Valentine's Billionaire Bad Boys

by Parker, M. S.

  I turned toward Rico and gave him a nod as we moved to the center of the ring. He was a few inches shorter than me, but wiry as hell and had a natural affinity for the sport, so I knew better than to underestimate him. He wasn't as good as me, but I had a feeling that if I didn't retire before he started coming up through the ranks, I'd end up in a fight with him I might not win.

  We circled each other, getting a feel for the other's movements. There was always a rhythm to the first few seconds of a fight, and it generally helped me find that calm place inside me that I went to during a match. The place that gave me my laser focus, that allowed me to channel everything I'd learned.

  But I couldn't get to it today. No matter how much I tried to clear my mind, I was aware of Cynthia Rose watching me, taking pictures.

  And then Rico threw the first punch and I barely spun out of the way in time.

  Shit. I was in trouble.

  I blocked another punch, then moved to sweep Rico's legs out. He easily dodged it and came back around at me. I grimaced as his foot caught my shoulder. I needed to get ahold of myself or this would look really bad. I didn't know Anita that well, but I didn't doubt that she'd be honest in her story, and that could possibly include any negative things that happened in this ring.

  More than that, I didn't want Cyn to see me lose.

  The thought of looking bad in front of her distracted me enough that I didn't see Rico's kick until too late. His foot connected squarely with my chest and knocked me back. I stumbled a few steps before falling on my ass.

  Dimly, I was aware of Paul shouting at me, but I ignored that as I jumped to my feet. Adrenaline flooded my system, fueled by my anger. Not at Rico, but at myself. I never should've been caught so off guard.

  His eyes met mine and I saw no apology there, only a wary caution. That was good. I didn't want him apologizing for putting me on my ass. Other fighters might've considered that respect. Unless it was actually the other person's fault – like a blow that came during a no-contact moment of training – I didn't want apologies. And this, this was my own stupid fault.

  A sweeping kick caught one of his feet and he went to a knee. I took advantage of his position to get in a solid hit, then wrapped my arm around his neck. I pulled him onto his back and held him until he tapped my leg. I jumped up and forced myself not to look over at Cyn to see if she'd been watching.

  Rico got to his feet and glanced over at Paul, who nodded for us to continue. We circled each other again, each throwing a few feints as we stepped forward, looking for an opening. With a quick sidestep, Rico hooked his leg behind mine and tried to pull me down. I managed to get out of it, but just barely.

  I was still turning when I found myself facing Cynthia Rose. She was hiding behind her camera, but she'd moved closer to get better shots. She wore a sundress today, a light filmy thing that clung to those luscious curves, reminding me of what she'd looked like naked, spread out on my bed, waiting, eager–

  Pain exploded through my jaw as Rico caught me with a solid right hook. Before I could do anything more than stagger a step, he was knocking me to the mat, his legs locking around me, pinning me.

  My mind raced, trying to figure out what to do, but there was nothing except confusion about what had just occurred. Then I heard Paul shout, and Rico released me.

  Heat rushed to my face and it had nothing to do with physical exertion. I couldn't bring myself to look at anyone as I got to my feet. Shame and embarrassment flooded me as I yanked my gloves off.

  “Tyrell, my office.”

  Shit. I hadn't realized that Dorian was here.

  I kept my eyes on the ground as I climbed from the ring and followed him. I felt eyes on me, disappointment coming off of everyone in waves. Dorian was pissed, and I knew Paul would be too. I couldn't even justify my fucked up performance by saying that Rico had gotten in a lucky shot. I knew better. I knew exactly what happened. I'd let myself get distracted.

  “Take a seat,” Dorian ordered. I did, but he stayed standing, leaning back against his desk. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell happened out there?”

  I considered lying and telling him that I wasn't feeling well. If he thought I was sick, he'd order me rest and fluids, maybe even tell me that I needed to go to the doctor. Fighters pushed themselves through all sorts of shit, but he wouldn't make me push now, not with the match this close. Better to lose a day now than be run-down during the fight.

  He might've believed me, I knew. I could probably have pulled it off well enough to fool everyone. I really did feel on the verge of throwing up.

  But I knew that wasn't because I was really sick.

  “I don't know,” I lied.

  I wasn't holding a grudge about his relationship with Sara, but that didn't mean I wanted to discuss my personal life with him. Besides, I already knew what he'd say. He'd tell me to get my head out of my ass and focus. He'd say that he didn't give a damn about my personal life, and that this close to a championship match, I shouldn't have one. I should be eating, drinking, and breathing the FFC.

  “Paul told me you've been distracted ever since you got back from Hawaii,” Dorian said. “I hired Gilen to help, but if she's the problem, I'll ask her to leave.”

  I shook my head. “It's not her.” I exhaled a deep breath. “It's not anyone's fault but mine.”

  There was a moment of silence before Dorian spoke again. “Do you know why I retired so young?”

  My head jerked up. I hadn't been expecting that. “Because your dad was sick and you needed to take over running the FFC.”

  Dorian nodded as he walked around his desk and settled into his chair. “That was the official reason. I was also tired of the bruises and split lips, the concussions, black eyes. I'm vain enough that it bothered me.”

  I really hoped he wasn't suggesting that was why I'd gotten pinned out there. Sure, I didn't actually like the pain, and when I did retire, I wouldn’t miss that side of the physical aspect of the sport, but I didn't care much about my looks.

  “Those are the reasons I gave to the public and to myself,” Dorian continued. “But that wasn't at the center of it. I enjoyed fighting, the competition, the rush of it all, but my heart was never really in it. It wasn't my passion. I didn't want it bad enough.”

  For the first time since I'd met him, I found myself watching Dorian closely, trying to see beyond the image he'd always portrayed.

  “I know that you want to teach after you retire,” he said. “So I know you won’t be one of those fighters who keeps going long after he should've quit simply because he has nothing else in his life. But what I don't know, what only you can answer, is how badly you want it now. I'm not saying you have to give up everything to win, but you do need to decide if you can leave whatever shit is in your head out of the ring and focus on winning.”

  Silence again, and I knew that this time, he was waiting for me to answer.

  “I want it,” I said finally. And that was the truth. I'd never been a quitter. If, after the match, I decided that I wanted to give up fighting, then that would be different. I would have at least given it all I had, win or lose.

  “Good,” Dorian said. “Now suck it up and figure out what you need to do to get your head out of your ass.”

  And there was the Dorian I'd been expecting.

  “Yes, sir,” I muttered as I stood.

  I headed back out to where everyone was waiting. Everyone except Anita and Cynthia Rose. They'd already left. That was good though. I didn't know how I was going to get my head into the game, but I did know that I couldn't do it with Cyn here.

  “Ready to get back to it?” Gilen asked.

  I nodded. Maybe she could help me. After all, as she'd pointed out to me, that's what she was here for. Paul was in charge of the physical, Gilen the mental. And my problem was definitely a mental one. If anyone could help me figure it out, it should be her.

  Chapter Ten

  Cynthia Rose

  I loathed violent sports. Su
re, in most there was generally physical contact, and there was always the possibility of injury, but sports like basketball or baseball weren't inherently violent. I didn't even consider wrestling – actual wrestling, not the 'entertainment' variety – to be violent. But sports that intended to inflict damage? Those bothered me.

  I wasn't a squeamish person, and the sight of blood had never bothered me. With two younger brothers who had a penchant for falling out of trees and barns, and getting kicked by horses, I was used to it.

  What I wasn't used to was standing around, watching two guys hitting and kicking each other.

  Okay, so it wasn't exactly brutal, but it was sparring, not a real fight. If my stomach was turning now, I could only imagine how I would feel at the championship match.

  I didn't even want to think about it.

  I continued taking pictures even as Tyrell was knocked down. I tried not to show the concern I felt, or the relief when he got back up. He wasn't hurt, but I could tell he wasn't happy.

  I glanced around at the others, curious to see the reactions of people who were used to this sort of thing. Anita looked impassive, almost bored. Paul was even more pissed than Tyrell. And Gilen...

  I frowned. Gilen's expression was...odd. I couldn't quite figure it out.

  I turned back to the action in front of me. Tyrell had the other guy on a knee and I caught a series of shots as Tyrell put the other guy down. I had to admit there was more skill here than I'd thought before. It wasn't only two guys beating the shit out of each other. Both Tyrell and the other guy were graceful, their moves almost like something choreographed in a movie.

  Then he was looking at me, just for a brief moment, those jade eyes lighting up. Seconds before the other guy punched him in the head and Tyrell went down again.

  This time, however, instead of wasting my time worrying about him, I followed my gut instinct...and looked at Gilen.

  No one else was watching her. All of their attention was on the two men grappling on the mat, and then on Mr. Forbes as he called things to an end. That's where her attention was also, but unlike everyone else, there was no concern on her face, not even any annoyance. Instead, her thin lips were curved in a small, pleased smile, and even from where I was standing, I could see a similar sentiment in her eyes.

  I quickly looked down before she could see me watching. I didn't know yet what it meant, or what I was going to do, but I was clever enough not to tip my hand. I had to be smart about this. If I just went to Tyrell and said that I thought Gilen was acting weird, he'd most likely accuse me of being jealous.

  And I wasn't entirely sure that jealousy wasn't playing a part. I needed to make sure that my motives were what they should be, and that I had all of my metaphorical ducks in a row before I made a move. Journalistic integrity rose and fell on fact-checking.

  “I think I have everything I need,” I said softly to Anita. I kept my eyes on the camera as I packed it back into its case. “Were you planning to talk to anyone today?”

  “No,” she said and glanced toward where Tyrell had followed Dorian Forbes into the back office. “Somehow, I don't think anyone here's going to be in much of a chatting mood.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Isn't that part of what we're supposed to do? Ask the questions when people don't want to answer them?”

  “Sometimes.” Anita gave me a sideways look. “But our story is about the entire process of working toward the championship. We know that there were some problems today, and we can ask about them later. If we ask now, we could affect what would have been done, and therefore change the story.”

  I hadn't thought of that. It was definitely something I needed to take into consideration. I was still thinking about it as we walked outside.

  “What's going on?” she asked as she hailed a cab.

  “What?” I looked up, startled.

  “You've got something going on in that head of yours,” she said. “And I don't think it's just an attraction to Smoak.”

  I silently cursed my complexion as my cheeks burned.

  “I'm not an idiot, Cynthia Rose,” Anita said wryly. “I could see you liked him from moment one, but something's changed. It was pretty obvious today.”

  I climbed into the back seat of the taxi and waited until she told the driver where to go. She needed to know, at least part of it.

  “There is something,” I said. “Gilen Roche.”

  Anita half-turned toward me, interest on her face. “Go on.”

  “She's been pretty tight-lipped about her part in all this.”

  “Proprietary information,” Anita said. “Or so she claims.”

  “I think it's the latter.” I chewed on my bottom lip, thinking it through. “I don't think she avoided the questions because there was some top secret stuff she didn't want to share. I think she's hiding something.”

  “I checked up on her,” Anita said. “There's not much to see. No skeletons.”

  “I watched her when Tyrell got knocked down. She didn't look mad or worried. She looked...happy about it.”

  Anita frowned. “Maybe she thinks that she can use it to her advantage, use it to become more invaluable to the FFC.”

  I slowly shook my head. “I don't think so.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I don't know yet,” I admitted. “My gut tells me there's something more.”

  Anita gave me an appraising look. “All right.”

  “All right what?” Now I was confused.

  “When we get back to the office, check out your theory. See if you can find something on Gilen. If there's a story there, you get to write it with me.”

  “Thank you.” I didn't try to conceal my shock or gratitude.

  Neither one lasted long though. By the time we got back to our office, I was already figuring out the best way to go about finding the information I needed. Since Anita had already looked into Gilen and hadn't found much, I needed something different. It wasn't until I was sitting in my tiny little cubicle in the corner that it hit me.

  Why now?

  Why would Gilen have shown up at FFC now?

  The only reason that made sense was Tyrell. Which meant that she was there because of him. She'd gotten close to him for a specific reason. Since she'd looked pleased with his performance today, that told me she wasn't there to help him win. The next logical step would be Hollin Pressman. While there might be people who'd make money off the fight, it made more sense for it to be the one person who'd benefit the most from Tyrell not being prepared.

  I'd done a bit of research on Hollin when Anita first requested that I be her photographer. I hadn't seen any pictures or articles of him with Gilen.

  But then I didn’t have the information I had now.

  I plugged my camera into the computer and waited for the photos to download. The one I wanted was the last one I'd taken, and it had caught that little smirk on Gilen's face, telling me that I wasn't imagining things.

  And it also gave me the perfect image to use for a search. While our facial recognition software wasn't as good as the kind security firms and the like used, Ace had pulled enough strings with his friends that I was confident I'd at least get something.

  Just not quickly...

  Five hours later, I'd just about given up when I finally found a picture with a familiar face. The name, however, was only half of what I knew.

  “Gilen Hamilton,” I muttered. “No wonder Anita couldn't find her.”

  Armed with new information, I ignored the people outside my little cubicle who were heading home for the day. If Gilen really was trying to sabotage Tyrell, I needed to find the truth as soon as possible.

  * * *

  I hadn't slept much as I struggled to decide what to do with the information I'd discovered, but now that it was morning, I knew what I had to do. It didn't matter that Tyrell didn't want to be with me, or even if he wanted to be with Gilen. All that mattered was that she would get him hurt, and I couldn't let that happen.

  I c
alled Anita first, letting her know that I had something on Gilen, and it was good. I didn't tell her that I planned to warn Tyrell, but I did say that I’d be late to work. I figured if I didn't tell her where I was going, she couldn't tell me not to do it, and I wasn't quite sure what her advice would be.

  I got to the gym just as they were opening their doors. Paul gave me a puzzled look but didn't say anything as I followed him in. Tyrell came in a few minutes later, and I was relieved to see that he was alone. I didn't want to have this conversation in front of Gilen.

  “Cyn.” He looked startled when he saw me, then looked straight down to his feet. “I didn't think you and Anita were coming in today.”

  “We're not.” I shook my head. “I mean, she's not...I mean I'm not here to take pictures. I need to talk to you.”

  He glanced around, then motioned for me to follow him to a fairly secluded space behind some equipment.

  “This really isn't a good time,” he began, looking at the wall behind my head.

  I held up a hand. I didn't want him to make this about us. I had to be objective. “It's about Gilen.”

  He stiffened, a guarded expression settling on his face. My stomach churned. He was sleeping with her. I'd suspected it before, but I could almost feel him getting defensive, and I knew what it meant.

  “She's not who she says she is.” The words burst out of me once I’d decided that straightforward was the best way to go. “And she's not here to help you. She wants to make sure you lose.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Jealousy really isn't your style, Cynthia Rose.” He paused, and then added, “Or maybe it is. It's not like we knew each other very well. Two dates doesn't give you the right to come in here and try to sabotage things for me.”

  “I'm not,” I protested, the words close to a yell. This was going all wrong. Maybe I should've given the information to Anita and let her tell Tyrell. He would've believed it from her. “I did some digging. She's Hollin Pressman's girl–”