Читать книгу Making Him Sweat & Taking Him Down: Making Him Sweat / Taking Him Down - Meg Maguire - Страница 10

JENNA RETURNED THE next morning. Her gaze panned the foyer once more, but the uncertainty of the coming months cast her daydreams in shadows. She’d barely slept at the hotel, tossed around between excitement about her new venture and dread regarding the one she’d been saddled with…and some other curious, confusing feelings about the man at its helm.

The office was locked and dark, so she had no choice but to head for the wide set of steps in the rear and search for Mercer in the gym. She glanced at her clothes, one of a dozen new outfits she’d bought, needing a wardrobe that said competent young business owner. Clothes that might convince a professional man or woman to trust Jenna with their love life, though the choice would probably look stuffy and prim to a concrete basement full of bloodlusting boxers. Her new neighbors, for better or worse. Her new employees until the New Year arrived. Thank goodness their management was Mercer’s territory.

She descended the steps, and the stairs doubled back at a landing with a watercooler and a framed vintage fight poster, Marciano v. Walcott. What struck Jenna first was the smell. Sweat. Rubber and leather. Disinfectant. The odd, pungent potpourri of her father’s legacy. Not a fragrance that softly whispered blossoming romance! But a well-placed fan could probably keep it from wafting into the foyer.

The sounds came next, slapping and grunting and the squeak of equipment joints. Jenna took a final breath and stepped through the open double doors and into the gym.

It wasn’t quite what she’d expected—not the shadowy, smoke-clouded drug-and-gambling den old newspaper articles had so vividly conjured. Roomier, brighter, even orderly. But the rest was as she’d imagined.

A dozen fighters worked out at punching bags and on mats. A pair of men in one of two elevated rings carried on a practice match, tapping one another, not hitting. Her heart hurt, as she’d expected it might.

There was something about fighting she found upsetting. A sport that put so much emphasis on the physical—on hurting people—and whose glory went to individuals. Jenna believed deep in her heart that people needed each other. They needed family and friends and partners and teammates, support systems and tribes. At the end of the day, fighting was about establishing who was the best, standing triumphant in some sweaty ring with your fist in the air, the loser cast aside, all alone.

Jenna had always gravitated to the opposite. As a teen she’d been a camp counselor during the summers, in charge of building communities out of groups of nervous strangers. In college she’d majored in social psychology and enjoyed it, but all the theorizing in the world didn’t give her a fraction of the satisfaction that working with actual people did. In the end, she’d proudly framed her diploma and abandoned her intentions of becoming a therapist in favor of taking a job on a cruise ship as activities director. She was great at that stuff—bringing people together.

She looked around the gym. It’s a lonely sport, she thought. For lonely, distrustful people. Give her a softball league, any day.

It was looking as if she’d come down into this gloomy den for nothing, that Mercer wasn’t here, that she’d have to come back later and feel this awfulness all over again—

“Hook, hook, hook!” The voice jerked her head to the left.

Mercer was shouting at a beefy young man, who dutifully doled out the punches he was ordered, thwacking the padded targets Mercer held between them. Both were shirtless, Mercer as pale as his student was dark, as lean as the young man was bulky. Jenna got distracted by Mercer’s body. Like his nose, like his knuckles, his bare torso was fascinating, attractive in a way that made her wince. She’d never seen a man’s body quite like his, toned and utterly stripped of fat. Efficient and dangerous. Her own body stirred, but surely that was just a weird chemical reaction, panic about being down here mixed with airborne testosterone or something.

As she approached, she donned her best impression of an unaffected, professional businesswoman.

“Mr. Rowley.”

Once a fresh punch landed, Mercer dropped his guard to turn to her. “Jenna, hey.” He spoke to his trainee. “Ten minutes on the rope, then go through those flexibility drills from yesterday.”

The young man nodded and let the two of them be.

“Glad you came by.” Mercer slipped the pads from his hands and set them aside, recinching the drawstring of his warm-up pants. “Bet you’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Should I be hopeful or terrified about this visit?”

She nearly smiled at that. “Pragmatism’s probably wisest. Could we talk someplace less…”

“Feral?”

She nodded.

“Sure. Can you spare five minutes so you don’t have to smell me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll meet you upstairs.” He jogged to the locker room. Jenna watched as he went, surprised by how many muscles comprised the human back.

She loitered in the ground-floor entryway, pretending to browse the equipment case until Mercer came trotting up the steps, dressed in a T-shirt and different pants.

He unlocked the office. “Thanks for waiting.”

Jenna followed him inside, noting his wet hair and a clean, manly smell—soap or deodorant. She sat in the guest chair, thinking this would be her future clients’ view as they awaited her guidance with their romantic goals. Maybe her own Mr. Right would make an appointment in the coming months, walk across this very floor, take a seat before her and suck the breath straight out of her lungs. Okay, maybe not months…not given her track record. Sure, it sounded bad, a matchmaker not being lucky in love. She could admit that. But she wasn’t afraid of commitment or anything. Just cautious. People could stand to be a bit more cautious, a bit more logical, when choosing a partner. Her mom sure could’ve been, back when she’d hooked up with Monty Wilinski.

Mercer sat on the desk, clasping his hands between his knees. “So, what’s going on in that brain of yours? Prepared to give us Neanderthals a fair shake?”

“Yes, I am. My father cared about me enough to leave me this place. The least I can do is offer you guys a chance to prove me wrong. And as much funding as I can reasonably spare.”

He sighed his relief. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me. It’s not like I had much choice.”

In her periphery, she sensed gym members crossing the foyer. She just hoped her future clients wouldn’t be too put off by the curious human traffic marching past the office windows. To say nothing of the franchise standards overseer. She made a mental note to have said windows frosted.

“Well, I’ll take grudging tolerance, if that’s all I’m likely to get.” Mercer leaned forward and they shook once more.

“I ought to warn you,” he added, “the next month or so’s going to be chaotic. You’ll be moving in, plus there’s a big mixed martial arts competition arranged for the first week of October.”

Jenna nodded. She knew her father had switched the gym from straight boxing to include kickboxing and other disciplines in the past decade.

“Your dad sank a bit of money into it when the proposal first came up, to get our name on the event,” Mercer went on. “We’ve been co-planning it for over a year with a few other Massachusetts gyms and a promotions outfit. We’ve got a few guys who’re training their hearts out for it. I’m coaching a kid whose career it could launch.” Pride warmed his voice and brightened his eyes, softening his fight-roughened features. “People are going to be really keyed up, so apologies in advance if my head’s all over the place.”

“Understood. Is it taking place here? Downstairs?”

He laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh before. It did something odd to her middle, the sound seeming to hum low and hot in her belly. Oh dear.

“No, not here,” he said. “It’ll be at an arena outside the city. Have you never watched any UFC?”

Any what? “No.”

“Well, ours isn’t a UFC event, but it’s the same idea, and still a pretty big deal. Got a couple important names on the card, and scouts coming from the major organizations, looking for the next generation of pros. We’re hoping for five thousand people.”

“Whoa.”

“Not much by Vegas standards, but not shabby, either. I’m hoping it’ll be just the shot in the arm this place needs to finally shrug off its lousy rep, earn some due respect and attract new members. Turn those books around,” he added pointedly.

“I’ll have my fingers crossed for you, then.”

“You should come. See what it is your dad helped start.”

She cooled at that. “Maybe.”

“Jenna?”

She raised her brow.

“Is there any chance I can talk you into extending the gym’s…you know. Trial period? Through next year, or even just through the spring?” The sincerity in his eyes broke her heart a little.

“Unless something amazingly encouraging happens, I can’t, no. Not without risking bankrupting both businesses.”

“I figured you’d probably say that.” After a disappointed huff, he slapped his thighs and met her gaze. “Couldn’t hurt to ask.”

Primary mission tackled, Jenna turned her focus to a more awkward one. “I need to see the apartment.” The apartment where her father had lived since he’d walked out on Jenna and her mom. She’d been dreading this, having to sort through his things and confirm exactly how much of a stranger he was to her. “Do you have keys to it?”

“I do. And I already took care of your dad’s stuff.”

“Did you?” She bit her lip, torn between relief and annoyance.

He nodded. “I wound up moving into the spare room about nine months ago, when he was getting really bad.”

“Oh. So you’re still living there now?”

“I am. But needless to say, my name’s not on any lease, so never fear, I’ll vacate the second you say the word. I’m sure you’re eager to get that place rented out to a paying tenant.”

“And you got rid of all my dad’s things?”

“Not all of them. But he asked me to do that, in the run-up to…you know. So you wouldn’t have to.”

So her father had trusted Mercer with his possessions, as well as his business. To spare Jenna the burden, ostensibly, but she couldn’t help but feel she’d been excluded. She’d been left nothing but property and papers and account numbers, impersonal gifts, nothing imbued with a father’s affection for his daughter.

Though what had she expected, really?

“He’d already started giving stuff away toward the end,” Mercer went on. “To the guys he’s trained over the years. I didn’t touch the really sentimental things, pictures and books and letters. I thought you might want to go through that yourself.”

“I would, I guess.”

“He had a lot of photos of you, you know.”

A sensation like a cold breeze tensed her. “No, I didn’t know.”

“Your mom must have sent them.”

“I doubt that.” Never in a million years. “My grandma, maybe.”

“Well, he had tons of them. There’s a big picture of you from some graduation, hanging right over the sofa.”

Too many emotions surged through her, bringing tears she wouldn’t shed in front of this stranger. “It was thoughtful of you to take care of that,” she said tightly. “I’d like to move into the apartment, if it suits me.” And seeing that it was free, she knew it would. “But I didn’t realize anyone was living there.”

“Squatting now, technically.”

“Only technically.” She warmed a little toward Mercer, grateful he was turning out to be a reasonable guy in the face of her showing up with plans to upend his livelihood. She’d return the favor. “I won’t ask you to move out until you’ve got something lined up. Maybe two weeks? By September first?”

“I’d appreciate that. You want to see the place now?”

“Sure.”

Mercer locked the office behind them and led Jenna to the back, through a door beyond the steps to the gym and up a flight to the second floor. Doing her best to ignore the flex of his shoulders under his T-shirt, she followed him down a hall toward the front of the building, where he unlocked the apartment—one dead bolt among several. Not the best omen for the neighborhood, but she’d heard repeatedly that Chinatown was on its way up. She could be a part of that, start fading the ugly mark her dad had left. Her branch of Spark could be a great addition to the swanky new tapas bar and upscale florist that also shared the huge, block-long building.

The door opened into a high-ceilinged living room, the far end drenched in noontime sunlight from the tall windows. The furniture was sparse and dated, but the raw space was an interior decorator’s dream.

She looked to the wall above the couch, where a large framed photo of her hung, a flashback to her high school graduation. She quickly glanced away. “It’s what, twelve hundred square feet?”

“Maybe not even that, but two bedrooms, nice kitchen if you remodeled it. Laundry, great storage.”

Jenna was already itchy to get to work on this place. Her first apartment, all to herself… A thought occurred to her, surely too complicated to even consider negotiating. Yet her mouth burst out with, “Can I see the spare room?”

“I guess your dad’s room is the spare room now.”

“My dad’s room, then.”

He led her past a big combination kitchen and dining room that was begging for new appliances and a fresh coat of paint. Then Mercer’s back drew her eyes again, that interesting shifting of muscle behind taut cotton.

He pushed in the door to a modest bedroom, bare except for a bed frame and dresser. Its window opened onto a fire escape, facing an intersection and the garish sign for a Thai restaurant. An interesting view, but not one conducive to privacy or peace. She looked around, taking in the squares where posters or picture frames had preserved the slate-blue paint on three walls, brick comprising the final one.

She turned to Mercer. “Was this always his room, do you know?”

“I couldn’t tell you for sure, but the last few years, at least. Is that too weird?”

“I don’t know. He’s basically a stranger to me.” She’d expected to feel something stronger, standing inside these walls, but so far she felt only detached curiosity.

“Want to see the other room? In case it’s more to your taste?”

She nodded and followed him to the far side of the apartment. The second room was furnished, neat but small, with a similar street view. Next door was the bathroom, also tiny.

“Everything’s been retrofitted as residential, obviously,” Mercer said. “And before the condo boom, so kinda wonky and half-assed—like the gigantic living room and kitchen and the closet-sized everything else. It’s actually a toss-up which is bigger, my room or the pantry.”

She perked at the notion of having her own pantry. “I don’t mind. Makes it interesting. How’s the neighborhood?”

“Willing to admit you’re in Chinatown yet?”

She smirked. “Sure.”

He leaned against the bathroom doorframe. “It’s not perfect. But a thousand times nicer than when I was a kid.”

“For no rent, it doesn’t have to be Beacon Hill.”

“On the plus side, there’s not much worth burgling from a boxing gym. And security’s free between six a.m. and ten at night.”

She peeked inside the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “What do you mean?”

“There’s only about eight hours a day when there’s not at least one trained thug wandering around downstairs.”

“Oh, right.” She straightened to smile at him. “How very convenient.” For reasons not entirely clear to her, she found Mercer reassuring. Physically, maybe. She swallowed, her gaze dropping to his chest before she caught herself. Shutting the cabinet, she mustered the nerve to ask, “How would you feel if I moved in before you moved out?”

“And we’re roommates until I find my next place?”

She nodded.

“It’s your apartment.”

“Well, I’m asking how you’d feel about it.”

He shrugged. “I can put up with anybody for two weeks.”

She looked down to hide her grin, shaking her head. She could sense him smiling back, feel his nearness as tangibly as sunshine warming her skin. Dangerous.

“And hell.” Mercer leaned an arm along the doorframe and brought his face a little closer to hers, making something hot and unwelcome spike in Jenna’s pulse. He smirked. “Maybe us shacking up together is just the chance I need to grow on you—change your mind about ruining all our lives.”

Praying he couldn’t see how his nearness had flushed her cheeks, she stepped back and pretended to inspect the shower. “It’ll save me a chunk of change on a hotel. Just don’t be insulted if I run a background check on you.”

“Don’t be disappointed when you discover I’m not a felon. Let me know if you need help moving anything. I’ll mobilize the troops.” He nodded to the floor to mean the men laboring two stories below.

“I’ll get moved in this week, I imagine.”

“You’re the boss.”

The boss. An intriguing notion. Boss to a small, inherited army of brutes for now. To a well-groomed team of assistants in a couple months’ time, all things going as planned.

They wandered back to the living room and Jenna stared down at the busy street from the front windows. There was an Asian grocery store and produce stand across the way, flanked by a dry cleaners and nail salon. Not the most elegant neighbors on that side of the block. But she’d wow her clients with a stylish foyer refurb, maybe find some cool framed prints of Chinatown and play up the neighborhood’s colorful history.

She turned to find Mercer’s attention not on the view, but her face. In the sunlight his hazel eyes were the warm, brownish green of a ripe pear. His gaze was direct and unflickering, intense as a floodlight. It seemed as though he were reading her thoughts. For a long moment, they just stared at one another. Too long a moment.

She swallowed, gaze flitting from his bare arm to the shape of his chest, the stubble peppering his jaw, the curve of his lower lip. He mirrored the scrutiny, and in place of the casual calm he’d shown before, there was something else. Something…mischievous.

“I’ve got an extra set of keys down in the office, if you want them today.” His voice sounded so close, and so cool and assured when that stare was anything but.

She nodded, banishing the hyperawareness fogging her head. “That’d be good.”

“You okay staying in your dad’s old room?”

“Yeah. I’ll bring my suitcases over in the morning. If I can arrange to have a mattress delivered by tomorrow night, that is.”

“Works for me. Any furniture you need help with?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll buy most of the stuff new.”

“Gotcha.”

She sighed, feeling too many things. Overwhelmed, elated, terrified. Attracted, most unnerving of all. “Thank you,” she said again. “I know it’s probably not easy being this courteous to me, considering my bias.”

“What choice have I got?”

“Because I’m your boss?”

“Nah. Because I loved your dad. And he loved you. So I have to at least pretend to respect your wishes, as much as they suck.”

She laughed. “Well, I guess that’ll have to do.”

* * *

JENNA CAME BACK late the next morning, unlocking the door to her new apartment with the keys Mercer had given her.

“Hello?” She waited for a reply, but none came. Good. That gave her plenty of time to wander around in peace, before the awkward dance of cohabitating with the enemy began.

Okay, fine. Enemy was too dramatic a word. Mercer was nice enough, and he was too young to have been complicit in the gym’s infamous criminal activities. It weighed on her, holding his fate in her hands. The uncertainty of the unmade decision loomed like a dark cloud. A big, dark, muscular, Mercer Rowley-shaped cloud.

She dragged her suitcases through the door, struck once again by the size of the living room. Big enough to add a wet bar or breakfast nook, a cozy little home office…. Too much to wrap her head around this soon, and besides, the franchise had to take precedence. All in good time. All in small, manageable steps.

Step one, she unpacked a bag of her favorite coffee and figured out how to work the machine on the counter. While it brewed, she wandered from room to room, making a list of stuff she’d need to buy. Big list. Moderate budget.

She’d lived on the cruise ship for ten months a year for the past six years, her room and board included. During the downtime between seasons she’d stayed rent-free with her mom and stepdad, so she’d gotten used to being greeted by a robust number whenever she checked her bank balance. Goodbye to all that. Still, this was what she’d been saving for all that time, even if she hadn’t known it. A worthy investment—her new business, her first adult home. Something bigger than herself, a grand, exciting, romantic adventure. A calling. She could just sense it.

She covered the living room and dining area, thoroughly ogled her new pantry. Mercer had a single shelf stocked, mostly canned soups and vegetables, boxes of rice pilaf and similar bachelorish fare. Just add meat.

After nosing around the bathroom and her bedroom, Jenna came to the guest room. The door was closed and she knocked, just to be safe. No reply, she pushed it open, panning her gaze around her temporary roommate’s tidy territory. A nice double bed frame. She wondered if that was hers to keep when he moved out. She liked his view more than the one from her father’s window, and thought maybe she’d take this room when Mercer left.

As she went to inspect the open closet, she spotted something on the computer desk—a yellow folder with Business Notes scribbled on its tab. Frowning, she lifted the cover, promising herself she’d only peek at the top page.

Ten minutes later, she’d read half the contents.

It turned out Jenna wasn’t the only one who’d made plans. The folder held a stack of glossy brochures from elite training facilities, with various offerings circled and starred, plus page after typed page of Mercer’s ideas for improving the gym, even quotes from contractors. Most intriguing of all were two prospectuses from local colleges—one for a nutrition science associate program, another for sports medicine, along with their blank applications.

“Hey.”

Jenna gasped and spun around, finding Mercer leaning in the threshold, peeling a banana. She closed the folder and set it back in its place. “I’m sorry. I was snooping.”

He shrugged. “Technically, it’s your room.”

“Maybe, but that wasn’t appropriate. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I forgive you.” He said it in a lofty, joking tone of supreme and holy magnanimity, giving Jenna permission to relax.

She glanced back at the folder. “Looks like you have some big plans.”

“That I do. No clue where the funding might come from, but eventually I intend to haul this place out of the gutter and into the twenty-first century. Or I had. I guess that’s all in your hands, now.”

That stung. Jenna switched topics. “And you want to go to school to be a nutritionist?” She pictured his can-laden shelf, thinking he could use a few pointers.

“I don’t really know…just batting ideas around. But I’m thirty-four, which is ancient in this business. If I was good enough to be a serious pro, I’d have been told so fifteen years ago.”

She frowned sympathetically.

He swallowed a bite of banana. “Nah, don’t feel bad. Fighting was never about that for me. As long as I’m fit enough to keep sparring with the younger guys, and to throw my hat in for the odd amateur tournament, I’m happy.”

Certainly fit enough, some troublemaking bit of Jenna’s brain interjected.

“Tough life, being a professional. I may not be the smartest guy you ever met, but I’d like to preserve the few marbles I’ve got left.” He tapped his temple. “Maybe figure out how to preserve my boys’ marbles, too. That’s where that stuff from the sports medicine program comes in.”

“Your boys? Sorry, do you have kids?”

“No, no, the guys I train.”

“Oh, right. What did my father have you doing, before he passed away? What’s your job title?”

He laughed. “You make it sound like I’ve got business cards. But I was mainly a trainer, and your old man’s unofficial assistant. I helped him with the accounts and organized events, handled some of the outside managers and promoters. All-purpose flunky. This place is my life, as pathetic as that might sound to you.”

“It doesn’t sound pathetic.” Without thinking, Jenna took a seat on the end of his bed, then immediately regretted it. Was the move too familiar, or too much of a liberty, on top of nosing through his file? Or just too much contact with Mercer’s bed? It was too much of something. And her discomfort got worse when he wandered over and sat beside her. The square of comforter separating their thighs made a woefully flimsy buffer.

“I, um, I’ve got folders just like that one, for the franchise I’m opening,” she managed to say. “It’s not pathetic at all.” And maybe we’re not so different, deep down.

“Working with the young guys is great, but I’d love to learn more about the science behind it all, too. Maybe get certified to rehab injured fighters. Branch out, make the place more than a gym.”

“Sounds ambitious,” Jenna offered, sad to know this man’s hopes were dying, just as her own were blooming. The energy between them shifted, that lustful sensation deepening to something more tender. More vulnerable. She shivered.

“That was always a pipe dream, though. Especially since I’m stuck as the GM, now—not much time left over for implementing any of my grand plans, even if we did have the money.” Mercer stood. “Sorry to startle you. I just needed to grab a bite before the noon session starts. I guess I’ll see you around later, roomie.”

“Yeah. Sorry again. For snooping.”

“If it ain’t hidden, it ain’t secret, boss-lady. But thanks just the same for the apology.”

“Sure.”

Seconds later she heard the front door click and she released a giant, guilty breath.

“Smooth, Jenna. Very smooth.”