Читать книгу Below the Belt - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 7

COOPER “THE FIST” Fitzgerald adjusted the collar on his silk shirt and tweaked the cuffs on his jacket. Despite how well-made and well-cut the suit was, it felt wrong. He’d spent half his life in workout clothes, covered in sweat—he wasn’t a suit kind of guy and probably never would be. But he’d come courting, and he was smart enough to know that he needed to look the part if he was going to convince Ray Marshall to leave his current trainer and join Fitzgerald Fighters’ Gym.

Before hitting the doorbell and announcing his arrival, Cooper squinted at the sleek, modern house Ray had just bought. Situated on the beachfront of the increasingly exclusive Sydney suburb of Bronte, he figured the place was worth well over 1.5 million. But he already knew that Ray wasn’t hard up for cash. If Cooper was going to woo him to his stable, it was going to be about more than money. It was going to be about offering him the one thing that all fighters wanted: immortality. Just like every fighter who’d ever donned leather and sweated his rounds in the ring, Ray wanted to be remembered. Ali, Sugar Ray, Tyson—no one would ever forget their names, even if Tyson was as infamous these days as he was famous. And Cooper knew he could make Ray unforgettable. He had all the raw ingredients to become a legend of the sport rather than some guy who’d gotten lucky with a few heavy purses. Together, they could fly high.

It was getting to the “together” bit that was going to take some fancy footwork, since Ray had been with his current trainer since he started.

Aware that he was stalling, Cooper hit the bell. He was nervous. Like the suit, this was the part of setting up his own establishment that made him feel the least comfortable. He was a fighter, not some slick sales guy with a line of patter. Hell, he was only thirty-four. Not young by boxing standards, but if his body hadn’t given out on him, he’d still be in the ring, giving up-and-comers like Ray a pounding. When he’d bought the gym last year, it had been with the long-term in mind. No way had he planned to be training at this age. That was supposed to come later. Much later.

He glanced at his hands. A scar ran across his left knuckles. He rubbed it absently. He missed fighting. Stupid to pretend otherwise. But there was no point spending the rest of his life thinking about what might have been. The doctors had given him a clear choice after he’d detached the retina in his left eye in his last fight—keep fighting and go blind, or retire.

Some choice.

“Hey, man, good to see you,” Ray said as he opened the door. He gave Cooper a one-armed hug around the shoulders, the muscles of his big arms hard against Cooper’s back.

A heavyweight, Ray was an inch taller than Cooper, with a broad-nosed, heavy-browed face and olive skin. He wore his dark hair shaved close to his scalp, a style that made it easier for training and disguised the fact that it was rapidly receding.

“Good to see you, too,” Cooper said. Before he’d retired three months ago, he and Ray had trained together for a while. There was plenty of mutual respect between them, a good foundation for a future partnership.

“Come on in and check out my new pad,” Ray said with a big grin.

Cooper followed him along a white carpeted hallway, the plush pile so deep and thick underfoot that he was almost in danger of breaking an ankle in the stuff. The hall opened into a huge living room with a high ceiling, slick black-leather-and-chrome furniture and lots of windows. The glare from the morning sun pouring through all the glass was almost unbearable and he squinted his eyes in self-defense.

“Yeah, I know, I gotta do something about that. Get some curtains or something,” Ray said. “Let’s check out the pool.”

They passed through a state-of-the-art kitchen to a terrace that was dominated by a lap pool and a separate structure that housed a shiny gym bristling with high-end equipment, all of it visible through a wall of windows. Ray waved Cooper into one of the chairs arranged in a conversational grouping near the house.

“You want coffee?” Ray asked.

“Sure. Why not?” Cooper said.

Ray stepped toward the house and opened the sliding door a crack.

“Yo, Jimmy—coffee would be great, thanks, if the offer’s still good,” he called.

Cooper sat back, resting his right ankle on the knee of the opposite leg. Man, but his collar felt tight. Resisting the urge to run a finger under it like a kid at church on Sunday, he surveyed the rear of Ray’s house.

“Great place, bro,” he said.

“I like it,” Ray said, laughing at his own understatement. He shook his head. “If you could have seen where I grew up…”

Cooper understood. The best fighters were the ones who needed it as well as wanted it. They all had their hardluck stories, some harder than others.

“So, have you thought any more about my proposal?” Cooper asked, cutting to the chase. They both knew this wasn’t a social call.

Behind Ray, he caught sight of a figure moving around the kitchen making coffee. Because Ray had used the name Jimmy, Cooper was surprised to see it was a woman. A really hot woman, he noted as she bent to retrieve something from a lower drawer. She was wearing a uniform, a plain back dress with a zip up the front and a white apron around her waist. When she leaned over he copped an eyeful of strong, athletic legs and a tight, round butt.

Some guys preferred their women skinny like greyhounds but he’d never had a thing for bones. He liked women with breasts and butts, and strong, athletic women particularly got him going. Perhaps it was the combination of textures, hard and soft, silk and steel…

He realized Ray was talking. He’d been so preoccupied with checking out the hired help that he’d missed half of it.

“…but I’ve got some reservations, I’d be lying if I said any different,” Ray said. “And I’ve got a favor to ask, if we can cut a deal.”

Damn. Had Ray just said yes to him, and he’d been busy staring at some bimbo’s butt?

Focus, Fitzgerald.

“I want us to be straight up if we’re going to do this thing, Ray, so let me know what your concerns are and we’ll deal with them,” he said, keeping his gaze firmly on Ray now, even though he could still see the woman out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, you know, it’s the experience thing. You’ve got no track record. Sorry, man, but it’s true. You were one hell of a fighter, and I’d kill to have half your form, but you’re freshly minted as a trainer,” Ray said.

Cooper nodded. “You’re right. I’m new, I’m untested—which means I’m also hungry. I like to win, Ray. You know that about me. I built a career being a winner. And I’ve trained with some of the best guys in the business—guys you don’t have a chance of getting near because they’re in the U.S. now, or they’ve retired. I’ve got a lot of knowledge and experience to pass on—and I’m hand-picking my boys because I only want to work with fighters who I know have what it takes to go all the way. You’re at the top of my list, that’s why I’m here,” Cooper said.

“Yeah, sure, I bet you say that to everyone you’re talking to,” Ray said, and Cooper could tell he was only half joking.

“I’m not talking to anyone else just yet,” Cooper said. “Like I said, you’re at the top of my list.” Maybe it was a mistake to give away so much, but he hadn’t come here to shadowbox. He held Ray’s eye, and the other man slowly nodded.

“Okay. Okay. I’m interested,” Ray said.

Cooper grinned, and Ray grinned right back at him.

“So what’s this favor you mentioned?” Cooper said, jerking his tie loose and unbuttoning the collar on his shirt. They were on the downhill run now, he could feel it.

“I’ve got a friend, an up-and-comer. No fight record, just starting out. Loads of natural talent, strong, fast, great power. I said I’d put in a word with you,” Ray said. His gaze slid over Cooper’s shoulder as he spoke, and Cooper frowned.

Was it just him, or did Ray look a little…uncomfortable?

“Fair enough. Get him to come down to the gym tomorrow. I’ll take a look at him, put him through his paces. If I like what I see, I’ll certainly consider him,” Cooper said. That was as good as it was going to get. He had a reputation to build, and untried fighters would not do it for him.

“Uh, yeah. Thing is, it’s a she, not a he,” Ray said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, Ray, but I don’t follow women’s boxing,” Cooper said coolly, hoping Ray would get the hint and drop the subject.

It wasn’t that he thought women’s boxing was wrong or freakish the way some of the old-timers did. He simply didn’t think there were enough women out there truly committed to the sport. It was different for men. Often boxing was the only way out for them, and that gave them a hunger, a commitment that couldn’t be faked.

“If you saw her fight, you’d know what I mean. She’s good—really good. I think she could go all the way,” Ray said.

“Not with me,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “I’m not interested in training women. I want real fighters, not a bunch of Barbie dolls playing around with boxercise.”

The door to the house slid open as the maid appeared with a tray of coffee. His gaze honed in on her instinctively, taking in her straight brunette hair, pulled high in a ponytail, the fine bones of her face, her full lips and the supple grace with which she moved. Her eyes were an unusual light gray, almost silver, and were slightly tilted. Her body was everything he’d imagined—strong and curvy, her legs long, her shoulders square and proud.

“Women’s boxing is huge now,” Ray said. “Purses are bigger, and the Women’s International Boxing Association has really stepped things up. With women like Laila Ali out there, it’s only going to get better.”

“Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do for your friend, but I’m not interested in taking on someone who’s going to bail when the going gets tough. Boxing is a man’s sport.”

The thump of the tray dropping abruptly onto the table drew his attention back to the maid. Coffee had slopped over the sides of both cups, but she wasn’t the least bit concerned. Instead, she had her hands on her hips and was glaring at him.

“Excuse me?” she asked. Her voice was low, husky.

Sexy.

“Jimmy…” Ray said, standing and dropping a hand onto her shoulder.

She shook him off, her gaze still pinned to Cooper. She was furious with him. He took in all the telltale signs—the slight flush of color in her cheeks, the tension in her body, the way she’d taken up a classic defensive stance, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, her knees slightly flexed.

Then he got it—she was the wanna-be fighter Ray had been pitching to him.

“You want to explain to me why boxing is only for men?” she asked, ignoring Ray’s attempts to mollify her.

“Because people get hurt. Because it takes discipline and commitment. Because it’s not easy,” Cooper said, holding her gaze. “You need any more?”

Her chin came up. With the sun shining on her anger-hardened face, she looked like an Amazonian warrior woman, ready to take on any and all comers. He flashed to a thought of what she’d be like in bed. Fiery, he bet, fighting for supremacy every inch of the way.

“What makes you think I’m any less committed than Ray? Or you? What makes you think that women can’t handle being hurt? Ever heard of childbirth?”

She was getting worked up, her breasts rising and falling rapidly now as her temper got the better of her. Man, she was a handful. And hot. Damned hot.

“Thanks for bringing up my next point. Male fighters don’t get pregnant and throw away their careers just when they’re hitting their strides,” Cooper said.

She gave him a scathing look, starting at his handmade Italian shoes, trailing up his silk-and-wool clad legs, up his torso until she made eye contact with him again.

“I can only imagine what kind of inadequacy a big man like you must be hiding if he can’t handle the idea of a woman who can hold her own,” she said.

That surprised a crack of laughter out of him. He settled into his chair a little more and crossed his arms behind his head—mostly because he suspected it would piss her off.

“Believe me, baby, this big man’s not hiding any inadequacies. You’re welcome to take a look, if you like,” he said suggestively.

She actually took a step forward, the muscles in her jaw clenching, and Ray moved to intervene.

“Jimmy. Cool down. Go inside and take a breather. I’ll talk to Cooper,” he said.

“I’m not going to change my mind, Ray,” Cooper said, suddenly serious. “If you coming to me is tied to taking on your friend, then we don’t have a deal. I’m not interested in women fighters.”

“As if I’d want you as my trainer after hearing all this bullshit,” Jimmy fired the words at him. “I can’t believe I thought there was a brain behind all that beautiful boxing. I guess it must be dumb luck that you can even chew gum and walk down the street at the same time.”

She spun on her heel, striding toward the house without a backward glance.

Both Cooper and Ray stared after her, watching the unconscious animal grace of her movements. Once she was out of sight, Ray let his breath hiss out between his teeth and ran a hand over his head.

“That went well,” he said.

Cooper waited for the other man to meet his eye. “I meant what I said. Anything else we can talk on, but Jimmy is not, and will never be, a part of our deal. Okay?”

“I hear you,” Ray said. “And for the record, I’m sorry that got so…out of control. Jimmy’s kind of intense. Driven, if you know what I mean.”

“I thought she was your maid,”

Ray laughed, surprised. Then he shook his head. “Don’t let her hear you saying that. She took time off work to come over and meet you.”

“What kind of name is Jimmy for a girl, anyway?” Cooper asked. Not because he was really interested. He was just…curious. Which was definitely not the same thing.

“It’s really Jamie, but Jimmy is a childhood nickname that stuck.”

Cooper made an intuitive leap. “You’re seeing her?”

Ray shook his head. “Years ago. Jimmy doesn’t like to be pinned down.”

Cooper got the distinct feeling that Ray wasn’t too happy about that. He could see where the other man was coming from—even a few seconds in her company had been enough to tell him that Jamie wasn’t the kind of woman a guy walked away from easily.

“So, am I calling my lawyer and getting him to draft a contract?” Cooper asked.

Ray’s glance strayed to the house again. “I need to think about it. Can I call you tonight?”

Cooper frowned. Ray obviously felt a strong loyalty toward this Jamie woman if he was prepared to rethink a deal that had been as good as done. There wasn’t anything Cooper could do about that, however—no way, no how was he taking on a woman fighter. He was building his gym, his reputation, and he wanted to win. Women’s boxing wasn’t going to achieve any of those goals for him, and he refused to join the ranks of hasbeen fighters who couldn’t cut it outside of the ring.

“You know my number,” he said, standing.

They were both silent as Ray led him through the house. Cooper kept an eye out for Jamie. There was an intensity to her, a focus…And, of course, there was that hot body. But there was no sign of her.

He paused on the doorstep to offer Ray his hand.

“I’ll hear from you tonight,” he said firmly.

“For sure,” Ray said.

Walking down the path to his car, Cooper reflected that if Jamie and her fighting ambitions hadn’t been inserted into the deal, he’d probably be walking away with his first fighter in his pocket right now. He swore under his breath, more and more pissed off as he thought about it.

Damn it, he needed Ray. He was young, full of promise, the perfect cornerstone for the stable Cooper wanted to build.

Some sixth sense made him glance over his shoulder before he stepped into the street. A curtain twitched in one of the front windows and someone stepped out of sight. She was probably wishing she’d slugged him one. Hell, if Ray hadn’t intervened, she might even have tried.

Cooper laughed. Even though he was feeling royally pissed that her presence had soured his deal. She had balls, he’d give her that. Big, hairy ones.

JAMIE’S HANDS flexed as she watched Cooper Fitzgerald stride down the front path and into the street. He walked slowly and deliberately, head up. An advertisement for arrogance.

“Jerk-off,” she said.

“What happened to ‘it has to be Cooper Fitzgerald’?” Ray asked.

Jamie turned around. She shrugged casually. She’d seen so many of Cooper’s fights, read so many interviews with him, she’d had one hell of a preconceived idea about what he would be like. More fool her. He might come across as witty, charming and intelligent in the media, but in the flesh the guy was just another garden-variety knuckle-dragger who saw women as living, breathing amusement parks for his genitals.

She’d known enough of them in her time, thank you very much. Hell, she’d slept with a bunch of ‘em, so she definitely knew what she was talking about. Why she’d thought this guy was going to be any different from the rest of the species she had no idea.

It’s because you’ve always been dumb about guys, a little voice whispered in her ear. It was true, too—her bad judgment where men were concerned was a matter of historical record.

“I made a mistake. I thought he was something he wasn’t,” Jamie said, turning away from the window. “Grandpa wanted Godfrey. I guess we’ll knock on his door next.”

Ray cocked his head to one side, studying her. “Maybe you ought to take this as a sign, quit before you ruin that gorgeous face of yours,” he said.

Jamie made an impatient noise. “I thought you said you were going to help me.”

“I did. I will. I just…I guess I don’t understand why you suddenly want to get in the ring,” he said.

Jamie stared at him, almost tempted to tell him about her promise, about her burning need to set things right for her grandfather, to wipe out the shame that had become her family’s heritage.

“It’s in my blood. What can I say?” Jamie said.

Ray didn’t look as though he believed her, but he also knew her well enough not to push.

“I’ll try Cooper again tonight when I call him,” he said.

“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t take him as a trainer now if he crawled on his belly. I want someone who believes in me, not some grudging, sexist asshole.”

“He’s a good guy. A smart guy,” Ray said.

She flicked an appraising look his way. “You’re going to go with him, aren’t you?”

“He’s got stuff I need to know. And Lenny’s getting past it,” Ray confirmed.

“Good luck. You’re going to need it,” she muttered.

Ray smiled and shook his head, used to her lip.

“I gotta get back to work,” she said. “Thanks for pitching me today. I owe you one.”

“Do I get to pick what the one is?” Ray asked.

She punched one of his bulging biceps as she brushed past him, keeping things light. Ray had never really gotten over the fling they’d had five years ago. She would have driven him crazy if they’d stayed together, but he hadn’t quite admitted that to himself yet. She’d done him the biggest favor of his life when she’d walked out on him. She didn’t do commitment. She certainly didn’t do love, whatever the hell that was apart from a really great way for a person to let herself get screwed over.

“I’ll wax your car for you, but that’s about as close as you’re going to get to what you’re thinking,” she said as she headed toward the front door.

Behind her, Ray laughed. She felt the small moment of tension slide away, as she’d intended.

“Always with the mouth, Sawyer,” he said.

She swiveled on her heel. “Don’t call me that around anyone else, okay? As far as anyone knows, I’m Jamie Holloway, not Sawyer, and that’s it.”

Ray held up his hands. “Whoa, chill out, Jimmy. I’m not an idiot.”

She nodded. She’d overreacted, but as soon as anyone heard her last name, they’d know. And she wanted a chance to prove herself before the shit storm descended.

Kissing Ray goodbye, she agreed to hook up with him for a training session later in the week and made her way out to her beat-up sport Ford utility. She checked the passenger-side rear tire before she got in and saw that it was running flat again. Fortunately, there was a gas station around the corner where she could pump it back up, and she’d allocated funds from this week’s paycheck to cover a new tire. It was all staving off the inevitable day when the damned rust bucket fell apart, of course, but until that moment came, she’d eke every last mile out of the old girl if it killed her.

For just a second—a weak, self-pitying second—she allowed herself to wonder what it would have been like if she’d finished her naturopath training all those years ago, if her father were still alive and he hadn’t done what he’d done. How different would her world look? How different would she look?

“Pathetic, girl,” she told herself as she swung into the truck.

Twisting the key in the ignition, she waited for the engine to catch, holding her breath as she heard the familiar labored whine of the starter motor turning over. As it had more and more lately, the motor failed to catch on the first try. Closing her eyes, she banged her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Not now, you piece of crap.”

She’d asked her fellow hotel maid and friend Narelle to cover for her back at the Hyatt on the Park while she met with Cooper. But if she didn’t get back soon she’d be missed and the last thing she needed was another warning letter in her personnel file.

The thought of being one step closer to unemployment because she’d rearranged her life to be insulted by an ignorant ape was almost unbearable. Especially when she remembered the shiny red hunk of metal that selfsame ape had climbed out of when he’d arrived at Ray’s place earlier—a Ferrari Spider convertible, no less. And here she was, unable to even get her piece of shit to start.

And he’d been wearing a suit—a dark gray single-breasted number that had clearly been custom-made for him, along, no doubt, with his white silk shirt and his fine black leather shoes. It had thrown her for a moment, seeing him dressed like a businessman. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting—fight trunks and a sheen of sweat, perhaps? Ben-Gay and workout gear?

Whatever, it had all made him seem far less approachable than she’d imagined him to be. It had also made her feel defensive. She hated having to ask anyone for anything, but she’d psyched herself up to approach him. Then he’d walked in looking like some kind of GQ model instead of the fighter she’d been expecting.

No wonder he had a reputation with women. That handsome face of his, those deep set, intense eyes, that big, strong body—she defied any woman to look at him and not wonder what he’d be like naked and hard. Until he opened his mouth, that was. Then the illusion was well and truly destroyed and most right-thinking women would be either reaching for the heaviest object handy, or heading for the door.

Shaking her head, Jamie held her breath and tried the ignition again. She was about to give up and go beg Ray for a lift when the motor caught, coughing to life and belching black smoke out the exhaust.

Crowing with triumph, she patted the dash with renewed affection and slammed the truck into gear.

As always, she’d scraped through. Just as she’d scrape through being rejected by Cooper Fitzgerald. There were other trainers out there—good ones who would believe in her and see the same dream she saw. And when she was finally wearing the world champion’s belt, she’d have the pleasure of cutting Cooper Fitzgerald stone cold dead.

It was an image that appealed a lot, and she was grinning fit to bust as she pulled out into traffic.