Breaking Her Rules

by Jennifer Snow

  She let out a deep breath. She was annoyed about the Walker situation, but Erik did deserve an apology. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you tonight. Kylie called a few days ago and said Walker had dropped out of law school to pursue fighting. He needed a place to stay for a few weeks.”

  “Does this mean you’re not moving in?” His expression was one of disappointment now.

  “No! Of course not. I can’t wait to move in.”

  He smiled. “Good.” He touched her shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll see you tonight, okay?” He turned to go back into his office, and she stopped him. Her apology out of the way, she was still determined to talk him out of this matchup.

  “Wait, Erik. Seriously, you can’t put him in there. He’s going to get killed.”

  “He says he’s ready . . . and I’m running out of options.” He checked his Rolex. “I have to finish this meeting. I have another one in twenty minutes with Rex, and if I don’t sign this guy, I’ll be the replacement fighter this month.”

  “Erik, please.” The MFL executive was fairly unforgiving, and she didn’t envy her boyfriend’s position. Never in the year they’d been dating had their personal life interfered with the job, but she wasn’t asking him to reconsider this decision now as a colleague, but as his girlfriend.

  He hesitated with a sigh, so she pressed on. “He’s going to get hurt. Cruz will take him down immediately and then it’s over. And you know his chances of getting another fight if he doesn’t make it past the first round are slim.” With the amount of eager talent coming out of the countless MMA gyms, new fighters got one shot to prove they had what it took to win.

  He stared at her for a long, awkward moment, and she knew exactly what was going through his mind. Damn it! Why did she have to sound so worried about Walker? She wished she’d made time the day before to tell Erik about him. Clearly, he was annoyed and possibly jealous. She tried to remember if she’d ever revealed to him her teenage crush on the man inside his office. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected it didn’t matter. Her concern for Walker’s welfare was written all over her face, and she knew it.

  “Erik, his fighting career will be over before it even begins,” she said, a last-ditch attempt to make him reconsider.

  “He says all he needs is fifteen seconds. Let’s see if he’s right.” Erik opened his office door and disappeared inside.

  Shit.

  ***

  “Look, I know you’re upset with me, but your friend is a big boy,” Erik said, turning his Porsche convertible into the Mandalay Bay parking lot later that evening.

  Her arms folded, her gaze out the passenger window, Grace had barely said a word since they’d left the office together a few minutes before, except to ask whether or not he’d signed Walker. He had. “He’s not ready,” she said for what felt like the millionth time.

  “Grace, you have your job, I have mine. Let’s stick to what we are both good at,” he said, taking her hand to soften the impact of the words.

  She resisted the urge to pull away, telling herself he was right. He was the expert and while she thought in this case he was wrong, it wasn’t her place to interfere. Erik had the most stress of everyone in the organization, and he had his own job to protect. He wouldn’t do something crazy like set a fight that would disappoint fans. “Fine.”

  He squeezed her hand gently. “Let’s not let this ruin our evening. The good news is, now that I have a replacement fighter, I have time for that dinner I promised you.”

  She forced a smile, hoping a glass of wine and some one-on-one time with Erik might soothe her frazzled nerves. He was right about the fact that this dinner had been postponed too many times already. Besides, she held the faintest hope she could talk some sense into Walker and convince him not to go through with the fight. She knew the MFL’s contracts, and they guaranteed new fighters one fight at first to prove themselves, but even a minor training injury could provide him with the perfect, legitimate excuse to bail on this upcoming death sentence fight and still be guaranteed another fight. A fight when he was ready, against a better matched opponent. Her shoulders relaxed for the first time that afternoon.

  “Okay, you’re right. I’m glad we finally have some time together,” she said, squeezing his hand, ignoring the wave of guilt she experienced, realizing if she were successful in persuading Walker to give up this fight, she’d be putting Erik in another tight spot looking for a replacement on even shorter notice.

  The valet parking attendant opened her door, and she swung her long legs out. The car was beautiful and Erik’s pride and joy, but she sometimes missed taking her old pickup truck everywhere—it was easier to climb in and out of than this low-riding chassis. She smoothed her tight skirt down over her legs as Erik met her on the passenger side and took her hand to lead her into the hotel.

  The hotel was busy with guests checking in and out, gambling at the slot machines and poker tables, and gathering in front of the five-star restaurants—enjoying the Vegas all-day night life. When she’d first moved to the city, she’d been overwhelmed and nervous, insecure about her ability to survive the fast pace and high demands of Sin City, but five years later, she could see through the glitter and smoke and was starting to feel as though she did belong in the corporate world behind the scenes of the adult version of Disneyland.

  Instead of heading to the casino floor, toward the restaurants, Erik headed toward the elevators.

  “Where are we going? I thought we were having dinner.”

  “We are,” he said, stepping inside the elevator. When the doors closed, he removed the swipe key card from his jacket pocket and slid it through, hitting the button for the top floor.

  She eyed him with excited suspicion. “What are you up to?” Moving toward him, she slid her hand inside his jacket and unbuttoned the top button on his charcoal dress shirt, kissing the side of his neck. Their dinner date was long overdue, but so was sex.

  He stopped her hand from opening any more buttons. “Not what you’re thinking, dirty girl.” He redid the button.

  “Oh,” she said, moving away.

  He gripped her wrist and pulled her back toward him, crushing her against his chest as his hand slid down her back and cupped her ass beneath the skirt. “At least not yet.”

  The elevator doors opened and she followed him down the hall to the top-floor restaurant that overlooked the Las Vegas strip.

  “Don’t look so disappointed; you said you wanted to try this place.”

  “Sorry.” She smiled. “I do and I’m starving.” Though her stomach could take a backseat to sex, she would have thought he’d be feeling the same after weeks of not . . . connecting.

  The hostess led them to a secluded booth in the corner in front of the windows with an incredible view below. She had been dying to try this place since it opened. She’d lived in Vegas for five years, but first at college and now with her demanding work hours, she never had enough time to fully enjoy the lifestyle the city offered. Growing up in quiet, boring Lovelock, with her single mom who worked at the local diner and had never ventured beyond the town limits sign, she’d longed for the day she could leave and start living her own life. She’d been home twice since then, but her mother still refused to leave, even to visit. She liked the comfort and safety the small town of two thousand people provided.

  Grace had never felt comfort or safety—small town or big city—it didn’t matter. And she wanted to feel that someday, which was why she was working so hard to create a financially secure future for herself.

  As they slid into the booth, Erik ordered a bottle of Dom and she raised an eyebrow. “Okay, something’s definitely up with you.”

  “Why would you say that?” he asked, sliding an arm around her shoulder and handing her a menu.

  She kept it closed, turning slightly to face him. “Because you never drink. Especially not champagne.” For all his high-roller status and the high-stress demands of his career, Erik wasn’t a big drinker. In the year they’d been dating,
she’d seen him drink one beer, maybe two, at the holiday party eight months ago and that was the extent of it. He said he needed to be alert and on his toes at all times, and she supposed he had a point. Though a drink sometimes couldn’t hurt. Maybe it would even help her high-strung boyfriend relax a little.

  Taking the menu from her, he opened it and scanned the appetizers. “How about calamari and shrimp cocktail for starters?”

  He never remembered she didn’t like seafood. And he was changing the subject. She sighed, forced to take a look at the options herself or be stuck eating slimy, deep-fried sea creatures. Nothing appealed. “I’ll wait for the main course.”

  The waiter returned with the champagne and opened it. “Would you like me to pour, sir?” he asked Erik.

  “Please,” Erik said, shifting in the booth. He ran a hand over his chin and when he reached for a glass to hand to her, she noticed that it shook slightly.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes . . . no . . . yes.” He set the champagne flute aside, instead of handing it to her, and turned in the booth to face her. “Grace, you and I work together . . .”

  “Yes, a lot of long hours and overtime, believe me, I know.” She laughed, but his nervous expression made her smile fade. Uh-oh—where was he going with this? Had their working/dating relationship suddenly become a problem? Was this about the issue with Walker? Damn it, Walker!

  “No, I meant you and I as a couple. We work . . . together as a couple,” he clarified.

  Her tensed shoulders relaxed. “Oh, right.”

  “I’ve dated a lot of women . . .”

  She cringed. Not exactly something a woman liked to hear.

  “I mean . . . not hundreds or anything.”

  She let out a deep breath. “What are you trying to say, Erik?” She was terrified his next statement would be how many of these women he’d had sex with.

  “Just this: I care about you, and I think we have similar thoughts on life and career . . .”

  She nodded.

  He took her hands in his. “I’m trying to say that I think this—us—is it for me . . . for my future . . .”

  The restaurant, the champagne, the nervous, shaky, clammy hands—was he about to propose? Her breath caught in her chest and her mouth went dry. An image of Walker’s naked body in her bathroom flashed in her mind. Where the hell did he come from? Damn it—get out of my proposal thoughts, Walker!

  “Grace . . .”

  “Yeah?” she choked out.

  His cell phone ringing in his coat pocket made them both jump.

  “Oh my God,” she said, her hand flying to her chest as he reached for the phone. She bit back the annoyance she felt at the interruption. It came with the territory. It would always come with the territory.

  “It’s Rex,” he said with a frown.

  Of course. Their boss had impeccable timing as usual. She often thought he had a tracking device on Erik and knew when he might actually be taking time out from working for a change. She sat back in the booth as he answered, and took a sip of her champagne. If this call was anything like most, she suspected the champagne may be the extent of dinner.

  “Rex—hi . . . No problem, what’s going on?”

  While he talked, Grace scanned the popular restaurant. Couples cuddled in intimate two-seater booths overlooking the strip. Groups of friends gathered at tables and at the bar. The waitstaff, constantly on the move, still seemed to blend elegantly into the atmosphere to create the perfect mix of high-profile dining with an electric ambience.

  And her boyfriend who’d been about to pop the question was on the phone.

  “Of course . . . I’ll fly out tonight,” Erik was saying, checking his Rolex.

  Fly out? Tonight?

  “Yes . . . I’ll take care of that when I get there. Okay, I’ll keep you posted,” he said, disconnecting the call and signaling the waiter for the bill.

  “I take it we’re leaving?” she asked, already reaching for her jacket.

  “Sorry, that fighter from California—Carlos Alward, the guy we’ve been trying to sign for two years now?”

  She nodded. Yes, she knew all about Carlos Alward. It was a name heard daily around the office. The man was undefeated, an amazing athlete, and for the last two years he’d fought under contract with a league out of Japan.

  “Well, he’s back from Japan and his contract is up with the Japan Ultimate Challenge, so we need to talk to him.”

  “Tonight?” She understood the urgency, but surely a flight out tomorrow morning would suffice.

  “The other organizations are going to be on this guy so fast. As of right now, no one knows he’s back in California. His manager texted Rex before they boarded their flight home, but Carlos is scheduled to do a press release tomorrow afternoon.” He handed the waiter his credit card and paid the bill.

  “But why are you going? Why isn’t one of the recruiters doing the initial assessment?”

  Erik laughed. “Grace, this is Carlos ‘The Beast’ Alward. There is no initial assessment. The man’s record speaks for itself. We want him signed for the MFL.” He stood.

  “You’re right. You have to go,” she said, knowing how important this was for the organization and for Erik. If he could bring “The Beast” on board, they could really open up the heavyweight division that had been lagging in fighters over the last few years. It was difficult to find a heavyweight fighter who wasn’t simply out of shape and could go the distance of five-minute rounds. Fans didn’t pay to watch tired, winded fighters dance around one another.

  He turned to her and took her shoulders. “Look, I’m sorry. I know the timing sucks . . . but this is important.”

  And a marriage proposal wasn’t? “I know,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “About what we were discussing . . . I meant what I said, I think we make a great team, Grace. When I get back, we’ll try this again, okay?”

  She nodded.

  “I mean it. Your birthday is next week. We’ll have dinner at Toledo and we’ll have lots to celebrate, I promise.”

  She smiled and hugged him. He remembered her birthday was next week. That probably shouldn’t count for as much as it did, but it gave her a sense of renewed hope. Of course he remembered, he loved her . . . Work was work and it would always come first, but she was a close second and that was . . . something she could live with. “Okay. I guess you can go,” she said, taking his hand as they left the restaurant.

  Chapter 3

  The sound of coughing and sneezing coming from the living room woke her the next morning. Rolling to her side, Grace checked the time on the clock on her bedside table. Almost six. Her eyes hurt and the idea of moving was the last thing she wanted to contemplate. Arriving home at ten the night before, after seeing Erik off at the airport, she had been too wound up to sleep. So she’d watched reruns of Californication on Showtime, checking her watch every few minutes, until finally giving up on Walker and going to bed. She wasn’t even sure what to say to him anymore, her concern over his stupidity to take a fight he couldn’t win competing with her loyalty to Erik and the position he would be in if Walker backed out.

  She’d offered to go with him to California, to try to turn the work trip into a bit of pleasure as well, but he’d insisted she needed to stay and organize the fight promo for the upcoming PPV. She’d reluctantly agreed, knowing how much work still needed to get done.

  She lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about their dinner . . . or the attempt at dinner. She was certain he had been about to propose. And she would have accepted. Marrying Erik made sense, it was what she wanted, it aligned with her goals and the future she saw for herself. So why did she feel the slightest bit relieved that the question had been postponed?

  It was just nerves. Just like she’d been nervous about moving in with him. Nothing more.

  Another round of throat-tearing coughing made her toss the covers aside and climb out of bed. Grabbing a sweater from the hook behind her door, she
slid her arms into it as she made her way down the hallway toward the living room.

  Oh sweet baby Jesus. Did the man have to be so incredibly sexy, lying there in only a pair of boxer briefs, the blankets crumpled around his legs? Wasn’t there a dress code for sleeping on a friend’s couch? Though, he probably slept naked normally, so this was . . . better? He shifted and her eyes immediately fell to the bulge in the front of the thin, gray fabric. Huh, that explained the amount of ex-girlfriend stalkers he seemed to attract.

  He coughed again and moaned as his eyes opened slowly. She dove into the kitchen and busied herself with the coffeemaker.

  “Hi,” he said through a scratchy voice, propping himself up on one elbow on his pillow.

  She didn’t turn. “You sound awful.”

  “I feel like shit,” he said, collapsing back against the pillow. “What time is it?”

  “Just after six.” She slid the Keurig pod into the maker and hit the button, for the first time noticing her blender on the counter and a long line of supplements, protein powder, and creatine along the back wall. She hated stuff on the counter. She preferred everything tucked away neatly in cupboards and drawers. Growing up, her mother’s kitchen had been full of clutter, and it was impossible to find an inch of counter space. It used to drive her crazy. She opened several cupboards, until she found one with space, and began stacking the items away.

  “A bit of a neat freak, huh?” Walker asked as he entered the kitchen behind her.

  She turned, relieved to see he was wearing jeans . . . actually the bare-chested, jeans, and bare feet look wasn’t much better. If fighting didn’t work out, he could always consider modeling for Calvin Klein.

  “I just like things organized.” Like she liked her life—uncomplicated, unmessy, and untempting. Wow, those three principles had been shot to hell in forty-eight hours.

  He opened the fridge and grabbed a carton of eggs.

  Looking past him, she noticed he’d filled the entire top shelf with eggs. “Ugh . . . I can’t believe you’re going to do that.” She turned away as he began cracking the eggs into a glass one by one.