Redemption

by R. R. Banks

  I take a deep breath and let it out again, trying to focus on the positives in my life right now. Of course, it doesn't take long to count them. I don't have to worry about not having a roof over my head – because of Brady Keating.

  Knowing that I'm not sleeping behind some dumpster in an alley only because of that man makes my blood boil. He's an insufferable prick and I hate the fact that I am indebted to him. Just seeing his face and hearing that slow Texas drawl of his makes me want to scream – and punch something.

  Which is what I decide to do. I need to go blow off some steam and clear my head – and of course, punch something.

  I put on my gym clothes, grab my bag, and head out the door. A good, intense workout down at PowerCore is exactly what I need.

  ~ooo000ooo~

  A twenty-minute walk later, I step into the cool air of the gym. The music is bumping and people are working out on the bags and are lifting in the weight area. I feel like I'm in my element – one of the only places in this stupid city I feel like I belong.

  I drop my bag in the locker room and head out to do a little bag work. I'm definitely going to need to do some sparring, but I want to warm up a bit. I let the music fill me, get my energy up, and start my usual warm-up routine on the bag.

  “I can't believe you didn't tell me.”

  I turn around to find Adrian standing there staring at me. He looks a little perturbed, but mostly just concerned. I don't even have to ask him what he's talking about though – I already know.

  “It's not a big deal,” I say, hoping I sound convincing. “Just a bump in the road, right?”

  He holds on to the bag for me as I throw a series of jab and kick combinations to it.

  “But why didn't you tell me?” he asks. “Why did I have to find out from Misty when I went in to get a coffee the other day?”

  I stop what I'm doing and stand there to catch my breath for a moment. “Because I don't want you feeling sorry for me,” I say. “Or feel obligated to help me. You already do so much for me by letting me work out here, Adrian.”

  He scoffs. “Please. I've seen those bathrooms,” he says. “You earn every minute you spend in this gym, believe me.”

  I grin and shake my head. “Seriously though,” I say. “It's all good. It'll work out.”

  His look of concern deepens. “What about rent and keeping a roof over your head, Amanda?” he asks. “I've got plenty of room in my place –”

  I shake my head. “It's covered,” I say. “I'm – good.”

  I just refuse to tell him how it's been covered – it's a bitter pill I still can't swallow myself just yet.

  “Food? Bills?” he asks.

  “I've got a little bit in savings,” I say and smile. “Enough to last until I get another job. I'm not going to starve. I'm just not going to be able to go on those wild shopping sprees I usually go on.”

  He laughs. “Right,” he says. “You pinch pennies harder than anybody I know.”

  “Which is why I know I'll be okay until something comes along.”

  There is, of course, no guarantee that I'm not going to starve. I may have a roof over my head, but my savings is dwindling and I really don't know when I'm going to catch a break and get an interview somewhere.

  “Promise me that if things get hairy, you'll call me,” Adrian says.

  I give his arm a gentle squeeze and give him a smile. Adrian is one of the best guys I've ever known. He's sweet and genuine. And for whatever reason, he really seems to care about me.

  “I promise,” I say.

  He looks me in the eye, trying to determine whether I'm telling the truth or not. “You not only pinch pennies harder than anybody I know, you're also one of the most stubborn and proud people I know,” he says. “But this isn't a time for that shit, Amanda. I'm serious. If you need something – anything – you call me right away.”

  I nod, a feeling of gratitude coursing through my body. “I really, really don't deserve you, Adrian.”

  He squeezes my hand and smiles. “No, you really don't.”

  I clear my throat and try to diffuse the awkward tension that's settled down over me. “Anybody up for sparring today?”

  “Actually, yeah,” he says. “Guy just came in and thinks he's hot shit. He actually asked to spar with you by name.”

  I shake my head and groan. “Please tell me Armando isn't back looking to settle up with me?”

  “No, no,” he says. “Some guy who's new to the gym, actually.”

  “And you're going to let him spar already?”

  He shrugs. “He paid extra for the privilege,” he says. “Who am I to say no? Besides, I'm starting to think that you're becoming a legend after what you did to Armando. Guys are paying to come in to take a shot at you. I think I can turn a few bucks on you.”

  I punch him in the shoulder and laugh. “Ass,” I say. “But hey, if this guy wants to spar, let's get it on. I need to beat somebody.”

  “Just – don't kill him,” he says. “It's his first time and he pays, so I'd like to keep him around a bit.”

  “I'll do my best,” I say and laugh, feeling a bit better than I have in days. “No guarantees though.”

  Adrian leads me to the sparring ring and when I step in, I feel my stomach drop into my shoes.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I say.

  Adrian looks at me, confusion on his face. “What? You know this guy?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I know him.”

  Standing across the ring from me is none other than Brady goddamn Keating. He's bouncing lightly on his feet, smiling wide at me.

  “How do you know this guy?” Adrian asks.

  I sigh. “Don't ask.”

  Brady moves out to the center of the ring, walking with a cocky swagger – something I've seen from more than a few men I've sparred with.

  “You realize this is bordering on stalking, right?” I ask.

  “Oh. I didn't think it was even still bordering at this point, darlin',” he grins.

  “What did I tell you about calling me that?”

  He holds his hands up. “I apologize,” he replies. “Like I said, it's a Texas thing. It's kind of ingrained into me. It'd be like asking you to stop with the biting sarcasm.”

  I look down at the mat and try to suppress a smile. He had a point – not that I was going to concede it to him.

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “Felt like a little workout,” he says. “Is that a crime?”

  “You asked to spar with me.”

  He nods. “I figure it's the only way I'm going to get you to stand still long enough to hear me out.”

  I chuckle. “It'll be pretty hard for you to talk when I knock you out cold.”

  His smile widens. “Big talk for such a bitty little thing.”

  The last word isn't even out of his mouth before the rage in me flares up, burning like a bonfire bright enough to be seen from space. Brady just has a way about him of pushing all of my buttons and getting me all fired up.

  Maybe it's fortuitous that he stalked me to the gym and asked to spar with me. Stupid, because even though I'm not an expert, I know enough to tell that he has no idea what he's doing – which means, he's going to get himself hurt.

  But, I needed to beat on somebody, and here he is. And who better to beat on than the man who turned my life upside down?

  “You really sure you want to do this?” I ask.

  He shrugs, all cockiness and arrogance. “How hard can this be?” he asks. “Don't worry, I'll take it easy on you, darlin'.”

  I walk back to my corner, a dark rage coursing through every fiber of my being. Adrian looks at me, his eyes wide with alarm.

  “You okay?” he asks. “Maybe you shouldn't spar with this guy.”

  I give him a smile that feels predatory. “Oh no,” I say. “I'm definitely going to spar with this guy.”

  I strap on my helmet and slip my mouthpiece in, turning to face him. Brady is bouncing up and down like he's a boxe
r or something. I doubt he's ever boxed before in his life and is simply mimicking the movements he's seen other fighters do.

  He's obviously in shape and works out. His body is a lot more toned and sculpted than I would have ever guessed from seeing him in what he normally wears – which is usually some fashionable suit. But seeing him in shorts and a tank top reveals a pretty hard physique. He's a good-looking man, there's no doubt about that.

  But he's also a huge pain in my ass.

  Heading out to the middle of the ring, Brady's smile widens even further. He puts his hands up in typical boxer fashion – leaving his midsection exposed entirely. I take advantage of it and deliver a vicious kick to his stomach.

  Brady lets out a pained grunt and doubles over, clutching his stomach – leaving his head entirely exposed. Deciding to end this farce, I deliver a three-punch combination to the back of his head, dropping him instantly.

  I stand over him for a moment, listening to him wheezing and groaning before I say, “I trust this will conclude our business together,”.

  I turn and walk back to my corner, climbing out of the ring. Adrian is looking at me with a stunned expression on his face.

  “What?” I ask. “I did what you asked. He'll live.”

  He gives me a chuckle and a grin as he steps into the ring to check on his new member – a member I don't anticipate seeing around much longer. I go back to do a little more bag-work and find that I've lost my steam. Having Brady show up here really killed my mojo. This place – like home – is my sanctuary. It's where I fit in. And having somebody like him show up and invade my space just sort of – taints it.

  I head into the locker room, grab a quick shower, and change. I'm done for the day. I have no idea what I'm going to do with the rest of the day, I just know that I need to get out of there.

  “You okay?” Adrian asks when I step out of the locker room.

  “Yeah, fine,” I say.

  “So, you and that guy – ex-boyfriend or something?”

  I laugh. “He wishes.”

  Adrian smiles. “Seeing that kind of anger come out of you made me think it was more – personal.”

  I shrug. “I actually thought I was a little harder on Armando.”

  He nods. “In a different way,” he says. “Watching you with Brady – you were just so cold and unemotional. You were just a brutal punching machine in there.”

  “I just wanted to get it over quickly,” I reply. “I am seriously done with that guy.”

  Adrian laughs. “He doesn't seem to think so.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He showered already and he's outside waiting for you,” he says. “And get this, he's got a car with his very own driver.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Movin' in some wealthy circles now, are you?”

  “Trying to avoid that, actually,” I say. “He just won't take a damn hint. Keeps going on about some business proposal and won't leave me alone. This guy is stalking me, Adrian.”

  He laughs. “Well, I think you just taught him a valuable lesson – that if it comes down to it, you'll kick his ass.”

  “Damn right I will.”

  Adrian looks at me, holding my gaze. “Seriously though, know the quickest way to get him to leave you alone?”

  “Kill him?”

  “You could go that way,” he says. “Or, you could just hear him out. Listen to what he has to say and if you're not into it, say no. And you're done.”

  Can it really be that simple? Everything I've learned in my few dealings with Brady is that nothing is ever that easy. But, if I sit and listen to him, he can't say I didn't, right? And he won't have any reason to keep hounding me. But then, I get the feeling that he'd find another reason anyway. He doesn't strike me as the kind of man who takes no very well.

  I give Adrian a hug. “Thanks, sweetie.”

  I walk out of the gym and Brady is dressed in blue jeans, boots, and a black button-down jacket – with his black Stetson on, of course. I never see him without that hat and wouldn't be surprised to find out he sleeps in it.

  He's leaning against the rear of the car, his hands in his pockets, a sheepish grin on his face.

  “I've got to say,” he says. “You sure pack a mean punch. My head is still ringing.”

  “What do you want, Brady?” I ask.

  “Just listen to me for a moment,” he says. “Let me take you to lunch. Hear what I have to say. That's it. The money I put up for your rent – consider that payment for your time. An hour. That's all I ask.”

  I look back at the doors of the gym and think about what Adrian said. If I hear him out, then maybe he really will leave me alone.

  “Fine,” I say. “An hour. I swear to God though, if you call me darlin' one more time, I'm going to beat your ass again.”

  He smiles wide. “Yes, ma'am. Message received.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brady

  “You can't be serious,” she says.

  I nod. “I'm very serious.”

  After a nice meal and a couple of drinks, we're sitting in Roland's, a nice Mexican restaurant overlooking the Riverwalk. It's a place I come to often – it's got great food and a good atmosphere. And given the fact that it's on the Riverwalk, there's usually an abundance of very hot women milling about.

  But today, I'm not here for that. I'm here to pitch a deal and close it. Amanda is exactly what I'm looking for – despite that quicksilver temper on her. She's intelligent, articulate, a little bit unassuming, and from everything I can see, definitely not the sort of woman who's only looking for somebody to be her sugar daddy – which is something that can't be said for a lot of the women I hook up with.

  The research I had done on her showed me that she's ambitious. Hard working. Has dreams and aspirations. The only thing holding her back is money. I know she wants to be a child psychologist – which probably has something to do with her own less than desirable upbringing – but has to go to school part time, or even take breaks between semesters, because she can't afford the tuition.

  Amanda Johnston is her own woman and she's dead-set determined to make her own way in this world. She bristles at the idea of accepting help from anybody – as the stunt with the rent showed me – and never, ever wants to be thought of as a charity case.

  And it's having all of that information that has helped me shape and craft my pitch to her. I just have to sit and hope she's receptive to it because she is perfect.

  “So, we pretend to be married,” she says. “So, you can get your inheritance?”

  I nod. “And you get to go to school,” I say. “You won't have to worry about a thing.”

  She shakes her head. “This has got to be a joke.”

  “I promise you it's not,” I say. “This is a good situation for the both of us. I mean, what would you do if you didn't have to worry about money? You'd go to school, right? Finish out your psychology degree?”

  She leans back in her seat and eyes me over the rim of her margarita glass. “Information you dug up when you were vetting me?”

  I give her a sheepish grin. “I wanted to get to know a bit about you.”

  “So, you'd know where to apply the pressure, right?”

  I shake my head. “It's not like that.”

  “No? Then how is it, Brady?”

  I sigh and take a sip of my beer. “Somebody I trust told me that there all different kinds of marriages,” I say. “And that marriages can sometimes be business partnerships.”

  “You realize how ridiculous this all is, don't you?”

  I nod. “I do. Unfortunately, I have to jump through some hoops to ensure my inheritance.”

  She looks at me for a long moment, sipping her margarita. I can see the wheels spinning in her mind and I know that she's at least, thinking about it. Which is good. It at least, gives me a fighting chance.

  “So, let me get this straight,” she says. “We have to pretend to be a couple –”

/>   “And we'd have to make sure to do it in public,” I say.

  “Fine. So, we pretend to be a very public couple,” she goes on. “And then we get married – obviously, in the public eye – but we continue to live our own lives, separate and apart from each other?”

  “Well, I would need for you to move into my house,” I say. “To sell the illusion. But yes, we would still live our own lives like normal.”

  “And by doing this, you get your inheritance and control of your father's empire – including your precious football team,” she says. “And I get – what?”

  “You get the freedom to do whatever you want,” I say. “You'll never want for anything again and you will be totally and completely financially secure.”

  “So, basically,” she says. “You want me to be your prostitute.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “It's not like that, dar – Amanda,” I say. “There isn't any sex between us involved.”

  She looks at me and I give her a wide grin.

  “Unless, of course –”

  “Yeah, no,” she says quickly. “Not happening. Not. Ever. Happening.”

  I put my hands up. “Okay, okay,” I say. “Can't blame a boy for trying. Beautiful women just –”

  “Yeah, you can stop right there,” she says, though she looks away and I can see the color in her cheeks.

  “You realize you're not half as charming as you think you are,” she says.

  I shrug. “Maybe not. But I'm still twice as charming as most men.”

  She shakes her head and laughs. “Do you have to practice that?”

  “What?”

  “That whole Matthew McConaughey shtick you have going on,” I say. “You got that slow, smarmy Texas drawl of his down pat.”

  I laugh. “I think all you non-Texans just think we all sound like him,” I say. “Next, you're going to say we all look alike too, right?”

  “Hardly,” she says and laughs again.

  The laughter eventually fades, but for the first time since we sat down, we seem to enjoy a companionable moment. A moment not filled with tension and awkwardness. We're just two people having a conversation and a laugh. And it's – nice.