Trust Me(8)

It was none of my business, really, except that, as his manager, if this sobriety was a new thing it could very much affect his fights. It was a delicate matter and so often, people with addiction issues slid back into old habits under stressful conditions. I didn't want to add to that, but we were expected to get some bouts scheduled. If this was a new development I’d let him get his legs under him some before we really dug in with some big matches. On the other hand, if he'd been sober for a while, we could go balls to the wall right off.

Those were the thoughts that occupied my mind on the ride over to Matty's gym, and when we pulled up, I’d decided on a wait and see approach.

Better to take advantage of the next couple minutes fine-tuning my pitch. I’d spent the last two days going over video footage of Matty’s recent fights and had some very definite opinions on where we needed to go from here.

And it was a pretty good bet he wasn’t going to like any of them.





Chapter Three




Matty



“Not going to happen.”

I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from swiping the papers she’d laid on the desk between us straight into the trash, because something told me Kayla would think that was rude.

Yet another pitfall of having a female manager. I felt compelled to watch my manners.

Kayla shifted in her seat and blew out a sigh that stirred a copper lock of hair hanging over one eye. “You’re not even listening to what I’m saying, though.”

Not true. I listened. I just knew she was talking out of her ass, so I disregarded what she said. Two totally different things.

“Look, it’s clear as day that the only competition in town who is also in the same weight class is Claus Nicholson. It’s a no brainer.”

And, frankly, if she knew anything about MMA, she’d have known that. I’d left 1984 feeling guilty about my plan to make her think I was a bum so she’d quit, and had almost convinced myself to give her a chance, but now I was regretting the change of heart. I should’ve stuck with plan A.

“Not true.” She tipped her chin, and met my gaze unapologetically. “What about Willie Martin? Or Zac Venzetti. He’s an up and comer too, and he’s a better fit for you right now. That’s a fight we can win and we want to start like we want to finish. As winners.”

I stared at her, but, judging by the innocent look on her face, she had no clue that she’d just insulted me. “Meaning I can’t beat Claus,” I said flatly, waiting for it to sink in.

She looked away, cheeks going pink as she tapped her fingernails lightly on the file folder in front of her. “I didn’t say that.”

“You kind of did.”

“Okay, maybe I did. But it’s the truth.”

Mild annoyance expanded into full blown irritation and I shoved back from the desk to stand. “I’m done. Tell Mick to call me if he wants to talk.”

I strode through the door of my tiny office and crossed the deserted gym floor. Once I let her out and locked up again, I’d have the rest of the night to myself to soothe my wounded ego and figure out a way to get Mickey to listen to reason. There had to be another manager out there who-

A sharp kick to my side sent me off balance and I stumbled. What the fuck?

I wheeled around to face Kayla who stood in fighting stance, her little skirt hiked up to mid-thigh, her high heels lying on a blue mat a few feet away.

“What are y-?”

Her hand snapped out from her side and she punched me square in the jaw. Not hard, but hard enough that my head snapped back. I stared at her like she was fucking nuts— and, at that point, I was thinking she was— but she just shrugged.

"That's going to happen to you over and over again. You think Claus Nicholson is going to see that wide open space you leave between your hands all the time and not punish you for it? You're out of your mind."

She rolled her shoulders and stepped back, leaving a few yards between us. It was hard not to notice that silky tank top pulling tight over her breasts, but I managed to keep my eyes locked on hers out of self-preservation.

Who knew if she was going to flip a switch and pop me in the jaw again?

"Look, I think it's great that you’re taking some kickboxing classes at the Y or whatever. But this isn't my first rodeo, and-"

Her foot swept out like a fucking mongoose and she checked my thigh hard with her shin.

I frowned at her and finally put my hands up. "I'm not going to spar with you, Red. First of all, it's ridiculous because it has no bearing on what would happen in a fight, and second of all, because you're going to get yourself hu-"

This time, she went balls out and whipped off a neat roundhouse kick that, even though I dodged at the last second, hit me pretty square in the kidney.