by Alice Ward
He said everything so matter-of-factly, with such confidence and poise that it was impossible not to be drawn to him. I never really thought of myself as having a type, but if I did, it would definitely be like the assured man before me. He was so distracting that I felt like I was hearing everything he said on a few second delay.
“And there is a swimming pool, saunas, a massage area, personal trainer circuits, and the aerial arts section.” He listed those like he was discussing the morning news. “We’ll have no problem keeping your training fresh, so you don’t plateau.”
I was beginning to get an idea of how important this man was, and what he had at his fingertips. “An aerial arts section?”
He turned and raised one eyebrow, which sent shivers across my skin. “Trapeze, silks… straps. Do those interest you? Aerial arts can be very helpful. They increase muscle strength and help with control and even mental stamina.”
“Interesting. I’ve never heard of a gym with aerial.”
“I own the place, so it’s really my prerogative, now isn’t it?” He winked to let me know he was teasing.
My eyes widened at that, and Hawk’s words about this man came back to me. “You own this place?”
He seemed mildly surprised by my reaction. “Yes. Do you not like it? I invested in this gym because of its excellent facilities. I used to come here myself before it was put up for sale and always quite enjoyed what was available. I think I’ve made it even better.”
I was overwhelmed and feeling out of my element. He watched me, his face completely impassive, and I envied him. I knew whatever I was feeling was usually evident in my expression.
“Does it matter that I own it?” he asked.
It was so incredibly difficult to shove down my shock at his affluence, and how casually he treated the subject, but I managed. Barely. “No, I suppose not.”
“Good. Now, if you’re satisfied with what you’ve seen so far, we can step into my office and look over the contract.”
“Alright.” I followed him, his long legs crossing the floor quickly. I looked around as we went, trying to absorb all the finery, take in every detail. This place really was top-notch. I felt like I was practically a celebrity instead of a farm-turned-city girl and college drop-out from a bad neighborhood.
His office was just as nice as everything else. Keeping in line with the rest of the building, it wasn’t over the top, leaning more toward a minimalistic and sleek look that still must’ve cost more than what Mama made in an entire year.
He crossed behind the large desk and sat in the highbacked chair. He made an intimidating, almost godfatherlike figure behind the piece of furniture — if the godfather was devastatingly handsome with blond hair and cool blue eyes. But I didn’t feel intimidated. I felt like I wanted to sit in the chair in front of his desk and talk to him all day.
“Here we are,” he said, reaching into his desk and pulling out a stack of stapled together papers. “You’ll want to look this over. Naturally, I understand if you don’t want to sign here on the spot. I could even put you in touch with a lawyer if you would like someone to advise you.”
I cleared my throat, hoping to swallow the overwhelm down. “I think I’ll just read it over myself first.”
“Perfect.” He sat back and gestured for me to take a seat across from him. “Would you like something to drink? A snack?”
“Water would be nice,” I answered as I started on the opening line of the document.
But instead of getting up to grab a bottle from the fancy fridge in the corner, he pressed a button on the desk phone.
The line beeped, and a man’s voice came over the speaker. “Yes, sir?”
“Chris, bring me two bottles of mineral water and a spring sampler.”
“Of course, sir. I will be with you shortly.”
I wondered what a spring sampler was but forced my eyes to stay on the page and tried to keep them from popping out of my head. Having a worker at the gym bring something as simple as bottled water was some next level opulence that I was just not prepared for. But as distracting as it was to think that someone named Chris was getting me a drink as the imposing man behind the desk hadn’t taken his eyes from me, I forced myself to focus on the contract in my hands.
It seemed pretty fair — clear and concise. It stated that I would follow all labor laws of the state and set out several parameters for vacation time, recovery time, and anything else that could force me to take a step back from the gym. There was even a guarantee to cover all fight-related medical costs and an insurance plan for my family if I needed it, complete with a list of in-network specialists. My heart skipped a beat at that, and I thought about the braces that Clementine needed and Mama’s increasingly bad hip.
And that was just within the first five pages. I’d just finished reading up on the benefits when there was a knock at the door. A few seconds later, a young man in a crisp-looking uniform of a white button-up, black trousers, and black tie came up alongside me and offered me an empty glass.
I took it, about to object that I could drink straight from the bottle when he opened the bottle of mineral water and filled the glass before walking around the desk and doing the same for my soon-to-be sponsor. Then he set down a veggie and cheese tray and disappeared right back out the door.
“Help yourself,” Caleb said, watching me with those intense eyes.
My stomach was so tied in knots I thought I’d better not put anything in it. “I think I’ll just focus on water for now, thanks,” I said, turning back to the contract.
I was no expert, but everything seemed pretty fair. I had an active choice in pretty much everything I did. I had the responsibility of showing up to fights, doing my best to keep healthy, and training as hard as I could, but that was about it. No signing my life away. Mr. Birchmeir didn’t control everything. Instead, he would be responsible for everything but the fighting and take all financial risk.
Even the pay was pretty fair too. I was paid my stipend of three grand per month, and that would be raised to five grand once I was actually fighting, with performance bonuses based on my wins. Birchmeir & Cain — whoever Cain was — would be paid a majority of my winnings and any sort of ads I picked up until the expenses of my initial training and promotion were covered, and then I would be getting a solid ninety percent while my sponsor received only ten. I could see how it was a good business idea for him. If I was a success, he would be making a nice penny off my winnings.
“You’re a good business bet,” he said as if he’d heard what I was thinking. “Your success would open the door to bringing more athletes on. Maybe start an entire fighting network. The opportunities would be exponential.”
“A fighting network,” I repeated. The idea was amazing and lit a fire in my blood, which I contributed to the rising heat in my body, not the man studying me so thoughtfully.
It took a solid hour, with me going back to reread parts to make sure I understood them correctly, but the longer I paged through the contract, the more I realized that this was real. Somehow, fate was smiling down on me, offering a door to the big leagues.
“Do you have a pen?” I asked finally, setting the stack in front of me.
If he was surprised, he didn’t let it show. “So, you’ve decided already?”
“Yes. I have. I would love to work with you, and I think we could make a great team.” In truth, I didn’t care if we made the worst team. He had the means to help me achieve my dream career, and that was enough for me. It would be a bonus to be able to take in his magnificent form from time to time.
His voice dropped the tiniest bit lower as he smiled, and the tension within me ramped up. Geeze, I really needed to get laid. “I’m glad we could reach an accord.” Reaching into his desk again, he pulled out a beautiful gold pen and handed it to me.
He called Chris back in to witness as I quickly initialed, initialed, signed and then initialed once more before handing the pen back. He did likewise, and just like that, my life
was changed forever.
“Now that that’s settled, would you like to look at the coaches I thought would be the best match?”
“Oh, that would be amazing.” I couldn’t stop a grin from taking over my face. I felt like I could do aerial arts with no equipment to help.
“While you decide, I’ll get in touch with payroll and have them issue you a check then run it here before you leave.”
I should’ve stopped being surprised by the way he could make things happen on command by now, but I couldn’t help the slight widening of my eyes as I comprehended what he said. “Wait, I get paid today?”
“It’s a well-known fact that financial stress can distract from any sort of performance, so I would prefer you not having to worry about your bills or groceries. And your diet will change, become more expensive as you fuel your body with what it needs. We’ll discuss a dietician later. So yes, you will be paid today. I would like to get this ball rolling as quickly and efficiently as possible.”
“Right, yes, of course.” My mind struggled to comprehend the idea that I was about to be handed a cool three grand after the money I’d received last night. He seemed to have a sort of flippant attitude about money. What a strange thing to be so loaded that handing over a trio of stacks was a blasé affair.
Our eyes locked across the space of the desk and a current of something — familiarity, interest — passed between us.
I took a second to control my breathing. “So, who’re these coaches?”
He gave a half smile and turned his chair away as he pulled his phone out and pressed some prompts, and suddenly a white screen was rolling down from the ceiling against the wall behind his desk, and a projector booted up from over our heads.
After just a few seconds, I was looking at headshots of two middle-aged men and one woman, all who displayed a level of fitness that was impressive.
“These are the top coaches who have availability and are willing to work in our area. We have Bradley Steiner, Felicia Tanaka, and Andre Cianetti.” He then went into a long and involved slideshow of all their pros and cons.
Yet again, I found myself a bit in shock from how fast everything was moving and the quality of the resources he was providing. I knew that each of these coaches demanded toward the six-figure range for just preparing a fighter to go pro, and that didn’t include all the help they would need once they actually did get into the professional leagues. They would provide first-rate services that I would never have been able to afford on my own.
By the time the presentation ended, my brain was threatening to shut down from information overload. My mind was filled with stats, teaching styles, and win/loss ratios, leaving room for little else.
“So, what are your thoughts?” Mr. Birchmeir asked, shutting down the system and turning back to me, roving my face with pale blue eyes that seemed to take in more than was fair. “Do you have a preference?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” I answered honestly. While I liked to think of myself as a confident woman who knew what she wanted, I wasn’t afraid to admit when I wasn’t certain about something. “I’m leaning toward Andre, but Felicia also seems really great for my fighting style, and she’s a woman too, so she’ll understand more of what it’s like to be in my position.”
“Fair enough. If you want my opinion, I recommend Andre. I believe he has the right style to really polish your technique and push through the plateaus.”
I studied him for a second but looking into his eyes made me feel like I was trying to stare into the sun. I had the idea that he knew what he was talking about and that I should trust him. “Okay, Andre it is then.”
“I’ll give him a call now and see if he’s available to come down.”
“Wait. Now? As in right now?”
He raised a single eyebrow as he picked up his phone once more. “Quick and efficient, remember?”
“Oh… yeah.” I watched, a bit in awe, as he dialed up the trainer and got to talking. Less than a handful of minutes later, the man was hanging up and looking at me with quite the satisfied expression.
“He says he’ll be able to make it here in half an hour, but I would expect an hour. If you want to get dressed and warmed up, you should be ready for your evaluation right when he gets here.”
My heart rattled around in my ribcage. “He’s gonna evaluate me today?”
His eyebrows came together. “This whole process will go much more smoothly if you stop questioning the expediency in which I do things.”
I blinked. He was straightforward, I’d give him that. “I’ll try. But certainly you understand, it’s not every day a fighter is signed to a sponsor, coach, and is evaluated in less than twenty-four hours.”
His face softened, and something deep and wicked in my stomach twisted. “Of course, and I appreciate you putting your trust in me. Just believe that I don’t intend to waste either of our time.”
“I’ll try to get that through my head. Thank you for everything, Mr. Birchmeir.”
“Please, call me Caleb. My father is Mr. Birchmeir, and I think I have quite a few years before I reach his level of… experience.” He looked down at the contract for a moment then back to me. “You’ve only been in Louisville a few years. Moved from a small town.”
That he knew more about me than I’d offered stunned me for a second.
“I make it a point to thoroughly investigate any potential investment.”
My cheeks went hot, and I cast about for an answer. “A farm. It was a transition, but necessary.”
“Ah, that makes sense then. You’re pretty, Miss Cherry Bomb, but I’m sure you hear that all the time.” There was something about the way the man gave compliments that just made them feel so nice. Maybe it was because he didn’t change his tone or inflection to make it seem like he was intentionally giving his approval. He kept the same frank, low pitch he used for most things, and I found myself basking in the warmth of his regard.
“Thank you. And no, most people don’t compliment me. Usually, it’s dirty jokes.” My cheeks got hotter when I realized what I’d said.
One incredibly sexy eyebrow quirked up, and I found myself wanting to trace my finger over it. “Ah, bunch of bastards they are. Now, if you can remember your way to the locker rooms, I need to place the call to payroll I mentioned earlier. Feel free to ask Chris to get you some ice for your water, should you need it.”
“Okay, I’ll catch you in a bit then.”
He nodded and turned his attention back to the laptop on his desk. I showed myself out, thinking if I could ask Chris to ice me down I might be able to think. Somehow, I managed to make it to the end of the hall before my knees grew weak with everything that had happened in the past hour. Sinking to the floor, I took several deep breaths and tried to collect myself.
Ever since Dad passed, my family had been struggling just to get to the next day. After years of clawing and biting for even the smallest bit of relief, we suddenly didn’t have to worry anymore. We’d made it, despite all of the odds stacked against us, we were finally on the other side. And I had to make sure we stayed there.
“Are you alright, miss?”
I looked up to see the same young man who had served us the mineral water and got back to my feet. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”
“I understand. Life around Caleb can be a little intense sometimes. Do you need anything?” The way he said it hinted at more than just Caleb’s personality.
“Um… I think I might need the locker rooms pointed out to me again. I’m a bit turned around.”
“No problem. Right this way.”
In the women’s locker room, I managed not to dillydally in my admiration and changed into a spandex training outfit suitable for hitting the mats.
Just like Mr. Bir — Caleb had said, Andre didn’t show up until an hour later, after I was warmed up. He strolled in exactly how I’d expected, in a tracksuit with his dark locks tied up neatly in a bun behind his head. Assessing blue eyes shown from a nut-colored
complexion. He took one look at me, then Caleb, and walked straight over to the mats and ordered me through another warm-up.
“I’ve warmed up already,” I informed him.
To which he barked, “You haven’t done anything unless I’m here. You’ll have to go through it all again.”
The next thing I knew, I was doing squats, pushups, lunges, and jump rope in rapid succession before we moved on to the punching bags.
The rest of the evaluation went by in a sweat-drenched blur, and when it finally ended, I was exhausted.
“Not bad,” Andre remarked casually. “But you really favor your right side, and you have far too little torsion behind your punches. Your reflexes aren’t where they could be on your left side, and you lead too much with your head. We definitely have our work cut out for us.”
I swallowed pride that reared up at the critique. He was right. If I was good enough to be pro, then I would be professional. I needed him to be honest with me if I wanted to improve enough to make it to the big leagues.
“Thank you, Andre,” Caleb said, startling me. I hadn’t realized he’d been watching from the corner of the room. The large man could move quietly. “Cherry, if you want to hit the showers, Andre and I will handle the paperwork.”
“My least favorite part,” my new coach remarked, grabbing the bag he set on the ground when he entered.
“But it is how you get paid.”
The big man laughed. “Which is my favorite part, and that’s why I tolerate paperwork.” Coach Andre nodded to me, a kind expression crossing his broad features for the first time. “Good job, kid. I look forward to working with you.”
“Likewise,” I panted, trying not to seem as out of breath as I was and failing miserably. “I’ll see you…”
“Tomorrow,” he answered quickly. “At one p.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t.”
He gave me a short nod, and then the two men walked off, leaving me to limp to the showers.
I took my time in the shower, enjoying the hot spray that lasted way longer than the water heater at my house could ever hope to aspire to. The curtain was thick and completely opaque, but unnecessary since the shower I’d chosen was in a spacious bathroom closed off to itself, and as nice as one you’d find at a spa.