The Boxer (Modern Love Book 2)

by Piper Rayne

  I haven’t had my coffee this morning. My boyfriend is an amazing guy. He’s sweet, endearing, loving. He can give me five orgasms in one night, beat the shit out his opponent in the boxing ring, but coffee-making? Not his forte. Starbucks won’t be looking for him anytime in the future, that’s for sure.

  Plus, he was still sleeping as I snuck out this morning. He’s had to be with his dad more than he’d prefer recently since Audrey had to fly out to a dentist convention in Miami. I wonder what dentists talk about at their conventions? Tartar, cavities and root canals don’t sound very interesting.

  “Grande black,” I tell the barista at the same time my phone rings. I ignore it, much to the exasperation of the man behind me. Would he rather me delay him longer by answering it? I pay, move to the pick-up area and finally dig out my phone.

  My dad. Hmm.

  “Tahlia,” the barista calls out.

  I grab my coffee and move to the cream and sugar area to make it exactly how I love it—a splash of skim and two sugar packets. Once my mind is ignited after a few sips of coffee, I call my dad back.

  “Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I ask and he huffs.

  “The sun, Tahlia, that’s what’s up. Can you please talk professionally?”

  I roll my eyes, sipping my coffee once again. “Yes, Father, how can I assist you on this beautiful morning?” I say in my most high-society pleasant voice.

  Another huff rings over the line.

  “Listen. I just got news. Hugh Tavern passed away this morning.” I hear papers shuffling around him and his secretary is whispering on the other end. “Hold on, Tahlia… yes, a big arrangement once we hear what the funeral plans are.”

  “How? That’s sad.” My footsteps move into overtime to reach the office in record speed because this is a game-changer.

  Hugh Tavern owns Tavern Meats and Selections and they are Santora Sausage’s biggest competitor in North America.

  “I didn’t play golf with the man, Tahlia.”

  I roll my eyes since he can’t see me and ask, “Who told you?”

  “Turn off your dumb shows about roses and bachelors and turn on CNN. You’d be amazed by what you find out.” His office phone rings. “Listen, hurry in. We’ll have to go to the funeral for appearances.”

  AKA we’ll have to go to make sure that their clients know Santora Sausage cares and we’re still around if they’re thinking of jumping ship.

  “Okay, I’m on Vine and—”

  The line dies and I hold it out to see, sure enough, he hung up on me.

  Who’s the one who should be preaching about phone etiquette now, Dad?

  By the time I make it into my office, Midge has printed out the articles about Hugh Tavern and placed them on my desk… per my father’s request, I’m positive. Another coffee with milk and sugar packets are placed next to them like always. Midge is a gem and I’ll never sacrifice her.

  Without meaning to, I wonder if she’d risk her employment and come work for me if I ever had the guts to do the party-planning venture. I shake my head at the absurdity because who am I kidding? I’ll never risk it.

  Once I read the articles, I walk down to my dad’s office to discuss our plan for Operation Tavern. It’s sad really. That a man dies and the company he built is now dissected to figure out how to grab the clients before the first shovel of dirt hits his casket.

  Lo and behold, Michael Plotter is sitting front and center in front of my dad.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  “Not for Hugh Tavern,” Michael says and I give him a look of disgust because I never liked Hugh either, but the comment is crude.

  I sit down, cross my legs and sip the last of my Starbucks coffee.

  My dad stops typing on his keyboard and graces us with his full attention. Me, Michael and five other vice-presidents await the plan from their CEO.

  “So Tahlia and I will be attending the funeral. It’s already been planned for Thursday. We’ll go to the burial and back to the Taverns’ estate for drinks and the catered meal.”

  “What about me?” Michael asks. You’d think we’re in gym class and he’s the last one to be picked from the whine in his voice.

  “It will be more heartfelt if it’s just the Santora family that attends.” My dad looks at me and I nod that he can count on me. “We’ll report back with the lists of clients who attend and after a week, we’ll make contact with them.”

  As sick as his plan is, I know this is my dad’s fear. That one day someone will be coming to his funeral not to mourn him but to swallow up the business that’s put every white hair on his head.

  “Who’s taking over Tavern?” Michael asks and my dad shrugs his shoulders.

  “I’m not sure. Last I heard his brother maybe. That’s something we need to find out though, so go ahead and do the digging, Michael.”

  Michael smiles like a middle child finally getting praise from their parent. “I’m on it.”

  I shake my head.

  “That’s all for now. The rest of you can go, but Tahlia, I’d like you to stay.”

  I stand to help myself to a coffee, knowing this conversation has been coming for a while. I’m not naive enough to think Tavern’s death isn’t going to make my dad start dissecting his own company.

  The room empties and my father asks his assistant to shut the door behind her. And then it’s just me and my dad. Let the uncomfortableness begin.

  “We need to talk,” my dad says, rounding his desk toward the couch and chair.

  I sit on the couch, he sits in the chair, our usual positions. I place my coffee down and cross my legs and wait for his lecture.

  “I need to know where you stand with the company.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised by my dad’s forwardness, but I am. I’m caught off guard because I don’t have an answer. Especially the answer he wants. “I’m here.”

  He eyes me long and hard. “Tahlia.”

  “Honestly?” I ask, and suck in a deep breath. It may be my last.

  “You don’t want to take over this company, do you?” He releases the pressure of me having to toss it out there like a half-dead fish slapping up and down on the table in front of us.

  “No, but I will. Dad, Santora Sausage means everything to you and the family and I don’t want to disappoint—”

  “Stop, Tahlia.” His eyes fix on his hands clasped in his lap.

  “Okay.” I sink into the black leather couch.

  “I know your heart isn’t in this company, but I brought in Michael as an option. I’m going to ask you for a favor.”

  “Anything.” With the hurt in my father’s eyes, my dream of party planning doesn’t sound so thrilling. Being selfish and abandoning my father and family isn’t worth happiness.

  “Leave.”

  “No. I’m not going to leave the company. I mean, Dad.” My head shakes vehemently. “No way.”

  “Do you think when I was growing up, I thought I’d lead a sausage company?” he asks and I’m thinking he felt the same obligation I did. Noticing my confused face, he continues, “Well, yeah, of course I knew it was what I was going to do, but I wanted to be a doctor.”

  “A doctor?”

  He nods. “Yeah, but as you know Grandpa died before I ever finished undergrad, so here I am.” He holds his hands out to his sides.

  “Not too shabby though.”

  “Nope.” A small smile graces his lips. I’ll always be proud and amazed of what my father has accomplished here with no mentor to guide him. “But it’s not an operating room either.” I nod, understanding exactly what he’s saying. “I never want to do that to you and selfishly, I have been. I thought maybe you’d start to love it and get some fire in your belly for this place, but I see you in the halls. Sure, you smile, you’re organized. You’ve given a hundred percent, but you’re not happy. And that’s what’s most important to me.” He stands and moves to pour his own cup of coffee. “Tavern has children, did you know?”

  I cock my head, not sure wh
ere he’s going with this. “He has a kid he never talks to because he didn’t want part of the business.” My father turns around with his cup of coffee in his hand. “I think your mother would kill me if one day you decide to run away just to escape me and this company.”

  Relief wars with guilt inside of me. “Dad,” I say with as much disbelief as I feel right now. Never would I have ever guessed that my dad would offer me a free pass.

  He shakes his head. “No, Tahlia. You deserve to be happy in your life and if party planning is what you want to do, then pursue it. Don’t worry about your mother. I’ll deal with her. The company is going to let you go with six months’ severance pay. Sound good?”

  I smile with tears in my eyes and slide to the edge of the seat. “More than good, Dad.” I stand but he shoos me back down with his hand, knowing exactly what I’m going to do.

  “Don’t, Tahlia,” he says at the same moment my arms wrap around his neck.

  “You’re so awesome, Dad. Thank you.” I hug him tight to my body and eventually his own arms move around me. “I love you.”

  “I love you.” His body grows stiff. He’s never been comfortable with affection. “Now, sit down and tell me your plans. You aren’t going to keep many clients if you’re answering the phone with, ‘What’s up?’”

  I laugh, the weight of all the pressure I’ve been carrying around for years lifting off my shoulders. “Plans?” I move to the couch and he cocks his eyebrow at me.

  “Tahlia, I bet you already have a business plan written up.” He takes a seat across from me and for the first time at sausage headquarters, as Lennon refers to it, I’m excited and inspired about my future.

  26

  I chose to wear a conservative black dress, black nylons, and black heels, and my hair is pulled back in a low, neat ponytail. If I can do anything for my father before I leave Santora Sausage it’s to be the epitome of a good executive while attending his biggest competitor’s funeral. I park in front of my parents’ house since we’re to ride in a limo together there and back. To showcase what a close-knit family we are.

  My phone rings while I take the keys out of the ignition.

  Lucas.

  A smile appears on my lips because the past few nights, Lucas’ hands won’t leave my body. He wants me constantly, anytime and anywhere he can have me. There’s been no delicate hands or lovemaking, it’s pure animalistic sex and I love it. I crave it. Not to say that I don’t enjoy making love to the man, but there’s something about the passion that burns in his eyes lately that I can’t get enough of.

  “I’m in black,” I answer.

  “Lace?”

  “Panties, yes.”

  “Hmm… keep going, A visual is starting.”

  “What else do you need?” I ask, climbing out of my car.

  “Bra?”

  “What bra?” I joke and although he doesn’t laugh, I hear a strangled breath over the receiver.

  “You will kill me one day,” he says. I laugh a little then pick up on the fact that there’s a lot of background noise behind him.

  “Where are you?” I ask, taking a few steps toward my parents’ front door.

  A huge breath leaves his lips. “I’m going to be gone a few days,” he says. “Think you can live without me until Monday?”

  “I suppose I’ll survive. Where are you going?” I ask, disappointment quickly setting in that for the first time in weeks I’ll be alone on a weekend.

  “I’ll be local, but I just won’t have time to see you.” A kid cries behind him, but he must move somewhere else because the sound is gone quickly.

  “Is it your dad?” I turn on the front stoop when I hear a car behind me. A limo pulls up into the circular driveway.

  “Yeah.” His voice is tinged with exhaustion, sadness and something else I can’t place.

  “Let me come. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.” I hold up my Girl Scout fingers even though he can’t see them.

  “Thanks, but I got this. Monday night, your place, no clothes?” He changes the subject quickly and I can’t help but think he’s rushing me off the phone.

  “Okay. Call me?”

  “I’ll try, but know I’m thinking about you.” The phone clicks as my parents’ front door opens in front of me before I can say anything else and my shoulders slump as I wonder why he’s so hell-bent on dealing with this without me.

  “Who killed your puppy?” Caterina says, joining me outside.

  “Nice of you to look so elegant.” My eyes fixate on her black hat.

  “It’s vintage,” she says, rolling those blue eyes of hers.

  “It’s ugly,” I comment and step over to the limo and slide inside.

  “Where are your glasses, librarian?” she sneers back, but I situate myself in the seat, ignoring her.

  “Tahlia,” my mother coos, joining us a minute later. “You look beautiful.” I smile at Caterina in a smug ha.

  “Thank you, Mom. You, too.” She does, but no one can dress for an occasion better than my mother can.

  She’s wearing a hat similar to Caterina’s, but hers is conservative with a wide brim. No netting or bows like Cat’s, which looks similar to the start of a bird’s nest.

  A few minutes later my dad joins us and we head out to the service. My mom bothers Caterina the entire ride about her need to get a summer job. That she won’t find her husband sitting by the pool everyday, how she’s starting college in the fall and she needs to get some real-world experience. I add in my two cents a few times just to piss her off more, because that’s what sisters do.

  The limo arrives at Tavern Estates and the bickering conversation between my mom and Cat continues. I’m not sure the Academy Awards has this many limos. Hugh Tavern is being buried in the family plot that’s tucked away on their property. Inch by inch we drive up the long road and a half hour later, the tree line breaks and there stands a mansion double the size of my family’s. Grey brick with white pillars. Black double doors up a staircase. It’s gorgeous and cold all entwined. Nothing about it feels like a cozy family home where loved ones gather. It comes off as more of a showpiece than anything.

  We’re shuffled to golf carts before I can have a better look at the house, but the landscape is impeccable with neatly shaped trees. There are no flowers, though. I don’t know why I notice, but all that gorgeous landscaping and not one flower in the height of spring.

  “Watch out for the birds,” I whisper to Caterina and she scoffs. “You don’t want one thinking your hat is a bird’s nest and landing on it.”

  “Don’t get lost, they might take you back to the church with the other nuns.”

  “Oh, Cat.” I point to a bird flying the sky. “Take cover before it head-dives.”

  “Behave, the two of you,” my mom whispers from the row behind us.

  Knowing I better stop because we’re supposed to be the perfect Santoras at this function, I don’t taunt Caterina any further. We’re supposed to have class, dignity and a family bond. So, when the golf cart stops, I swing my arm though Caterina’s and we walk side by side as though we’re the best of friends. We’re sisters, yes, and we love each other, yes, but with such a large age gap between us we’ve never had the best relationship. When I was a teenager she was a bratty little kid who was always trying to insert herself into my life. I’m hopeful that as she gets older and matures our relationship will improve, but I’m not holding my breath.

  A cute guy Caterina can’t stop staring at escorts us to our seats. The casket is raised on the pulleys, ready to be lowered into the ground, and there’s a giant picture of him with, again, no flowers. What do the Taverns have against flowers? Without the usual cascade of roses across the casket it appears cold and foreboding.

  Instead there are picture frames perched on top of the gleaming wood. I note that it’s just him in the pictures, at various points of his life. No family. How sad.

  The seats fill in and I pull my phone from my purse to silence it when the priest stands
at the podium.

  “Talk about a hot ass,” Caterina says, nudging me with her elbow. “You only wish you could get a guy like that.” Her head nods but when I look up no one is there.

  “Where?” I whisper.

  “He sat down. I think he must be family, but damn, I might have to make my move at the reception.” Her eyes stay glued to the area, but I can’t see anything over the lady in front of me who must have bought her hat at the same place as Caterina.

  An hour later, I shift in my seat. Wooden white chairs are not meant to be sat in for this long. There wasn’t even a eulogy. The priest only talked about him and how he grew this company and I swear it comes off like Hugh Tavern wrote it himself.

  The priest asks everyone to stand and the front row circles around the back of the casket. A school-aged boy holds hands with a man who must be his father who has another toddler in his arms. A woman who has faint tears falling from her eyes allows the comfort of another man next to her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. When they’ve made their way around the casket they turn to face the crowd and all the air in my lungs ceases to exist as I struggle to breathe.

  Caterina nudges me. “See? Told you,” she whispers.

  I blink.

  I blink again.

  I blink a third time.

  I have to be seeing things because it’s Lucas comforting that woman.

  My Lucas.

  “Lucas Tavern, along with his sister and brother-in-law, Audrey and Travis Campbell, would like you all to join them for a reception in the dining room,” the priest says after the prayer is finished.

  No way.

  Lucas Cummings is Lucas Tavern?

  My legs feel weak and my throat tightens. I can’t seem to get enough oxygen in my lungs so I sit down on my chair while mentally dissecting every bit of information he’s told me.

  Did I miss something somewhere? The sandwich shop? No. When he talked about his father’s disapproval? No. He never mentioned this to me and I know I’d remember. I mean Santora Sausage and Tavern Meats have been competing since forever.

  The fact that my shock can morph into anger faster than lightning scares me because that’s what I feel now. Red-hot rage twists my insides and I clench my hands in my lap.