“Dad, you should talk to the fighters and get their input. It’s not fair to change their revenue source without talking it over with them first.”
“This is my league. I get to make the decisions. I’ll make sure the Mereo money is shared with them.”
“Shared? It’s their money, isn’t it? Mereo is technically sponsoring the fighters with this deal, not the WFC.”
“Mereo is sponsoring the WFC and the fighters,” he clarified. “Without the WFC, the fighters wouldn’t even have this opportunity.”
“Right, but without the fighters, the WFC wouldn’t exist.”
The corner of his mouth quirked upward, and the only agreement she suspected she’d get was the slight nod. “Only good things will come from the deal. Mereo has agreed to put money into research and development to design gear specifically for MMA. We’ve been waiting a long time for mainstream recognition, and we’re finally getting it.”
“Okay, so if Mereo is sponsoring the WFC and the fighters, then why aren’t the fighters involved in negotiating the contract? You can’t cut them out of the negotiating process,” she said.
“That’s why athletes come to this league. So they don’t have to deal with bullshit like that.”
Jules sighed and sat back in her chair. The things he said sounded good, but she couldn’t help but feel the fighters were getting shortchanged somehow. “This doesn’t feel right, Dad. You need to talk to them.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m supposed to call a meeting with over a hundred athletes and have them fly in? Or maybe call them all up?” Shaking his head, he said, “No, that’s not how it’s done. It’s in their contracts that I negotiate this shit.”
“This is going to bite you in the ass.”
“Like I said”— he raised his hands as if to give in—“we’re still hammering out the details, but when we’re finished you’ll see that each fighter will be generously compensated and you’ll feel better about it.”
That seemed fair, so she nodded. “Okay. I’d like to take a look at what you’ve worked out before you sign.”
He glared at her before sighing and running a hand over his short blond hair. “I’ll have the paperwork later this week and you can take a look at it.”
“And that paperwork will include a payout schedule for the fighters?”
“Don’t push it, Julian. I’ll let you see the contract.” He grabbed the proposal and stuffed it into a drawer before raising a brow at her. “If you hadn’t disappeared on me, I’d have told you about it earlier.”
Jesus, he really wasn’t going to let that go. “Dad, I spoke with you several times a day and kept up with all of my work. You could’ve told me about the deal if you’d wanted to, but the truth is, you like to work alone.”
“Yeah, yeah, back to work,” he said, dismissing her.
Realizing she wasn’t going to get anywhere else with him, she said good-bye. Deb was standing beside the doorway when Jules walked out of his office. “Oh, hi, Deb.”
The woman’s brow was furrowed in a look of concern as she hurried to close the door to his office. Then she took Jules’ arm and gently led her away from the door. “Since your father brought up you calling in sick, I thought I should mention this,” Deb said, and glanced toward the hallway as if to make sure no one was coming.
“What’s going on?” Jules tried to keep her voice light, but a sense of dread came over her.
“There’s been talk about you and Nick Giannakis taking off at the same time.” Jules knew she must’ve looked horrified, because Deb patted her shoulder and said, “I think it’s only because you two spent so much time together for the campaign. You know how people are with rumors.”
People knew. Oh God.
Even worse, there was still an entire week until the tournament, plenty of time for the truth to come out. If that happened, it could compromise Nick’s focus and ruin his chances of winning. She knew that if her dad found out, he could cut Nick for violating his contract.
“Has Dad said anything? Has he heard the rumors?” Maybe if he hadn’t, they’d be able to fly under the radar until the tournament.
Deb shook her head. “He hasn’t mentioned it. I just wanted you to know what people were saying, just in case.”
“Thanks, Deb, I really appreciate you telling me.”
Deb nodded and patted her shoulder again. Jules made her way back to her office quickly, needing to sit still and process what Deb had said. No one had seen them together, so no one knew for sure that they’d been secretly dating, and had been for weeks now. If her dad hadn’t heard the rumors, then the only thing they could do was make sure they didn’t give the rumor mill any more fodder.
They’d need to lay low for the next week, and she’d talk to her dad after the tournament. Then maybe, just maybe, things would work out.
Nick slammed first his right fist and then his left into the leather bag in front of him, sending it swaying on its thick chain.
“Good,” Omar said from a few feet behind him. Today was Nick’s second-to-last training session before he put it all on the line and proved his worth in the octagon. Proved to himself that he was worthy—of the WFC, of his career, of the championship belt. “Give me a one-two-three-two,” Omar said, calling for a jab, a cross, a left hook, and another cross. “And drop your shoulders. I can practically smell the tension coming off of you, man.”
Nick dropped his fists and rolled his neck, trying to shove away the tension that was eating at him. And sure, some of it was because of the upcoming tournament, but most of it was because of Jules. They were out of sync in a way he’d never experienced with her. Something had shifted in Chicago, and he had no freaking clue what it was. She never seemed to have time for him, and it took her longer than usual to respond to texts. The few times he’d run into her at work, she’d been quiet, awkward, and stilted in a way that wasn’t like her and that had him on edge.
And yet . . . he hadn’t pressed her on any of it. After everything that Alex had said in Chicago, Nick couldn’t seem to find the words to say . . . shit. He didn’t even know.
“That’s good, man. Better. Keep it up while I go check in with Maddox,” Omar said, patting him on the shoulder before heading toward the cardio equipment. Nick nodded and adjusted his stance, wanting to lose himself in the physical exertion of training.
He hit the bag and tried to shrug off the uneasiness that had been following him around ever since he and Jules had gotten back.
Fucking Alex. No matter how hard he tried to drown them out—with sweat, with loud music, with any kind of distraction—Alex’s words kept swirling through his brain, over and over again.
If everything was perfect and you didn’t think she was gonna pull another disappearing act, you wouldn’t be freaking the fuck out when I tell you to be careful. You might’ve forgiven her, but I doubt you’ve forgotten the hell she put you through.
Even worse was the tiny voice that chased those words, whispering that Alex might be right. That maybe he was holding back now because he was terrified she might put his heart through the wood chipper again. And fuck, that hurt.
Nick brought his knee up into the bag, grunting at the hard impact as he tried to regain his focus. He didn’t have room for this shit right now. The championship belt was on the line, and he couldn’t risk losing focus because he was moody about his freaking girlfriend—who’d just walked into the gym.
He stilled and started to wave, but then caught himself and dropped his hand to his side. He wanted her to look at him. To see him. To send him some kind of signal that they were okay. But she didn’t acknowledge him at all, and even though he told himself it was because they were on the down-low, it still stung.
Was she getting ready to run?
With a loud huff, he turned and slammed his fist into the bag, letting his pent-up frustration and anger and worry out in a h
ard, satisfying punch. The impact vibrated up his arm, making him want more.
Jules’ laugh drifted across the gym, the sound ripping him into little pieces because it wasn’t for him. Because he couldn’t go over there and kiss her and show everyone that she was his. With an anguished grunt, he hit again, and again, and again, working the bag until his heart throbbed in his chest, until his lungs burned. Until Jules left.
Three words, with so much summed up in them.
After she’d gotten whatever it was she’d come for—sure as fuck hadn’t been him—she headed out, not sparing him a glance. A few nearby fighters paused in their workouts, watching her ass in her tight black skirt as she disappeared through the door.
“You see the legs on her?” Eric Clark, one of the league’s lightweight fighters, asked. “And those tits? Jesus.” He shook his head back and forth rapidly, motorboating the air in front of him. The other guys laughed. Nick ground his teeth together, anger and a possessive jealousy swirling through him making it hard to breathe. “Bet she’d look real pretty on her knees.”
“Yeah, I saw her the other day. Tight dress, high heels. Looking like she needed to be bent over and . . .” Sam Kovac, a middleweight, said. He made a grunting sound. “I’d tap that for sure.”
“You think she fucks fighters?” asked Eric, scratching his chin.
“One way to find out, bro,” said Sam. “You wanna put money on it? See who can get that pussy first?”
White-hot rage seared through Nick, and he knew he couldn’t listen to another second of those assholes talking about his Jules that way. He strode over to Sam and shoved him in the chest, hard. “Shut your fucking mouth.” Tension radiated, tight and hot, across his shoulders.
Sam’s head reared back, his nostrils flaring. “The fuck’s your problem?”
Nick jabbed his finger into Sam’s chest. “You. Don’t you fucking talk about her that way.”
Sam sneered at Nick. “Why not? You gotta admit, she’s a grade-A piece of ass. Bet she’s got a juicy little peach.” He made a disgusting slurping noise.
Nick felt the snap inside him a split second before he shot his fist out and connected with Sam’s nose.
“Jesus fuck!” He lunged at Nick, landing a glancing punch off of his cheek. Nick charged forward, shoving at Sam, trying to get at him, wanting to make him hurt. Make him bleed. Make him feel as shitty as Nick did. But before he could, bodies surged between them as the other fighters separated them. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Omar come tearing over, a disapproving scowl on his face.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Omar’s deep voice rang out, echoing off of the gym’s walls, and Nick stopped straining against the hands and arms pulling him back. He angrily tugged his shirtsleeve out of someone’s grasp and moved away from the group.
“He hit me!” said Sam, his voice whiny and indignant.
“You deserved it, asshole!” Nick shouted back. Guys moved between them again to prevent round two.
Omar’s eyes narrowed as he took in the situation, his arms crossed over his chest. “Both of you, go home. Cool off.”
Sam scoffed. “I’m not finished—”
Omar shook his head and cut him off. “Yes, you are. Go home. You too, Nick.”
Without a backward glance, Nick turned and walked out of the gym, feeling the heavy weight of everyone watching as he left.
20
A string of obscenities yelled down the hallway outside her office made Jules raise her head and drop her hands from her keyboard.
“What the hell is he shouting about now?” she muttered to herself as she shook her head. Maybe it was time to try to get her dad into therapy. He’d always been emotional, but this was getting ridiculous.
“You stay the fuck out of my sight, you piece of shit. I don’t want to see you until the tournament.” Her dad’s voice got louder as he seemed to be walking toward her.
Rising to her feet, she walked to the door and peeked outside just in time to see Sam Kovac rush past. His face was red, but she wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger.
“Don’t you ever talk about my daughter that way in my fucking gym!”
Oh, hello. What the hell had Kovac said about her? On second thought, she probably didn’t want to know.
Kovac disappeared into the stairwell instead of answering. Jules went to track down her dad to find out what was going on. She could hear him still venting his frustration to Deb as he walked back into his office. “The nerve of that guy. Who the hell does he think he is? He’s lucky it was Giannakis who heard him and not me.”
A chill moved over her when she heard Nick’s name. This was not good. This was not good at all. She clenched her hands into fists and held them at her sides as she walked into his office. Deb looked up and shook her head—the message that now wasn’t a good time crystal clear—but before Jules could retreat, her dad looked up.
Dread settled like a dead weight in her stomach. “What happened, Dad? What did Kovac say about me?”
“Why don’t you go on home, dear?” Deb said as she picked up a binder that had fallen off the desk. “It’s nearly five.”
Jules swallowed. She wanted nothing more than to go home right now and pretend that nothing had happened, but she couldn’t. Not when Nick’s name had been brought into this. “Thanks, but I’d rather hear what’s going on.”
Deb gave her a worried look, and then glanced at her dad. He looked calmer now, even though his hair stuck out at funny angles, as though he’d been tugging on it. He sat down in his chair and ran a hand over his face. “Kovac saw you in the gym a little while ago. Said some things, some disgusting things about you.”
Jules closed her eyes in distaste. Ew.
“Giannakis overheard him and punched him,” he continued. “The guys had to break up the fight.”
Oh God. This was bad. So much for laying low.
Silence filled the room. Deb stood next to the binder she’d placed on the desk as if she was unsure if she should stay or go. “Could you leave us alone, Deb? Close the door on your way out,” said Craig.
“Craig . . .” Deb began, but her voice trailed off in a sigh. “Be kind.” She gave Jules a supportive look as she left.
Her dad took a deep breath, and his chair squeaked as he sat back. “You and Giannakis have been spending a lot of time together working on the campaign. There was some talk.” He shrugged. “But I dismissed it as stupid gossip. Then you both disappeared at the same time. It was suspicious, but I trusted you. Now this.” He shook his head. “I’ve been in a lot of gyms, locker rooms, and bars, and I’ve never seen a man fight for a woman he wasn’t f—” He cut the word off and cleared his throat. “What’s going on with you two?”
Her blood ran cold. This was what she’d been afraid of all along. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d cut Nick from the league once he confirmed his suspicions about them. How could she fix this? She couldn’t let Nick take the fall for violating that damn nonfraternization clause. She couldn’t allow him to lose his chance at his dream because of her. Lying wouldn’t help.
The only thing she could do was come clean. “I first met Nick over a year ago in Chicago and fell for him.”
His mouth closed and his jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt her. “I broke up with him because I didn’t think we could make it work. But after seeing him again here and working with him . . . We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”
“Shit, Julian.” He rubbed his hands over his face.
“I know.” She opened her fists and wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt as she walked closer to his desk. “I know there’s that stupid clause in the contracts, but I lo—” She hesitated, because she’d never talked to her dad about her relationships before. But also because she’d never said that she loved Nick out loud. It still seemed strange, and after coming to the realiz
ation at his parents’ house, she hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to examine the emotion again. It frightened her, and she didn’t know what to do with it. “What Nick and I have is something I’ve never found with anyone else.”
Her dad still looked shocked, as if he hadn’t actually believed the rumors until she’d confirmed them. Then he mumbled under his breath and she realized he was cursing. He rose and paced to the windows.
“Don’t be angry with Nick. He wanted to tell you from the very beginning. I was the one who thought we should wait.”
He shook his head, and she wasn’t completely sure that he’d heard her. A vein on the side of his neck stuck out. “I don’t care. He’s gone. He violated the contract, and he knew he’d violated the contract.” His voice rose on the last words.
She flinched at the anger and resolve in his voice. Nick would not get dropped. She wouldn’t allow it. “Dad, it’s a stupid clause. We’re adults. People meet at work and start dating. It happens.”
“Stupid?” He turned and looked at her. “Before I took over, the UCC had three separate sexual harassment lawsuits going on.”
“Well, let’s be honest, the UCC was a joke. It wasn’t a professional organization. You run things differently,” she said.
“Damn right I do. That’s why we have the clause. Fighters don’t hit on the ring girls because they know they’re gone if they do. I don’t get lawsuits. It keeps things running smoothly.”
“That’s not even applicable in this case,” she argued.
“Doesn’t matter. That’s the rule and he knew that.”
She sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep her voice level when she spoke. “I knew the rule too, Dad. Are you going to fire me?”
He shook his head and looked at the floor, hands on his hips. “I can’t believe you’re putting me in this position.” He seemed defeated, but at least he wasn’t shouting.
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