Chapter 9
Mari
My phone sits heavy in my palm as I squint through the sun’s glare, trying to reread the email Kas sent me yesterday at eleven p.m.
Violet didn’t want the job. She said you’d be interested:
- Social Media Manager - Freelance - 7 weeks - $60-$80ph will potentially pay more.
Interview tomorrow at 8 a.m. BD GYM, Unit 5, Warehouse District off Mason St. We need you.
Signing off an email with “we need you” is funnier than it should be. I could almost smell Kas’s desperation through the screen when I first read it, and being able to respond demanding more information was oddly cathartic—even if I was met with crickets.
I look up at the bold, white lettering of BD GYM on the glass door in front of me knowing that I may be the worst candidate for this job.
After the fight over the weekend, I’ve decided that combat sports and I are never going to work out. The idea of being ringside for Kas makes me queasy, and I’m only here because begging me to work for decent money was a nice change to the other low-offer jobs and rejection emails decorating my inbox.
I straighten when a car screeches into the parking lot behind me. The sound is a push for me to go inside of the gym for this interview. I struggle to open the door and freeze when the crunching of shoes against gravel stops behind me.
“I’m sorry about the fight, alright?” an annoyed voice says.
I turn and face the blond-haired, trainer-referee man from the bare-knuckle fight—D. He’s rubbing his temples frustratedly.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. Security decided to let people in if they paid extra. We were way over capacity. If you’re planning on suing me, I advise that you don’t because I’m broke.”
I let him finish his little tirade before responding. “I’m not here for you.”
He perks up at my reply, a small dimple appearing on his left cheek as he strolls past me. “Oh, never mind then.” He yanks open the door and turns halfway through it. “This is a pull door, by the way.”
The last time I bumped into this guy at the entrance to a building, I was almost faced with death. Seeing him here after the fight feels like I’ve just swallowed a lead weight.
Maybe this is a terrible idea.
A quick scan of the inside of the gym through the glass door reveals a heavily pregnant woman rolling on top of a huge, blue gym ball next to a boxing ring. Davina, if I remember correctly from the session I attended.
The gym hasn’t really improved since I came for that Women-troduction thing; the bucket is still catching water from the leaky roof. There’s some cracks on the walls partly hidden by framed, vintage sports posters, and the L-shaped reception desk has yellowing paper tacked to its front with barely legible handwritten rules.
I can only figure out rules one and five: “NO GEAR” and “DON’T BE A BELLEND.”
With the randomly placed machines and off-center boxing ring, the entire layout of the gym is a little strange and probably breaks every single feng shui rule that exists.
Despite D’s prior words, I embarrassingly push before pulling the door.
“Welcome, Mari. Dash here just told me your name. I’m pleased you decided not to hover outside my door any longer,” Davina says with a very no-nonsense attitude.
Dash, that was it.
My cheeks heat knowing that Davina has probably seen me pacing outside of the front entrance for the better part of twenty minutes. She continues to rock backward on the ball with a level of agility many would dream of having. I’d place her in her late thirties, maybe even early forties with her pristine bob swooping down to partly obscure one eye.
“Yeah, I was a little nervous,” I say a few steps away from her.
Davina shoots up and does a little waddle-jog up to me with her arm cupped under her very pregnant stomach. She might be the most spritely pregnant woman I have ever met. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t get cold feet. Davina.” Her French-tipped fingernails scrape the top of my hand and the bangles hugging her wrist clash against each other when I accept her firm handshake. “Kas let me know you were coming by,” she says with a smile that mirrors the old poster behind her; it features a female bodybuilder with the same small gap between her front teeth.
I follow her like a confused duckling to the reception desk, weaving between weight machines that look forged out of industrial-grade metals.
“The event is all confirmed, so I’m just gonna throw you in the deep end,” Davina says.
Throw me in the deep end? I haven’t even dipped my toes yet.
She pulls out a tablet from one of the drawers, flitting between that and her laptop.
“Is this the interview Kas emailed me about?” I emit a strained, singular “ha” after my question to mask the cluelessness.
Davina stops scrolling and looks at me through the thick, square-framed glasses she’s just slipped on. “Interview? I trust that you’re capable. Kacper spoke wonders of you, and he’s never once expressed so much enthusiasm in having someone work with us.”
“Oh? I didn’t know I was actually hired.”
Davina’s face drops at my honesty. Freya would’ve totally bad-mouthed me for that. Creating doubt and/or being unconfident in my decisions is a big no-no in her and Violet’s GTFO agenda.
“I was under the impression that Kas had already hired you. This fight is in less than two months, and we can’t spend too long on a hiring process for this. He’s even included you in the trip’s budget.”
“Trip?” I squeak.
Have I just been involuntarily employed?
Davina slams the magnetic case of her tablet closed and huffs out a frustrated breath. So it’s not just me Kas can’t communicate with. It’s also not just my camera Kas has forcefully taken from me; he’s trying to rid me of my free will too.
“Seems we’re both equally confused, I’ll follow up with Kas. For our own sake, let’s do a quick interview now. You got a resume available?”
“I do.”
I retrieve my prepared USB from my tote bag and slide it onto the desk. The laptop in front of Davina lights up and she locates my documents with ease.
“So, you’ve only had one job, ever?”
She scrolls back up to the top of my resume where my date of birth is, and back down to where I’ve attempted to beef up the section about my employment at Mel’s Studio.
“I can take a killer picture, and I know how to use social media,” I offer in a tone that sounds pathetic to my own ears.
Davina slams her laptop shut and sighs. “When would you be available to start?”
I flash Davina my best employable smile and pray that her being under the impression that Kas already hired me is enough for me to bag this job.
“Now.”
“What else do I need for a month in Vegas?” I ask, adding another bullet point to the opened document on my new business phone.
Unfortunately, Kas decided to omit that the job would require me to stay in Vegas and live out of a hotel for six weeks. It’s only in the next state over, but still, it seems like an awfully important part of the job to exclude. I’m wondering what other huge job Kas has hired me to do without my knowledge.
Perhaps Davina’s doula considering she’s about to pop in the next two months.
“Your camera?” Dash suggests through a mouthful of bread.
He itches under the hair band he’s used to push back his golden mass. It kind of makes him look like a cocker spaniel with his bronzed tan.
I open the second half of my sandwich and add some salt, pepper, and hot sauce that I keep in my tote bag. “It’s broken, remember? Kas took it from me after the fight and said he’d fix it.”
Dash works here part-time when he’s not organizing his fighting events. He still feels an immense amount of guilt from the last one, and I have been laying it on thick by rubbing my chest and wincing whenever we talk. Luckily for me, his guilt translated into buying me lunch from one of the local sandwich pop-ups.
The sound at the front entrance steals our attention, and instead of the usual gym goers that have been filtering in and out all day, it’s Kas. My stomach gurgles, and I’m not sure if it’s the lunch meat or nerves.
Dash glances between us, a growing, shit-eating grin spreading wide across his face. “Oh shit, I forgot that you cussed him out.”
“I just told him that he’s hotter when he—”
“Isn’t blunt,” Dash finishes. “That was wild, dude.”
“Wasn’t that wild,” I mutter.
Dash is distracted by a bald, older gentleman entering just behind Kas. The old man’s frowning mouth is framed by a white goatee, and he appears as if he’s walking to his death, not into a gym.
“Ooh, someone’s not a very happy chappy,” Dash teases.
The old guy throws up an arthritic middle finger.
Kas wears a short-sleeved compression top, and I have honestly never seen someone look so sculpted in my life. His face still holds evidence of the weekend’s fight with a light purple bruise marring the area just below his eye.
“What time do you call this, Billy Boy?” Dash tuts at the older guy, smacking his hand against Kas’s in a brotherly greeting as they pass each other.
“Piece of shit van,” Billy Boy grumbles in an accent that’s either British or Australian—I can’t tell.
Dash laughs loudly. “Oh no, not the thirty-year-old van breaking down again? Who would’ve thought?”
“Knob ’ead.” Knob head?
“That’s not a great first impression to give to our newest employee, Bill!” Davina shouts from the other side of the gym.
Bill grumbles off in her direction with Dash following and taunting.
What is this dynamic?
Kas takes Dash’s empty seat, and I scoot back to provide some distance, my bag getting tangled in the wheels of the chair.
“You good?” he asks robotically.
His body swamps the chair he’s claimed, and I clear my throat by slurping some soda.
“Well, I arrived and discovered I was already hired, so that was a nice surprise,” I say sarcastically.
“Is that an issue?” Kas stretches, his T-shirt riding up to unveil a slight V peeking out from the hem of his shorts.
My throat goes dry and I take five large gulps of my soda before speaking. “Not for eighty dollars per hour, no. Though I’d prefer to keep my autonomy if that’s okay?”
His chair squeaks loudly when he leans back at my second sarcastic jab.
There’s that V again.
“You’re asking me if you can keep your autonomy? Ironic,” he says dryly.
“I’m being serious. Your communication is diabolical.”
The muscle along Kas’s jaw twitches at my response. “My bad.”
I ignore him and focus on finishing my lunch. The bread is thick, and I do a very bad job of maintaining my modesty when gnawing at the tough crust. Kas doesn’t seem bothered and instead, watches me.
“Right, let’s round-up!” Davina’s voice carries through the gym at an insane volume.
My body relaxes when Kas stands, and I don’t miss the way his eyes trail over me before walking to the center of the gym.
Davina is cemented to her trusty gym ball, sitting on it as if it holds the same stability as a sturdy, wooden chair. Everyone but Kas is sitting on some sort of equipment.
I flash a shy smile when Davina introduces me and encourages quiet applause from the team. “Nice to meet you all,” I say.
“Always good to see a new face,” Bill replies, scratching the white stubble lining his jaw.
It’s honestly hard to believe he co-owns the gym with Davina, his lack of enthusiasm is almost comical.
“Right, this fight is not child’s play. Are we clear?” Davina says. We all nod in sync. “This is our team. All five of us. We are much smaller than Ward’s so we have to stay tight.” She presses her palms together to home in on the point, the clap reverberating off the gym’s walls.
“Plus the almost fully formed human inside of you. You’ll be pushing nine months by the time the fight happens,” Dash says, pointing to her stomach.
“Are you insinuating that I should not be going to Vegas, Dash?”
Dash flushes red at Davina’s snappiness. “I mean, Vegas isn’t that far to drive, but—”
“I’ll take it easy in Vegas and if necessary, I will lay down with my legs akimbo on Fremont and a fake Elvis can deliver the baby. How does that sound?” Davina’s stare bores into Dash.
“We have a heavily pregnant manager, I’m meant to be part-retired and our fighter has a face like a slapped arse. I should be winding down,” Bill cuts in.
Kas does look miserable, though it may be his resting face because I have yet to see him crack a big smile.
“You really are a piece of work today, Bill,” Dash says.
It doesn’t take long for them to engage in a full-blown bicker filled with threats about early graves. Kas watches me with a vacant stare. He looks away the second our eyes meet, and the corner of his lip twitches.
“We can only hope Kas will bash his fucking head in,” Bill says when the conversation deviates to Fletcher Ward.
He has a delightfully profane way of contributing and despite being littered with curse words, it’s surprisingly impactful.
Davina uses her tablet to guide her through the next part of her speech. “Training camp starts as soon as possible. We’ll train here for one week and then head to Vegas for the remaining six because the SFL are partly funding it, along with allowing us to train at one of their kickboxing gyms.”
“Only partly?” I blurt.
“A gym, standard hotel rooms for each of us, plus breakfast. They’re covering that and the fight itself including commentators, refs, cutmen, etcetera,” Kas explains with a nicely shaped eyebrow cocked at my question.
“A gym too? Generous,” Bill says.
Not generous. I might have to ask Davina to pay me weekly instead of invoicing her at the end of the seven weeks. I still need to pay for dinner, laundry, travel, and everything else that isn’t provided for me.
“What’s covered again?” Dash asks, tapping away on his phone.
He has barely listened to the latter half of the conversation and Kas looks like he wants to smack him.
After re-explaining the costs to Dash, it’s revealed that like me, Kas isn’t employed by the gym and the rest of what he’ll have to pay isn’t covered either. With my mind congested with financial calculations, I begin to figure out a way to frugally navigate the trip. I don’t even notice the team disperse until Kas stops in front of me.
“Don’t worry about extra costs for us, I’ll cover it.” Kas is already beelining to the back of the gym before I can absorb what he’s just said.
“What?” I call to his back. “Kas?”
He doesn’t turn back, and I watch the changing room door flutter in his wake.
Kas’s actions don’t speak louder than words, they completely contradict them because why the hell would he cover my expenses?