Speaking of celebrity athletes, have you heard from Ice?” Stacey asked with a lewd wink.

I regretted ever telling her about my momentary lapse of judgment. “No, and I didn’t expect to. It was a classic wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of deal. I knew what it was when I went into it.”

Stacey swooned as she rocked back against her couch. “God, you are so lucky! I can’t believe you fucked him! I still can’t believe you did it. And from you told me, you were a total slut about it.” She clapped her hands together. “I’m so proud of you.”

I rubbed my face as I tried to block out the image of Shayne’s ass reflected in the mirror as he pounded into me. If it hadn’t been so damn hot, I’d die from embarrassment. “It was a mutually beneficial evening that ended on a high note. Then I left.”

“But he asked for your number, and you wouldn’t give it to him.”

“He was just being polite. Isn’t that what guys are supposed to do? Ask for your number so they can never call you again?”

“Some guys call,” Stacey sniffed.

I chuckled. “This is one guy who wasn’t going to be calling. We have nothing in common. He’s a fighter. I’m an academic.”

Stacey mocked yawned into her hand. “And such a bore. Geez, I’m falling asleep just sitting here just talking you.” I sent a pillow sailing through the air at her head. She easily blocked it as she laughed. “It’s time for the new you, friend. Put away the books and the librarian glasses. Get some new clothes and own your future. You make a good impression on your new stepbrother, and you’ll have your ticket to the big time.”

“Getting a full-time job with Cal’s firm hardly qualifies as big time,” I said. I looked at my cuticles. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a manicure. It wouldn’t hurt to get cleaned up a little bit better before my new job started. I stood up and marched over to the door. “Get up. We’re going out.”

At 9 am the next morning, I presented myself outside the door of the gym as directed. I was surprised to see that there was a hulking, scary looking dude standing outside surveying the street. I knew that he saw me coming a mile away, but he barely reacted as I reached him and stood expectantly in front of him.

Stacey and I had spent hours arguing about what I was going to wear. I thought a pair of jeans and a nice sweater would be fine, especially since I was meeting my new client in a gym. Stacey insisted that I needed to look the part. “No one in some fancy law firm is going to go to work wearing jeans and a sweater,” she said. “If you want to be taken seriously, you have to dress seriously.”

Which is why I stood there in a pair of modest kitten heels that were killing my feet, paired with a beige pencil skirt and silken white blouse. Simple. Conservative. But yet still utterly fuckable according to Stacey, although that was far from the impression I wanted to convey.

“You have killer legs and perky boobs. Play it up,” she had said at least half a dozen times at the store.

I had a text from Cal that morning about looking over his son’s financial statements for last quarter as soon as I logged in. I had my laptop with me and planned to download the report from the server as soon as I was able to find a wifi connection. Other than that, I had a calculator and a legal pad. I wasn’t sure what else I’d need until I had a chance to sit down and talk with my soon-to-be stepbrother.

“I’m Alexa Carroll from Nueman & York?” I said. I cursed myself that I let the statement sound like a question. I wanted to give the impression that I did this kind of thing all the time.

The big guy looked me over from head to toe and must have determined that I didn’t look like too much of a threat. “He’s in the center ring. Should be done in a few minutes.”

So my new stepbrother was a boxer of some kind, I determined. I stepped inside the door and found myself in a narrow hallway. I could hear the sounds of working out coming from down the hall. I stood there for a moment as it seemed my feet were unwilling to move. I was nervous.

It wasn’t just because this was my first real job. It was also because I was meeting someone who was going to be more than a simple client. His dad was marrying my mom. If things didn’t go well over the next four months, there was a good chance I’d still have to see him at random family functions. That would be awkward, and I didn’t do awkward that well. I realized that I wanted to make a good impression. The best way to do that, I decided, was to be as professional as possible. Sure, we were going to have a personal relationship of some kind, but if I started it off with clear working boundaries, we could go from there.

“Okay, you can do this,” I said trying to pump myself up. I gave a small, mirthless laugh. I would play it cool. I could do it.

Propelling my feet forward, I moved toward the doorway that appeared to lead into the gym proper. As I emerged from the hallway, I saw that there were three rings in the gym. There were two smaller ones on either side of what was clearly the main ring, which was octagon shaped. One whole side of the gym was paneled with glass mirrors. Weights and punching bags hung in front of it.

“What is it with these guys and needing to stare at themselves?” I said under my breath. Then I moved my gaze back to the middle ring. My feet stopped altogether when I was halfway there. I recognized one of the fighters in the ring. He was hitting boxing pads on the hands of a much older man in a sweatsuit. It was obvious that the younger man was the one I had been directed to, and I felt my heart start to beat faster.

Fate must be having a good laugh at my expense. My new soon-to-be stepbrother was Shayne “Ice” Malone.