Scottish Swag

by Cristina Grenier

  “Oh, I heard.” She moved not a single iota. “You put him in the hospital. Proud of yourself for that one, are you? Am I next, Maloney? Going to beat up on a woman?” To her complete and utter shock, Savannah Jones raised two balled fists in a very solid defensive stance before her, her expression utterly serious. “Try it. I dare you.”

  For a long moment, Torran just stared at her, shock obvious on his features. She wasn’t joking. She knew exactly who he was, and still, she suggested that he fight her.

  She had to be out of her mind.

  ...and yet...the idea of clashing with that gorgeous hourglass figure of hers was far from uninviting. Torran would never hit her - he had never hit a woman in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now; but somehow, he wondered what sparring with someone so fearless would be like. He’d barely known Savannah Jones for ten minutes and already she’d piqued his interest more than any other woman ever had.

  “I’m not going to hit you, Savannah.”

  She stared at him for a long beat before lowering her fists. Her stiff form relaxed somewhat - but only slightly. Savannah still watched him warily, as if she were worried he’d pounce on her at any moment. “Then you’re going to work with me. That’s the only other option.”

  “I beg to differ.” He returned, his tone low and sinuous. If this was how she wanted to play the game, then he certainly had a rebuttal for her. “I could bend you over my desk and see if you would really protest as much as you fuckin’ pretend you would.”

  Savannah’s eyes flew wide. In an instant, she was on her feet, her face red with fury. “I trust you know that would be assault and I would report it as such!”

  Leaning back against his desk, Torran merely fixed her with a lazy smile. “And would you be reporting before or after you’ve gone hoarse with screaming?”

  If he had been trying to shock her, he had obviously achieved his goal. A woman as uptight as Savannah, Torran supposed, was used to being treated with kid gloves. Men asked her permission to take her out and date her. They bowed and scraped and properly courted her.

  He had never entertained that shite in his entire life. “No wonder no one can work with you.” Savannah’s voice was trembling with anger. “You’re a goddamned sociopath.”

  Now, that was harsh. Torran had never been called something like that...at least not to his face. Bastard, pig, arsehole and all the like were familiar to him, but sociopath? That was a new one.

  “I take it that means you don’t want to either?” He called her bluff, reaching out to tug one of the dark curls framing her face while she was caught unaware. This time, he was out of her way long before she slapped at him again. If looks could kill, Torran considered, he would be dead twelve times over by now. He was edging her temper to the breaking point - and he could only hope that point was enough to make her flee.

  Apparently, however, he had sorely underestimated Savannah. “It’s apparent, Mr. Maloney, that you need to deal with someone who’s not afraid of you. You can threaten and bluster all you want, but you won’t scare me away.” She took a deep breath, and Torran swallowed thickly as her ample bosom heaved. “So why don’t you read the plan I’ve outlined for you?”

  He swallowed the snarl that rose in his throat at her stubbornness.

  At that moment, he wanted more than anything to shut that smart mouth of hers with his own. To kiss her until she was writhing against him, begging for what she swore she’d report him for. The strange combination of lust and undeniable fury was exhausting him, and he had barely started his day. “I’ve better things to do with my morning.” That said, he swept the folder she’d handed him off his desk and into a nearby trashcan.

  Which was apparently Miss Jones’ breaking point. Leaping to her feet, she stepped forward so that scant inches remained between them, her expression utterly incensed. “Are you a man or a child?” She hissed, all but trembling in anger. “I’m only trying to help you.”

  “And how the hell can you help me,” he returned with equal intensity. “If you don’t even know me?”

  For what seemed like an eternity, they stared one another down, each waiting to see who would back off first. Torran would be damned if he let a woman cow him, and he’d be willing to bet she thought something stupid like her pride was on the line. Ultimately, however, it was she who turned away from him. “Fine. Have an illustrious, barely-known career then, Mr. Maloney.”

  With those final words, she sauntered from his office. Torran might have thought she pissed him off enough that he shut the door on her uppity arse - but instead, he just watched the intoxicating way it swayed as she left, and mourned its loss once she was out of sight.

  He had utterly lost his marbles.

  The moment she was gone, he sank back into the chair behind his desk, feeling as if he’d run a marathon. Not even his daily evening workout - which usually lasted about three hours - could exhaust him so. One might think they had been at each other’s throats, ranting and raving; but the truth of the matter was that they had barely raised their voices. They hadn’t needed to. The tension crackling between them was obvious.

  But, somehow, he’d managed to chase her off. By all accounts, he should be rather proud of himself.

  So why did he feel like a complete and total git?

  A scowl firm on his face, Torran stared at the door through which Savannah had just gone. Who the hell did she think she was, anyway? He’d never met someone with such an imperious attitude insisting that they were helping him. The fucking gall.

  And yet...he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit the stubborn resoluteness in her eyes had made him rock hard in his very respectable slacks.

  It had been a while since he’d been so immediately attracted to a woman. Mind you, Torran was a man who followed his baser impulses. If there was a willing woman, he certainly didn’t mind sharing her bed. If someone pissed him off, chances were, he’d break their jaw. Because of these impulses, he was usually painted in a pretty unfavorable light by the media, damn whatever talent he might have as a fighter.

  And he wasn’t ignorant enough to ignore that his stubbornness was hurting his image. As much as Torran liked to pretend he was a one man show, he knew better. Maybe considering this woman’s so-called “plan” wouldn’t be the worst thing that had ever happened to him...even if she was infuriating as hell.

  Just looking at her plan, he reminded himself, didn’t mean that he had to work with her. If anything, he could just find his own publicist and apply the same principles. One who wasn’t as insufferably smart-mouthed as Savannah Jones.

  “Mr. Maloney?” He was jerked from his thought process when Amanda poked her head into his office once more. She was wearing a sultry, expectant expression that usually made him hard instantly. In the wake of the uproar Savannah Jones had caused, however, Torran found himself less than interested. “Did you need anything else?”

  Torran was usually an avid fan of women fawning over him. He enjoyed the stress-relief that came with fucking a revolving door of women - and unlike most, Amanda understood that their sleeping together didn’t mean anything more was between them. Truth be told, he might have liked to burn the memory of Savannah’s sharp tongue from his mind.

  But, somehow, he couldn’t.

  “I’m fine, Amanda.” His words were sharper than he meant, but Torran couldn’t bring himself to care overly much about the affronted expression on his secretary’s face. He was too busy being pissed at the absent publicist who had somehow, against all odds, gotten under his skin.

  Chapter 4: A Different Game

  Savannah had never been a woman of violence. In fact, when she was asked to intervene in conflicts with any number of overbearing males in her workplace, she usually cited that she was a pacifist before going on with her business.

  But that all changed when she entered her father’s gym.

  As much of a pacifist as she was, Savannah would never forget the first time she saw her father fight. It had been just a
fter her mother died, and she was barely eight. Her grandmother demanded that she stay home but her father plucked her from his mother’s grasp and told her he’d be damned if his daughter grew up anywhere but at his side.

  And thus had begun her life of hanging out ringside, waiting to watch her father beat the ever-loving stuffing out of his opponent.

  And he almost always did.

  It had been a while since Savannah had been back to the gym, but after the morning she’d had, she practically flew there the moment she got out of the office. She didn’t know which was worse, dodging Theo’s questions about how it had gone all day, or avoiding Carthright’s smug grin when she couldn’t give him a projection of where things were going with their newest client. Either way, by the time five o’clock rolled around, Savannah felt firmly like sinking right into the ground and hibernating for the rest of forever.

  The moment she stepped into the gym, however, all of that faded away.

  Even though it was nearly seven in the evening, the place was packed with trainers and fighters alike, all going through their separate rituals. Men aged ten to fifty went at punching bags, set themselves through grueling stints of cardio and sparred with one another, their voices rising to the ceiling. Every two minutes or so, a fighter hit the mat in the practice rings with a loud thud that echoed throughout the gym.

  Even as her father had risen to notoriety in the boxing world, this place always stayed the same. Same old, fraying mats, same smell of wood polish from after hours, and the same old faces.

  Janet had been working the front desk since before Savannah was born - when her father had simply practiced at the gym instead of owning it. She was a permanent fixture for Savannah and all the other gym regulars - and simply seeing her face always had a calming effect upon the young woman. “How you doing today, Savvy?”

  At her question, Savannah merely sighed. “Not the greatest. Tough day at work.”

  “Well, nothing for that like letting off a little steam, right?”

  Savannah’s lips turned up almost imperceptibly at the corners. “I guess so.” Janet smiled at her, reaching out to touch her cheek gently in reassurance.

  “I’ll let your Dad know you’ve come.”

  “Thanks, Janet.”

  As she made her way into the gym, Savannah’s eyes were drawn, as they always were, to the innumerable news clippings and plaques on the wall. They detailed the course of her father’s fifteen year career for all of his students and gym patrons to see.

  Tyrone Jones Smashes through First Five Matches

  Hopeful Jones looking at Heavyweight Championship

  Jones Works Way into World’s Top Ranking

  Jones Defends Title for Third Year Running

  Savannah remembered each of these vividly. It was, after all, she who had cut them from the paper to mount on the gym wall. For each and every article she added, her father told her that he didn’t need them. He would remember his history. Savannah had, of course, ignored him. If he was going to get the stuffing beat out of him at every opportunity, she was certainly going to record his successes.

  It didn’t take long to find her father. He was in his office, though by the looks of things, he had just finished training

  Despite being close to sixty Tyrone Jones still had to beat off his fair share of women. Savannah often had to suffer through the looks some of the older women in the neighborhood still shot her father, who, in truth, had the body of a man half his age. Tyrone took pride in his health and skill, and he constantly impressed upon his daughter that he wouldn’t stop fighting until he was on his deathbed.

  If he kept on continuing the way he was, Savannah was fairly certain he would never die.

  She grimaced at finding him shirtless and sweaty before sinking into the only chair in his cluttered office to wait for him to finish his phone call.

  “You know,” the young woman ventured, the moment he hung up, “you should really clean this place up some.” It was only the hundredth time she’d suggested it over the past decade.

  Her father merely rolled his eyes. “If I did that, how would I be able to find anything?”

  “Well, you could try organization, like normal people.” Chuckling, Tyrone merely lifted the towel around his shoulders to mop away the moisture on his face.

  “What the hell is that?”

  Despite the shitty day on her shoulders, Savannah couldn’t help but smile. Her father had that effect on her.

  There weren’t many women she knew who were raised by a single father. In fact, if anything, solo men raising children tended to have a bad rap. But after her mother had died, Savannah didn’t need anything else but her father. He’d been all the parent she ever needed.

  Of course, he had to learn the ins and outs of femininity. There had been some embarrassments, some upsets, and plenty of apologies, on both their parts, but in the end - there was no one Savannah would rather have in her corner - literally or figuratively. “So who pissed in your coffee?”

  At his question, Savannah immediately jerked upright, her expression guarded. “What do you mean?”

  Her father smirked, his dark eyes kind. “You usually don’t come and see me on a weekday unless you’re thinking of beating someone up.”

  He knew her far too well for her own good. With a sigh, Savannah ran her fingers through her loose curls. “I don’t think I could beat this guy up. He’d probably give you a run for your money, Dad.”

  Frowning, Tyrone crossed his office to take a seat on the edge of a battered coffee table - the only clear space he could find. “Some unworthy boy botherin’ you, honey?”

  Savannah snorted at his assumption. The man had been chasing off her prospective boyfriends for as long as she could remember. Even the bravest boys didn’t last long - not when your father was the former heavyweight boxing champion of the world. “No, Daddy. It’s not like that.” She chewed her lower lip anxiously as she thought about how to proceed. If it were any other man, she knew her father would be up in arms, regardless of whether he was pursuing her romantically or not. Torran’s very special position made things complicated.

  “Well, spit it out so I can get him on the hit list, Savvy.”

  Savannah’s returning smile was half-hearted. “They gave me Torran Maloney at work, and I met him this morning.” She watched her father’s eyes widen in shock and hurried on. “But he’s an asshole, Dad. All those rumors about him are completely true. He tried to get into my pants, and when it didn’t work, he insisted he didn’t need my help. I’ve never met an idiot that pompous in my entire life.”

  With a sigh, Tyrone ran a hand through his buzzed, graying hair. “Well, I can’t say I’m that surprised.”

  Savannah’s mouth fell open. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “Well, baby, Torran’s reputation precedes him. He’s a good fighter, but I’d say most of it is dumb luck. And all that money is definitely luck.” His mouth turned downward in disapproval. “I feel like no one who got that fucking rich that quick can retain their humanity. If the man’s a prick, he’s a prick. Did you tell your boss he won’t work with you?”

  Savannah groaned, covering her face with her hands. “That’s just it. I can’t. I’m pretty sure Carthright wants this assignment to do me in. It’s my first chance at managing a client solo, and he wants me to fail. I can’t look him in the face and tell him I only lasted a day, Dad.”

  “Well, shit.” Her father scratched at the stubble coming in on his chin, his expression turning thoughtful. “I need to think about this.” With that, he turned back to his desk to grab his gloves.

  Savannah caught the extra pair he threw at her almost carelessly. “I think better in the ring - and you might too.”

  Standing, the young woman resolved herself to a late workout. She hadn’t come to the gym with the intent of sparring with her father, but, as Janet had suggested, it might clear her mind to let off some steam. “I’ll get to the locker room and change.”

  When
her father winked winningly at her, she smiled - a real one this time. “That’s my girl.”

  It only took her ten minutes to change out of her work clothes and into a pair of shorts, a sports bra, and a loose tank top. When she walked out of the locker room, several of the guys practicing immediately began to hoot and holler like teenagers.

  “Hey!” Tyrone barked protectively. “Keep your eyes off my baby, you fucking brutes. More punching less ogling.”

  “Yes, coach!” The bark echoed through the gym and Savannah snickered, already in better spirits. It wasn’t like most of the guys here didn’t know that she was Tyrone Jones’ daughter, they just liked to see how much they could get away with.

  Nimbly, Savannah slipped her gloves on before climbing into the practice ring where her father waited. He gave her barely a minute to stretch, warming up stiff muscles, before he lunged at her.