Scottish Swag

by Cristina Grenier

  Capitalist McKinney’s death was so unexpected and sudden that Maloney had even been investigated as a suspect in his potential murder before it was ruled that he died of natural causes.

  Leaving a former street urchin a goddamned billionaire.

  According to those who worked with him, it wasn’t that Maloney was unintelligent. He was actually quite good with numbers, and the fact that he hadn’t run the company into the ground yet was testament to his dedication to it. His temper, however, was outlandish and frightening. Every other week he got into a barroom brawl in a different country. He insulted the wrong people and made a name for himself by behaving badly.

  He had fought and fucked his way across almost every continent, leaving a string of broken noses and hearts in his wake.

  But despite all this, it wasn’t only Maloney’s unique background that made him famous; it was also the fact that he happened to be the current MMA heavyweight world champion.

  While the fighting profession certainly fit with Maloney’s persona better than that of a businessman, the fact that he was both seemed to be a contradiction. It seemed like the gym he’d met McKinney in had trained him well. So well that he shot to the top of the international MMA scene faster than any new face had before.

  It wasn’t a fluke, however, that Maloney’s public image was shit. Though he was famous for a bevy of reasons, it was only to a select number of people. The right publicist, Savannah knew, could rocket him past stardom to Godlike status.

  But Maloney didn’t play nice with others. Apparently, he had already run off five publicists, all of whom deemed him a loose cannon that they were unable to work with. The last man who had tried to represent him had gotten punched in the face so hard that his jaw had to be wired shut for a few months. The pictures made Savannah slightly nauseous.

  She supposed that this was Carthright’s ultimate way of getting back at her. He never took on a client before knowing all the dirt on them, and Maloney would be a handful even for an accomplished publicist. For her, he was going to be a nightmare. And that was if she even got the man to listen to her at all.

  Instead of going straight back to her apartment, Savannah elected to head straight for a bar the moment she hit her neighborhood. If need be, she could take a cab home. All she knew was that she didn’t want to lie awake all night tossing and turning in anticipation of her first meeting with Maloney tomorrow. She was going to need sleep to be on her A-game - and the only way she slept when she was this nervous was with a kick-ass nightcap.

  She had been visiting Zoey’s since before she was old enough to drink. It had been her father’s old watering hole, and one of the most popular places in town. It wasn’t very bustling on a Monday night, and Savannah thanked God for that. She all but collapsed into the first available chair she could find at the bar. Zoey was busy pouring draft beers for a couple of other customers, which meant that Savannah had time to brood.

  Chewing her lower lip thoughtfully, she tugged her phone from her purse to consider the articles Theo helped her find. None of them was very favorable towards Maloney. They detailed his raging temper, the “questionable” way in which he’d found his fortune, and his unorthodox, if very effective fighting style.

  And then there was the man himself.

  It was a shame, really, that someone so attractive was such a hellion.

  Torran Maloney was, without a doubt, the standout man in his weight bracket. Even MMA heavyweights didn’t tend to be as big as he was, and that was definitely to his advantage. He stood at a good six and a half feet, and all of it muscle. The few interviews that he had successfully given were accompanied by pictures of him in his fighting garb.

  And Savannah was ashamed to say that the sight of him took her breath away. All those lean, purposeful muscles, a crop of wild, thick red hair that he often wore at a knot at the base of his neck, and a constant layer of auburn stubble; all told, his features certainly alluded to how dangerous he was. The man was obviously built for his profession, and wore a perpetually pissed expression on his face. Savannah couldn’t help but wonder how many people had looked into those piercing blue eyes of his before falling victim to the violence in his fists.

  She could only imagine.

  “You look like you’re brooding up a storm, Savvy.” She jumped when she realized Zoey was standing over her, her expression concerned. She had run this bar for as long as Savannah could remember, and there was hardly a situation her kind gray eyes and a pint of draft beer couldn’t make better.

  “Yeah.” With a sigh, Savannah grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the bar beside her. “I have a new assignment at work, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to kill me.”

  Zoey frowned, immediately reaching for a glass to pour her a beer. “How’s that? I can’t imagine much scaring you off, honey. You’ve always been such a go-getter.”

  That, Savannah realized, was true. When she was a child, her bravery had come from ignorance. She blundered into a bevy of situations by pure chance, and was too young to know fear. There had been the time she confronted the neighbor’s dog, who didn’t turn out to be half as vicious as people believed. Another day, she found a group of boys abusing a kitten and had stood up to them, despite the scraped knees and busted lip they imparted on her for it. When she worked with her father in the gym, he had always told her that there were worse things than getting hit - and so Savannah had always known how to deflect a blow. It was life she was having trouble with.

  She had never imagined that she might have to part such a red sea of bullshit to accomplish her dreams. The young woman now knew that taking the first job she was offered out of college had been a mistake - and she often wondered what might have been if she had just waited.

  But she was here now. Short of quitting her job and losing any sense of monetary security she had, there was nothing she could do to change the hand that life had dealt her.

  Nothing, that was, except play it.

  As Zoey passed her a tall glass brimming with Heffweiser, Savannah caught the woman’s eye. Smiling, Zoey reached out to touch her cheek gently. “Don’t undersell yourself, kid. I’m pretty sure that you can handle whatever’s thrown your way. I haven’t seen you falter yet.”

  That was enough to draw a hint of a smile from Savannah. She was pretty sure that if her father got wind of her pouting, he would say the same thing. It would be better, she told herself, to circumvent his concerns and simply suck it up.

  Yes, the notion of working with Torran Maloney scared the shit out of her - and she wasn’t one hundred percent sure she could handle it.

  But she wouldn’t know unless she tried.

  **

  He hated meetings like this.

  In all honestly, Torran hated pretty much anything that took him away from time better spent training. That was up to and including the company that he was supposed to be running.

  He didn’t know how the hell he found himself in this particular situation this time. He had planned to spend that morning in the gym. Even gone so far as to tell his staff to fuck off until noon. He had a fight coming up that week and he needed to be on his A-game. For Torran, everything had changed once he won the heavyweight championship. Now, everything went towards protecting it.

  He was lucky he enjoyed fighting so goddamned much.

  But Torran’s trip to the gym had to be put on hold. Apparently, he was supposed to be meeting his new publicist today. He had just gotten wind of the meeting that morning and, to say the least, he wasn’t happy.

  Torran didn’t like publicists. He had been through a fair few already, and they had all promised to make him ten times more famous than he already was. The first time, he’d been sucked in by the idea. That someone could change his image so completely. He knew he wasn’t exactly the most well-liked person in the world. That his roots were questionable, and his fighting style unique.

  But Torran had forgotten that, above all, he wasn’t a people person. And no one could just magic
ally make him into one.

  He didn’t like taking orders, and publicists tended to give a lot of them. Where he could go and when he could go there. Who he could and couldn’t be seen with - what he could and couldn’t do. In all honesty, he fully intended to chase this one off as fast as he could. He didn’t think it would be hard. All he had to do was bluster and threaten to ruin their career and they’d be off and down the street.

  And he could get to the gym.

  It seemed a shame that he had to put on a suit just to terrorize someone, as he looked damn good in it.

  “Mr. Maloney, you’re ten o’clock is here.” When Amanda, one of his favorite secretaries, poked her head in, Torran grinned. After he chased the publicist off, he was keen on having a piece of her before he headed to the gym. Perhaps if he were persuasive enough she’d even bend over the desk in his office.

  Wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Send him in, darlin’.” When he winked at her, Amanda smiled, sashaying her way back out to the lobby.

  Torran would definitely get this over with as soon as humanly possible.

  Within two minutes, there was a knock on his office door a moment before it opened. Torran expected a skinny man in a cheap suit - or perhaps even a middle aged woman with graying hair. That had been the caliber of all the publicists he’d had before. So he was caught completely off guard at the woman who now stood before him.

  She was young - he would estimate even younger than he himself. She couldn’t have been in the business for very long. Atop that, she was one of the most alluring things he could ever recall seeing. Tall and curvaceous, with skin the color of coffee with cream. A halo of dark curls framed her face, and her dark eyes immediately caught and held his attention.

  In Dublin, there hadn’t been very many young women of color. Nonetheless, ever since he was younger, Torran had always thought of them as exotic beauties. Being in the States, with its melting pot of cultures and communities, presented him with a bevy of unique women to sample.

  But none of them looked like this one.

  “Good morning, Mr. Maloney.” She stepped towards him, her smile mild and professional. Could he help it that he immediately had obscene fantasies about her gorgeous mouth? “My name is Savannah Jones. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.”

  Perhaps he wouldn’t be scaring off his publicist after all.

  “I assure you, Miss Jones, pleasure’s all mine.” Torran had long learned to use his thick Irish burr to his advantage when it came to charming women - and this time would be no exception. Standing, he extended his hand to hers. When she wrapped slender fingers around his, it was a challenge to keep from merely yanking her into his lap.

  He probably held her hand for slightly longer than was necessary - but Torran couldn’t help but indulge. Her skin was silky soft and she smelled of lavender and berries. This woman had obviously been made to tempt him. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to one of two plush armchairs placed before his desk.

  When she sat, he could see a tantalizing portion of her cleavage, and Torran knew immediately that he had to have her - everything else be damned. His friends often told him that he was pig-headed for thinking with his cock first, but it hadn’t steered him wrong - yet.

  “Let’s get straight to business then, shall we?” Even her voice was seductive, even if she didn’t intend for it to be. Savannah spoke crisply and to the point, her dark eyes fixed at some point over his shoulder. “How long has it been since you last had a publicist?”

  Hell if he knew. Or cared - but Torran made up a figure just to please her. “Two or three years, I believe.”

  Leaning forward - so that she exposed more of that luscious cleavage to him - Savannah continued in her no-nonsense manner. “I’ve done some research on the companies you’ve worked with and none of them has Yates’ reputation. I think we can really benefit one another.”

  He agreed wholeheartedly. “I certainly hope so.”

  For the first time since she’d entered, the young woman beamed a genuine smile at him - one that almost made him feel guilty for being such a dog.

  But this, Torran reminded himself, was for both of them. She was probably stressed out from working all the time, and he needed a release as well. He would treat her well behind closed doors, and then let her go about her merry way. Perhaps they could even meet again - as long as she didn’t keep up this rubbish ambition of remaining his publicist. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Reaching into her bag, she dug out an unmarked manila folder. “I’ve actually created a five step plan that I think will get us on track to re-branding you.”

  Shite.

  When she placed it on his desk, Torran abruptly switched modes. He hadn’t thought they’d actually get around to talking the kind of business she wanted.

  “Have you had breakfast yet, Miss Jones?”

  The dark-skinned woman arched a brow at him, obviously confused. “I...have. Thank you, Mr. Maloney. Did you want to take a look at my plan?”

  Double damn. There was no way he could get around this. He would have to go with the direct approach. It was a dangerous one, but Torran was always surprised at how many times it had served him well.

  “I’ll take a peek at it later.” Setting the folder aside, Torran folded his hands one over the other and then leaned over his desk to peer down at her. Though the girl was tall, he still had at least a good six inches on her. Torran had yet to run into a woman who could compete with him where height was concerned. “Right now I’m much more interested in what’s in front of me.”

  If Savannah had been confused before, now she looked downright confounded. “Excuse me?”

  Standing, Torran made his way around his desk to lean against the opposite side. As Savannah stared up at him, he could see a glint of very feminine interest in her eye. Or, at least, that’s what he thought it was.

  “You’re a lovely girl, Savannah. I’m sure you hear that a lot.” He decided not to go straight for the kill. He wasn’t a complete animal, after all. He liked to savor the chase at least somewhat.

  Savannah’s eyes narrowed all at once. “Are you hitting on me, Mr. Maloney?”

  Torran had to admit, the brashness of her words shocked the hell out of him. Though he had expected she knew what was going on, he had hoped that she would at least play along somewhat. It would help to cement the alluring picture of her that he had in his mind.

  With a wolfish grin, he reached down to tug at one of her dark curls. “I can’t help meself, darlin’. You’ve charmed me.”

  He was surprised when his hand never made contact. Instead, Savannah smacked it out of the way, merely glaring at him in warning.

  Torran was immediately on his guard. Well that had never happened before. “I think there’s some mistake here.” When Savannah spoke again, her voice was icy. “I haven’t come here to sign up for your list of conquests. I’m supposed to be helping you save your image.”

  Her words stung more than they had any right to. People had been insulting Torran his entire life- so much so that he had once imagined he was immune to their sarcasm. Apparently not.

  His expression immediately hardened as a defensive shell snapped into place. “You’re a greenhorn. You hardly look out of fuckin’ diapers yourself. How do you expect to help me?”

  Savannah flinched almost as if he’d physically struck her. Like almost every other woman Torran had ever insulted, he expected her to stomp out in a huff. To call him a bastard and throw a tantrum before giving up.

  But the young woman held her ground. She didn’t move a muscle, instead merely glaring up at him with more intensity. “You haven’t given anyone else much of a chance, have you?” She jibed sharply. “So if I’m a greenhorn and you can’t keep a publicist, we’ve both got our work cut out for us.”

  Torran’s eyes narrowed to slits. He couldn’t decide whether he was more pissed that this woman had the guts to argue with him...or aroused that she stood her ground.
As gorgeous as he’d thought her the moment she walked into his office, she was even hotter now, with her dark eyes gleaming and her full mouth set in a tight line.

  “I don’t need a bloody publicist.”

  “And I don’t need a headache, but here we are, both of us.” She quipped smartly, crossing her legs one over the other primly.

  And what glorious legs they were. Even pissed as he was, Torran would have had to be blind not to see them. It was a strange feeling, he realized, to both be mad as hell and attracted to a woman at the same time.

  “Perhaps you haven’t heard what happened to the last publicist I worked with.” His voice lowered to a growl of warning as he stood over her imposingly.