Against the Ropes

by Sarah Castille

  to change your attitude. Drake’s lurking around because he likes you.

  One day he’s going to work up the nerve to ask you out and I’ll have to

  challenge him to a duel in the parking lot.”

  I flip my sign to “Open,” and give Charlie’s chair a shove. “I thought

  we agreed we were better off as friends. Now, get to work. Only eight

  and a half hours left until the weekend.”

  Charlie hangs his head in mock disappointment and rolls back to

  his desk.

  An hour later, my cell phone rings. I wave the phone over the partition

  to let Charlie know to watch out for Big Doris. He thumps the partition

  in agreement. I settle in my chair and accept the call on the last ring.

  “Makayla Delaney?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Sergio Martinez from Collections R Us. I received your file

  from the Education Commission. They inform me you have defaulted

  on your loan payments. It is my job to collect the money.”

  My heart thuds in my chest and I swallow hard before answering.

  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I tried to make the payments

  after I graduated. I used all my savings, moved to a cheaper apartment,

  and sold my car, but I was unemployed. I applied for deferment and

  they agreed to defer the loan for five years.”

  “Apparently, they changed their minds.”

  “But that’s not fair. They never told me.”

  Sergio yawns. “Not my problem. They sent me the file with the

  word “Default” stamped on the front in big red letters. I take that to

  mean you didn’t make your payments.”

  Sweat trickles down my back and I grip the phone. “I can send you

  the paperwork or you can contact them yourself. The five years aren’t

  up and my circumstances haven’t changed. I can barely pay rent and—”

  “Frankly, Ms. Delaney, I don’t care about your circumstances and

  it’s not my job to conduct an investigation or to contact the Education

  Commission. My job is to collect the money, and the government

  permits me to use every means at my disposal to get it. Let’s see what

  you owe. I have a loan calculator right here.” He taps on what sounds

  like a keyboard and then rattles off a number that makes my heart seize

  in my chest.

  “That’s almost twice the original loan.”

  Sergio laughs. “Interest and penalties have been accumulating.”

  More tapping. And then he gives me a monthly payment amount that

  sends my pulse skyrocketing.

  “I can’t pay that much.” My voice rises to a pathetic whine.

  “That’s almost my entire monthly salary. I won’t have money to pay

  rent or eat.”

  “I’m afraid that is the minimum payment to rehabilitate your loan.

  Nine payments in ten months and you repair your credit and get me

  off your back. My boss wants more but you sound like a nice girl and I

  want to give you a break. You have until Monday to decide or I’ll seize

  part of your paycheck forever and you’ll never have another chance to

  rehabilitate your loan.”

  “Monday?” I squeak. “That’s two days away. I can’t do it. I need

  time to contact the Education Commission and find out what hap-

  pened to my deferment.”

  Sergio sighs. “Are you sure you want to do that? You will be re-

  quired to make a formal complaint and who knows how long it will take

  them to respond. In the meantime, your default will show up on credit

  checks, and the interest and penalties continue to rise. I can offer you

  the opportunity to rehabilitate your loan right here, right now. Don’t

  you want a fresh start?”

  “But where will I get the money?”

  “I’m sure you have family, friends, relatives, or neighbors who could

  help you. Maybe you have things to sell. Have a garage sale. Clean out

  your wardrobe. Be creative. That’s what I tell all my debtors.”

  My heart sinks to my stomach. “I have nothing. I have no jewelry

  or fancy clothes or paintings. I don’t own a bicycle or a car. I don’t even

  own the TV in the house I’m sharing with four other people. I can’t ask

  my friends for money. Most of them don’t have enough to make ends

  meet. And as for my family—”

  “Again, Ms. Delaney, don’t waste your breath. I’ve heard it all—

  injuries, accidents, sick children, dying parents, unexpected pregnan-

  cies, fatal illnesses, hungry boa constrictors, divorces, exploding houses,

  and rabid dogs running off with bags of cash.”

  “Have you heard the one about the elephant and the trombone?” I

  scramble to save the situation the only way I know how.

  Sergio is silent for so long I can’t tell if he is amused or really annoyed.

  “Actually, Ms. Delaney, I can’t say that I have. Please enlighten me.”

  I tell Sergio a long joke about an elephant, a debt collector, and a

  trombone. When I get to the punch line, he snickers, then he snorts,

  then he laughs out loud.

  “Very amusing.” He chuckles again. “I haven’t laughed like that for

  years. Usually people scream, swear, and threaten me. I heard the words

  ‘Fuck off’ two hundred and three times yesterday. No one has ever told

  me a joke.”

  I cross my fingers. “I aim to please.”

  “And please you have done. In return I’m going to do something

  for you. I’ll give you an extra week to come up with your first install-

  ment. After that, as long as you make your payments, you’ll have no

  trouble from me. If you miss even one payment, the entire loan comes

  due with immediate effect. I will then be entitled to seek orders from the

  court to garnish your wages, seize your income tax refunds, drain your

  bank accounts, and I can do the same to your parents. As guarantors of

  your loan, their assets are up for grabs, including their house.”

  My lungs seize up and I gasp. “Oh God. No. That house means every-

  thing to them. It has been in my stepfather’s family for generations. He

  gave it to my mother so she would never have to worry about having a

  roof over her head again. They plan to live there until they die.”

  “Or until I foreclose to pay their daughter’s debts.”

  I clench my fists under the table. Never. I’ll never let him take their

  house. “I’ll make the payments,” I say, through gritted teeth. “And I

  appreciate your offer.”

  “I’m glad you do,” he says. “As with most student debt collection

  agencies, we are incentivized to collect the debts. Usually we receive a

  percentage of the amount collected plus performance bonuses, and it

  can add up fast. My supervisor made half a million dollars last year and

  the CEO made one million dollars. I used my bonus to buy myself a Jag.

  This year, I’m aiming to buy a Porsche.”

  “How nice for you.” I do a quick mental calculation. Even if I

  pare down the grocery shopping to the bare essentials, cut out meat,

  forgo Friday nights at the bar with Amanda, and collect my money from

  Torment, I won’t have enough to make the payment. I need a second

  job. Fast.

  “I can hear the wheels clicking in your brain.” Sergio’s thin, reedy

  vo
ice jolts me back to reality. “I see from your college transcript, you’re

  a very clever girl. You should have applied for some scholarships and

  gone to medical school. Your loans would have been deferred until you

  were done and then you would have been making so much money they

  wouldn’t have been an issue.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  Sergio chuckles. “I like you Ms. Delaney. I can’t say that about

  many of my debtors. I look forward to speaking to you again soon.”

  A few hours and several dozen patients later, I doodle a picture of a

  boxing ring on my notepad. Maybe I should have stayed at the club

  last Friday instead of running away. Maybe after everyone had gone,

  Torment would have taken me into the ring and kissed me. His hard

  body would have pressed me back into the ropes. We would have made

  the offer on my “FCUK Me” T-shirt a reality, and afterward we would

  have gotten matching tattoos.

  “Mac, wake up.” The urgency in Charlie’s voice snaps me out of

  my daydream.

  “What’s going on here?” Big Doris swoops into my cubicle and

  stares down at me through clear, plastic lenses that do not refract her

  eyes in any noticeable way. She whips out her book of green slips and

  clicks her pen. “I’ve had a complaint about a patient backlog.”

  “We’re having problems with the computers.” Charlie pokes his

  head around the partition and lies with the aplomb of a used car dealer

  sensing a sale. “They keep freezing up. We need someone from IT down

  here right away.”

  Big Doris narrows her eyes but even she doesn’t dare challenge

  Charlie. He has been here too long. He knows too many people. And,

  he has a very sharp tongue.

  “Fine. I’ll deal with it.” Big Doris deflates and storms away.

  “You just ruined her morning,” I call out. “She wanted to give me

  another green slip.”

  “Don’t worry about Big Doris. I’ve got her figured out. She just needs

  a man. And since you won’t have me, I’ll have to settle for tenth best.”

  Hah. Charlie and Big Doris. Never going to happen.

  While I wait for the computer to dredge up a new patient form,

  I resolve to find Charlie a girlfriend. Someone normal. Someone who

  likes nice, soft, slightly balding guys who are eager to please. Someone

  whose heart doesn’t pound at the sight of hard-bodied men covered

  in tattoos.

  A collective sigh from the waiting room pulls me out of the start

  of yet another daydream about Torment. I look up, just as Dr. Donald

  Drake, preeminent heart surgeon turned administrator, glides toward

  me. He stops in front of my desk and smiles.

  Ah. My insides quiver. Although he has no visible tattoos or pierc-

  ings and exudes an aura of calm competence as opposed to one of seeth-

  ing danger, I am not immune to his chiseled charms.

  “How are things going today, Mac?”

  My smile stretches my cheeks. “Very well, thank you, Doctor Drake.”

  Dr. Drake places his hands on my desk and leans forward. I inhale

  his fresh, clean scent of laundry soap and after dinner mints. I sneeze.

  “Doris mentioned you were having difficulties with your computer.

  Perhaps I could take a look at it for you.”

  “You?” My eyes widen. He has departments filled with minions to

  do his grunt work, not to mention an entire IT department.

  Charlie makes lewd, loud kissing noises behind the partition, and I

  cover my mouth, pretending to cough.

  Dr. Drake glances over at the partition and frowns. “Problem,

  Mr. Brown?”

  “No sir,” Charlie calls over. “Just sucking on a lemon. I’m trying to

  increase my consumption of citrus fruits.”

  My stomach clenches with repressed laughter.

  Dr. Drake looks down at me and smiles again. Such a happy doctor.

  The light glints off his unnaturally white teeth. “I know a thing or two

  about computers, Mac. I didn’t spend all my time with my head in my

  medical books.”

  “Heh, heh, heh.” I join him laughing at his own joke. What a pa-

  thetic laugh. Thank God I can’t see Charlie’s face.

  A few moments later, Dr. Drake’s lean, toned body is settled in

  my desk chair. He pounds away at my keyboard, and I glance over the

  partition at Charlie. Big mistake. He mouths “heh, heh, heh,” and then

  wheezes in a breath, and doubles over in a fit of laughter. I resolve to

  find Charlie a psychopathic girlfriend with a sharp knife.

  “I think this may require an IT specialist after all.” Dr. Drake’s

  perfectly smooth brow wrinkles. “Why don’t I take you for lunch? I’ll

  ask IT to send someone up while you’re away from your desk.”

  My mouth drops open. Dr. Drake is asking me out for lunch?

  With his medical pedigree, and women lining up to get in his pants, he

  doesn’t lack for potential lunch partners. Why me? And why couldn’t

  he be a beguiling fighter with the manners of a Southern gentleman?

  A fighter I will never see again. The rational thought sobers me

  up and I muster a lukewarm smile. Only last week I would have been

  overjoyed at the chance to lunch with the hospital’s number one most

  eligible bachelor. Or maybe not. We are fiscally incompatible. He is

  caviar and I am instant noodles.

  “I’m afraid she’s taken.”

  Brain freeze. From somewhere deep in my core, recognition of

  the deep, sensual rumble of that voice sizzles through me, awaken-

  ing every nerve ending in my body. Awareness comes back slowly.

  A shadowy image hovers in front of my desk. Gradually, my vision

  comes into focus.

  Torment.

  Torment is here.

  My heart takes off down the speedway.

  His loose, wavy brown hair is neatly tucked back into his black

  bandana. He is wearing his black leather biker jacket over a Harley-

  Davidson T-shirt stretched tight across his broad, muscular chest. His

  black jeans are a feast of tight seams in all the right places. He exudes

  pure, raw sensuality. And he is looking at me.

  “Ready to go?” He drops his biker pack onto the chair in front of

  my desk and holds out his hand.

  Inhaling a sharp breath, I blurt out an eloquent, “What?”

  His lips curve into a smile. “Lunch, Makayla. You do eat, don’t you?”

  “You want to have lunch with me? How did you know where I work?”

  His gaze sears through me, hot and electric. “You told me last

  week. I have a good memory for details. And yes, I am here to take you

  to lunch.”

  “Mac, do you know this…person?” Dr. Drake rises slowly from

  my chair and positions himself between me and Torment. From the

  unnatural wrinkles in his perfectly smooth forehead, I assume he is not

  pleased to have our discussion interrupted.

  “This is…um…Torment.” My cheeks burn and I glare at Torment,

  willing him to reveal his real name and save me from the perils of bad

  manners. His eyes glimmer with barely repressed amusement, but his

  sensual lips stay firmly closed.

  Dr. Drake gives me a quizzical look. “Torment? Is that a last name?

  Or perha
ps an affliction?”

  “I believe it’s a ring name,” I try to block out the muffled sound of

  Charlie’s snort of laughter. “He’s an MMA fighter.”

  “Ah.” Dr. Drake rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle

  squeeze. I stiffen at the unexpected touch. Torment’s eyes narrow and

  focus like laser beams on Dr. Drake’s hand.

  “A sweet girl like you shouldn’t be associating with these rough,

  fight types,” Dr. Drake says in the gentle tone usually reserved for

  wayward children and small animals. “They are violent men who think

  nothing of flaunting the law or exposing innocent girls to the more

  uncivilized elements of our society.”

  How can he talk like that with Torment standing right in front of

  him? Aside from being impolite, it’s dangerous. I try to pry his hand off

  my shoulder. “I think you might be overreacting.”

  Dr. Drake slides his thumb under my hair in a gesture that is dis-

  concertingly soothing. “So compassionate. I sensed that quality in you

  during your interview. But don’t let your empathy obscure who these

  men really are and what they can do. Come to the ER one Friday or

  Saturday night and see for yourself the effects of uncontrolled violence.”

  His thumb rubs up and down, gently massaging my neck. My back

  arches involuntarily and I inhale a sharp breath.

  Torment growls—a deep, barely audible, entirely thrilling sound.

  He leans across the desk, grabs Dr. Drake’s hand, and rips it off

  my shoulder.

  “She’s coming with me. Now.” He whips off his jacket, tossing it

  on the chair beside his pack, and folds his arms over his chest, his biceps

  tensed like he is about to punch someone.

  Dr. Drake snorts his derision and his eyes flick to me instead of

  staying focused on the deadly threat in front of him. “Exactly as I

  said. Uncivilized.”

  Torment sucks in a breath and takes a step closer to my desk.

  I reach over and rest a soothing hand on Torment’s corded forearm.

  Electricity darts through me the second I make contact. My heart almost

  goes into cardiac arrest. Not good. Given his reaction to Dr. Drake’s

  unexpected neck stroking, how would Torment react if Dr. Drake had

  to perform CPR and rub my chest? I jerk my hand away.

  “I forgot we were going for lunch today.” I give Dr. Drake my best,